The Last Spy
by sylphides
Summary: Hermione Granger and Severus Snape slowly learn from each other as the war escalates and the Final Battle approaches. AU from HBP. Out of a war where children must grow up too fast, Hermione and Severus develop a beautiful friendship and more.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I am not the all-powerful JKR, I merely play with her world. **

Severus Snape leaned his aching head on his weary arms, propped up by the desk, and sighed—a rare show of weakness. He was tired, so tired. Teaching was a full time job. Teaching and spying left him drained, sometimes unable to even step further than his own quarters in the dungeons during the weekends. If that wasn't enough, the Dark Lord had become even more volatile as of late, unpredictable and explosive. Where once he had been cunning Tom Riddle, quick to reward as incentive and sparing with his harsh punishments for failure, now there only existed the reptilian madness of petulance. Severus shook his head in dismay. He knew it was really bad when he started comparing the Dark Lord to the students he taught at Hogwarts and wishing he could discipline him the same way.

It was in the early hours of dawn, and Severus had not accomplished a thing he needed to do. A pile of unmarked essays still glared conspicuously from the table, he had not been able to obtain further information for Albus pertaining to the Dark Lord's further plans, and he had a first period Slytherin-Gryffindor potions class—_Potter's_ class. Considering the long night of horrors he had just attended at the Dark Lord's bidding, it was time to utilize something he rarely permitted himself to touch: he went into his chambers and retrieved his time-turner. As long as he made sure to turn the time back to after he had already left at the summons, he could get in almost a full night's sleep.

**--break--**

The class went, as far as he was concerned, extraordinarily well. Potter had not made any glaring blunders, Malfoy had not made any snide remarks, and Granger had once again managed to rescue Longbottom's potion from blowing up, this time in a much subtler way so he could pretend not to have noticed at all.

The period over, he sat down to mark the papers he had abandoned last night. Only to curse again under his breath as his left arm flared with white-hot heat, the same pain that had signaled the initial branding of the accursed mark on his forearm. What could the Dark Lord want in the middle of the day, when he knew Severus would be teaching and could not get away easily?

Panting with frustration at the feverish and swollen effects of the call, he hastily locked the potions classroom, snatched his cloak and mask, and made for the closest apparition point. As he did so, he twirled the dial on his watch once, sharply. Moments later, the watch's face displayed a message from Albus: "Will cover for you if you cannot return. Find out what you can—he's been too quiet lately. Be safe."

Be safe indeed. When was one ever safe in the presence of an insane reptile?

**--break--**

Hermione blinked in surprise and glanced over at Harry and Ron, before nodding and sliding out of her seat in the commons. "Of course, Professor McGonagall. I have a moment."

The older witch ushered her out and down the hall. "Thank you my dear. I know it's late, but this is important."

"May I ask why-"

"Not here, Miss Granger. Wait a minute, and we'll explain everything to you inside." They entered the headmaster's office, and Hermione rushed forward. "Mum! Dad! What are you doing here at Hogwarts? Is everything okay?"

Her parents hugged her, and her mother smiled wanly. "We're well, darling. Although I can't say the same for our office." Her father wrapped an arm protectively around Hermione and her mother.

"What do you mean?"

Professor Dumbledore spoke up then from the background. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that your parents were targets of Death Eater attacks tonight. Luckily, as you can see, thanks to the quick thinking of our spy among the ranks, we were able to fake their deaths. However, you can see our predicament here now. We're going to have to move fast to place your parents in a safe house."

Hermione looked up then, and noticed Professor Snape lurking in the shadows on the far side of the office. Surprised at her own clear state of mind as well as steady voice, she asked, "Professor Snape would be our spy then I presume?"

His head shot up at the mention of his name, but he said nothing, instead twisting his lips into a half-hearted sneer. "Ah, always quick on the uptake, Hermione. That is correct, my dear, Severus is our spy and a fine job he does of it too." Dumbledore beamed.

Hermione warily walked over to him. He stiffened; Hermione ignored it, and put out her hand. "Sir, I'd like to thank you for rescuing my parents."

His face remained unreadable, but he slowly took her hand and grasped it briefly. "I could do no less for anyone, Miss Granger."

"I know."

She walked back over to stand with her parents, and faced Dumbledore again. "Professor, what happens now? With my parents, and everything?"

"Well I think we've got that pretty much worked out. Several Order members will escort your parents to an undisclosed location protected by Fidelius, and your parents will have to stay there for the duration of the war—hopefully our most optimistic projections at this point will come to pass, which estimates a year or so. You will mourn the apparent violent deaths of your parents, and none but Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and myself will be any the wiser."

"That will be hard."

She stated it flatly. It was not a question. Surprisingly, it was not Professor Dumbledore who responded, but Professor Snape. "Miss Granger. Your parents almost died tonight, would have died tonight if I hadn't don't some quick thinking and had a bottle of the Draught of Living Death with me at the time. And you're worried about _lying? _Surely even Potter and Weasley are not thickheaded enough to trouble you unnecessarily during your 'mourning period'. All you have to do is be—_sad."_

He sneered on the last word, as if it disgusted him to even say such an elementary and emotional word. The tension in the room felt like a thick green pea soup, waiting for Hermione—or anyone—to foolishly, bravely, attempt to stir. But harsh as the words were, Hermione later, in the privacy of her own room, would secretly appreciate them. The sting of Professor Snape's acidic tongue was enough to slice through the fog that seemed to freeze her brain processes and toss her thoughts like a salad, and the resentment the words evoked was a clear-cut emotion, one that firmly superceded all the other conflicting emotions clouding her brain and allowing Hermione to once again think clearly.

Rather than give Professor Snape the satisfaction of an answer, Hermione straightened, and faced Professor Dumbledore. "If it will keep my parents safe, I'll manage, Professor Dumbledore. Will they be moved to the safe house tonight? Will I be able to owl them, or see them?"

If Albus Dumbledore wondered at the unspoken tension between his spy and the smartest student to grace Hogwarts for years, he didn't show it. Except for perhaps an extra brightness to the twinkle that never seemed to leave his eyes no matter what. Instead, he got right down to business. "Yes, Miss Granger, you will be able to contact them but not by owl. If you wish to write to them, do so and give the letters to the gargoyle that guards my office, the left one. He'll know what to do with them. I'm afraid you won't know where they are, it'll be safer that way. Yes, they'll be moved there tonight. I'll let you and your parents catch up now, while I get the preparations for their travel and stay. It should take an hour or so, please feel free to make use of my office."

He left then, with Professor Snape a moment after, leaving Hermione alone in the office with her parents.

**--break--**

Hermione looked at her parents hesitantly. "Mum. Dad…"

Her mother pulled her close for another fierce hug. "Oh darling!" There were no more words needed. They understood, like they somehow understood all the truly important things. Things like how sorry she was for being what she was and placing them in that danger, and how much she was going to miss them, and how she wanted them to stay safe and she almost wished she could go with them but she had to stay and help fight because she couldn't abandon her friends and a battle that desperately needed her help.

She didn't know how long she remained in her parent's embrace, but after a while they began to talk.

"You'll be careful, won't you? It is safe for you here?" her father asked.

Hermione nodded seriously. "Yes, I'll be very careful. It's probably the safest place for me right now, Hogwarts is I mean. Short of going into hiding, which I can't, Hogwarts is very secure. I read in _Hogwarts: A History _that every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has added more wards and shields to protect the school, so it's virtually impenetrable now."

Her mother laughed. "Is that the ridiculously thick book you were reading nonstop for weeks after our first visit to Diagon Alley?"

Hermione smiled ruefully. "Yes, it is. You know me too well, Mum."

The door opened again, and Professor Snape came in. Again, Hermione felt a lingering surge of anger—how _dare _he imply she was not up to any challenge, and how dare he insult her friends!—but she shoved the feeling away. She would deal with it in the Room of Requirement, with some physical exertion, the way she always worked out any frustrations. It was considerably more beneficial than yelling and losing house points.

"Miss Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Granger. We've made arrangements for you, and you'll be portkeying out from here shortly and to a midway location before someone else transfers you the rest of the way to your final destination. Are you ready?"

Hermione's mother took a deep breath. "Yes, thank you. We're ready. And we'd also like to thank you again, for saving our lives. Please, call us Jane and Daniel. Take care of yourself."

Daniel Granger added, "Yes, your line of work seems to be particularly dangerous. Be careful. And don't put up with any nonsense with our daughter!" The last he said in a joking tone, but Severus Snape's throat clenched involuntarily at the easy affection. His resident know-it-all blushed, pulled a face, and hit her father lightly on the arm.

"Dad!"

"Yes, Honey."

"Mum, make sure Dad doesn't ask too many questions about magic, he'll drive whoever's escorting you crazy."

"Hmm, like someone else I know."

"Mum!"

"Sorry, little know-it-all."

Severus raised his eyebrow, but remained silent. _So, her parents call her a know-it-all as a term of endearment. That might actually be why she seems so furious whenever anyone calls her that, since she's used to the name as one of affection._

Albus entered, holding a small jade figurine of a dragon. He said nothing, but offered it to the Grangers. Jane and Daniel both seemed familiar with the idea of a portkey, as they asked no questions but instead took the figurine, both touching it.

"It's set to leave in three minutes," Albus informed them gently.

Jane and Daniel Granger turned to their daughter, and Hermione hugged them again before stepping back and biting her lip.

"We love you, darling. Keep up your studies. I don't want to hear that you've been stressing and pulling all-nighters like last time for your exams!"

Jane Granger's voice echoed as they disappeared, leaving behind empty space.

Albus sighed, breaking the spell of silence that had descended on his office. "Miss Granger, you'll see your parents again. Don't worry. They will be safe. Meanwhile, perhaps Professor Snape would be as good as to walk you to your dormitory?"

Severus scowled. An order, phrased as a question. Nevertheless, he ushered the silent Miss Granger out into the hallway.

It was a quiet walk, for the most part. Miss Granger was lost in her own thoughts, and Severus liked that just fine. She was much more tolerable when she wasn't waving her hand in the air and reciting answers from books. When they reached the portrait guarding the Gryffindor dormitories, she hesitated before finally speaking. "Thank you, Professor Snape, for everything."

She told the portrait, "Pax Somnium," and entered, leaving him gazing thoughtfully after her.

Shaking his head, he turned and left as well. Pax somnium—peaceful sleep—was a rare commodity and he still had to brew a batch of various potions for Poppy before he went to bed tonight.

**A.N.: Tell me what you think! I don't speak an iota of Latin, so I don't know if pax somnium is good grammar or makes sense…oh well.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N: Wow, thank you to all for your reviews and support for this story! I hope I continue to live up to your expectations, although I am warning everyone that I tend to build up stories first before having any real action happen. **

**I can't take credit for the idea of Arithmancy equations predicting the future and Hermione and co having their own equations in this chapter—I think, if I've been told correctly, that the idea comes courtesy of Pet Project, by Caeria. It's a great story in the SSHG world. **

**Please enjoy, and leave your thoughts!**

Before she had received that fateful letter from Hogwarts on her eleventh birthday, Hermione had been in numerous productions and plays in school. True, no one liked her. True, no one could stand the fact that the teacher's pet was always the lead. But Hermione had been good at acting, and even at a young age, she had known it. It came no where near her love of academia and books, of course, but before the magic of fairytales and spell-casting, there had been the magic of the theatre, stage make up, and losing oneself in a different character.

Even now in Hogwarts, she had used her acting skills to give her self-image a little boost as appearing like nothing more than a bossy little girl with a penchant for books and being right. Contrary to what others believed, she knew much more than she had let on, but had deemed it wise to let sleeping dogs lie, as it were. No sense mucking up a perfectly harmless image of Hermione Granger, when she could use that persona to her advantage later on. It was also why the Sorting Hat had very nearly sorted her into Slytherin, before her fervent protests placed her in Gryffindor instead. She did _not _want to be the only Muggle-born in a house full of snakes and children trained in the art of observing and picking her life and self apart.

So now, she was established as Hermione Granger, quintessential Gryffindor, Harry Potter's best friend, and interested in nothing but her books. And it was in this persona that she woke up earlier than usual, scrubbed her eyes with garlic, and then steeled herself to begin her first day as an "orphan."

**--break--**

She wanted to laugh.

Harry and Ron were sitting uncomfortably on either side of her. They had the Common Room to themselves, the other Gryffindors clearing out considerately to let her "grieve" with her two best friends. And aforesaid best friends were both tongue-tied.

"Um…"

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Harry asked gently.

She thought of the saddest thing she could imagine, and let the tears begin. "Oh, Harry…" She buried her head into his shoulder, shaking. "They can't be dead, they just sent me an owl telling me all about the new receptionist they had hired at the dentistry, and we were making plans for Christmas already, they wanted to go visit my aunt in America. They didn't do anything; they didn't even really know what was going on. They weren't a threat to anyone!"

Ron patted her back awkwardly. "They didn't deserve to die, Hermione. I know. We're in a bloody war and no one could have expected that You-Know-Who would go after Muggles."

"It's my fault! If I hadn't gone to Hogwarts, they would never have been exposed to the dangers! Maybe I don't belong here. Am I really supposed to have magic? It seems so surreal, so wonderful when I found out about my ability, that I wasn't just delusional, that weird things happened when I was angry for a reason."

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was anguished but unexpectedly stern, and she sat up and looked at him. He softened his tone. "Hermione. It's not your fault. It's not your fault that your parents died. They died because prejudiced purebloods and madmen couldn't stand that the world wasn't how they ordered it to be. It's no more your fault that Voldemort killed your parents, anymore than it is mine that he killed _my _parents. Or caused Sirius' death." Harry's voice broke on the last, but he resolutely met Hermione's eyes.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly aware that her parents' faked death and her own apparent grief had just catapulted Harry a step further into a maturity she had never seen him exhibit before. Her friend looked serious, undeniably sad, and very adult. Ron, too, seemed to sense the change in Harry. He kept staring at his best mate like he had grown another head, a stare full of disbelief and mingled understanding. The weight of the world seemed to be on Harry's shoulders, and he had suddenly realized it.

They sat in silence until it was time to go to dinner, quietly bolstering each other's strength and Hermione felt physically sick at her deception.

**--break--**

Albus looked down at the end of the table where Severus sat, briefly making significant eye contact before continuing on with finishing up the staff meeting. Severus sighed. That particular gaze leveled at him meant that Albus had something to request from him, and needed him to stay after the meeting.

After the last of the staff had trickled out, Albus beamed at his Potions Professor. "So, Severus, how are you?"

Severus frowned. "Busy. As always. I have finished the potions Poppy needed, but I have other…obligations to brew tonight so I would appreciate it if you would get down to the point, Albus. What is it you want?"

"Now why would you think I require something from you, dear boy?"

"You gave me that Look."

"Ah, the Look. Yes, you were always good at catching signals, my boy."

"Albus, get to the point." He allowed himself a small sneer in lieu of a smile, knowing that Albus knew that he was partially teasing his employer. Only partially though. He _was _tired, a normal situation, and he _did _have special potions to begin brewing tonight for the Dark Lord: experiments with mind-controlling potions mimicking the Imperius Curse.

"As you wish, Severus. Hermione Granger. Did you notice her today? How do you think she did?"

Ah, Granger. Severus cast his mind back over the day's events. He had kept an eye on her, and been surprised at how well Miss Granger was at feigning grief. She was subdued, her eyes haunted and red-rimmed, and she frequently seemed to blank out in the middle of conversations or actions, staring into space. Not once had he noticed a slip on her part of the sorrowing orphan.

"Adequate. She was convincing enough. Let us just hope she will remain diligent in acting her proper part," he allowed reluctantly.

Albus nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, Miss Granger does seem to have a flair for the dramatic does she not? Very talented indeed. But she needs more than just acting if one of the students pledged to Tom manages to corner her."

Severus tensed. "Albus…"

"No, don't worry. The protections on this school are the highest they've been, and all the teachers keep a close eye on the students. But no matter how hard we try, Severus, some will follow Tom and there is a chance that they may find a moment of opportunity to steal information."

For a Gryffindor, Albus Dumbledore knew how to shepherd a man into doing what he wanted done very well. "You want me to teach her Occlumency."

"It would certainly afford her and her parents much more safety, not to mention yours as well."

"Of course it would. I will not teach Potter again."

"I didn't ask you to. That was a mistake I made, in thinking that perhaps you two would at least form a mutual understanding. No, it will just be Miss Granger and if she proves to be as quick in this art as she is in all her other subjects, I have no doubt you will have taught her all she needs to know by Christmas."

"Very well. You may inform her of your idea. I will set up an excuse and time later, as detention or Remedial Potions will hardly do for her. Now if you'll excuse me Albus, I do have potions to tend to." Severus swept off, his feet eerily silent on the floor as he stalked from the room and back down to the dungeons, slightly aggrieved at having to give up more of his precious time to tutor the insufferable girl. Bemused, Albus Dumbledore watched his black sheep among the staff leave before heading towards Septima Vector's quarters. She had made him promise to give her any new information to add to her equations to keep her Arithmancy calculations as accurate and detailed as possible, and there was no time like the present to inform her that she needed to factor in Hermione Granger not just as a variable in Harry Potter's equation, but as a separate one all together.

**--break--**

After several days of pure acting, Hermione was running on low. She had almost convinced herself that her parents were really dead or were going to die soon at any rate with the war going on, and she absolutely hated the silence that pervaded any room she walked into that had a moment ago been cheerful and noisy. Furthermore, it felt as if every Slytherin she encountered threw her a smirk of triumph and superiority at her grief: it was a tribute to their precious lord after all.

Oh, she knew that technically it was only certain Slytherins and not the collective house as a whole. She saw _that smirk _as she had started to mentally label it, superimposed on Malfoy's face, Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy Parkinson's, Theodore Nott's, and two seventh years. The rest seemed to avoid her just as much as Harry and Ron and the Gryffindors hedged her with silence and awkward comfort.

So when Friday came around, she was actually looking forward to her first Occlumency lesson. Professor Snape was not fun to be around, but she could let go of her acting for at least an hour and remember that her parents were safely tucked away somewhere and guarded. Initially, she had wondered what their excuse for her spending any time at all with Snape was. She had laughed when Professor Dumbledore explained her cover story. She was to have been given a "special project" by Dumbledore because she was so far ahead of most of her classes. This project would then become a research and experiment-based thesis blending at least three of the different subjects in magic. To Hogwarts, she would simply be continuing the way she had started—being an overachiever attempting a seventh-year thesis in her sixth year. Smiling wryly, she wondered if the judicious edits on her character in Hogwarts had not been slightly overdone. _Huh, I wonder what Hogwarts would do if they saw me over the summer. With Julia so adamant on turning me into a girl, we probably spent the entire three months either in skimpy swimsuits by the pool or in the mall. I would never have been able to focus on any work or a book that wasn't pure trash and torrid romance. Oh gods, Ron's face if he ever saw any of my secret stash of books with no plot but lots of sex!_

Giggling, she made her preplanned excuses to Harry and Ron, going on at length on the metaphysics of Charms playing a physical role in the brewing of potions according to Arithmantic calculations before they caved and conceded her crazy for voluntarily giving up her Friday evenings to spend time with professors, and _Snape _of all people!

_Professor Snape, not Snape._

She knocked on his door.

"Enter."

She entered. "Sir?"

He looked exasperated already, not a good sign. His normally ordered expression was more frank than she had seen before, and it showed plain annoyance. With her, Dumbledore, or the world in general she didn't know but she hoped that he wouldn't take it out on her. Not much, anyway.

"I take it you've read all the material you can get your hands on about the art of Occlumency by now, so we will skip the theory of it. Unless you are in need of a memory boost…?"

"No sir," she said hastily. "Keep my mind empty of any thought, and focus on nothing at all. Got it."

"I do believe, girl, that that was the shortest and least non-textbook recited piece of information you have ever supplied me with," he sneered down at her.

She bit her lip, and kept silent. She had a lot of come backs for that, but she really didn't want to antagonize Professor Snape still further and he seemed to be in a foul mood already.

"Well, what are you waiting for then? The Dark Lord to drop by and read your mind as easy as you read _Hogwarts: A History_? Go lock the door, and we will begin."

Swallowing her anger, Hermione obeyed and then struggled to clear her mind.

"_Legilimens." _The whispered word of power sent shivers down her spine, but she was too busy not thinking of anything to analyze the rest of the effects the spell—or Professor Snape's voice—had on her body.

_Tranquility. A still lake. I am stone, no emotion. Just drift…_

A tickle in her mind, or perhaps a breath of breeze stirring the merest of ripples on her mental lake, and then—

_She was peering over the top of a book to big for her to hold without propping it up on the table, looking at the other lunch tables where children screamed and laughed and chattered. At her table, only kids who didn't fit in ate: the fat kid, the girl who couldn't speak English well at all, and her…_

_She was reading again, this time in excitement, about the new magical world she had discovered with her letter to Hogwarts…_

_She was _at _Hogwarts, and desperately lonely. At least at home, she had eventually made one or two good friends, and she went home every night to her parents…_

_She was hugging her parents in goodbye, and they were disappearing with the Portkey…_

_She was glaring at Professor Snape's back as he stalked away after deducting points for having saved Neville's potion from killing everyone in the room…_

She dimly heard something thump, and suddenly was yanked out of her flow of memories by the pain of apparently having actually knocked over a chair and hit her funny bone. "Ouch!" She yelped, grabbing for her elbow and stumbling slightly. When the tingling and ache had mostly gone, she looked up and realized Professor Snape was glaring expectantly at her. She straightened with what dignity she could still salvage, and faced him again.

"Miss Granger. Now that you have finally focused once more on our task, perhaps you would analyze your experience and pinpoint what went wrong to allow me access to your mind."

She blinked, and cast her mind back. "Um, well at first I didn't feel anything at all. I was meditating; I took some classes last summer. And I was just centering down on my breath when suddenly it was like something tickled in my mind, an itch I couldn't scratch."

He nodded. "You were barely passable the first ten seconds of my attempt at your memories. Your mistake is in focusing too much on your breath. Tell me, what does your breath do?"

His odd question threw her off. "My _breath? _It supplies oxygen for chemical processes to occur in my body Sir, which keeps me physically alive. It's something involuntary, we don't need to consciously think about taking each breath, but- oh!" Hermione's eyes lit. "Breath. It's like the wind of the earth, sir. So when I thought of breath, you thought of wind and managed to ripple the thought-lake of my mind and get in."

"Congratulations, Miss Granger. You've proven more adequate than Potter. Keep going."

His insult to Harry fell to the wayside. He had, in his own way, _complimented _her! Smiling inwardly, she continued. "Well, the memories seem to be so _random. _You picked the memories out in chronological order, and that's about all I can see in its similarities. I thought there was supposed to be a rhyme and reason for the memories you access."

Taking up his familiar lecturing voice, Professor Snape began to pace in front of her restlessly. "I did not look for any memory in particular this time. That is why there seems to be little relating each memory to the next. However, the human mind is one that works in lists and orders, and going chronologically will be a well-traversed synapse pathway of the brain, easier to access. There was, however, a connecting thread between each memory." He looked at her.

"Well if you didn't specifically pick out memories, the only way you viewed those particular memories and not others would be because _I _somehow picked them out for you and presented them subconsciously. Hmm…"

Hermione frowned and chewed her bottom lip absently. There was a tense quiet moment, as her brain churned furiously to analyze each seemingly disparate memory, and then it clicked. "_That's it!" _

"Well, Miss Granger. Care to explain your epiphany?"

His haughty tone slid right off like water on a duck. She was too excited by her new insight. "Sir, since you didn't give me a prompt to search my memories, I prompted myself. My first memory deals with longing, the desire to fit in. That was when I wasn't pretending to be someone else in school, not yet. Now I'm acting and fooling my best friends, and that wanting to be understood and to fit in again must have subconsciously dug up the old memory. In _that _memory, I was reading, so that naturally led to another distinguishing instance when I was reading—this time, my introduction into the magical world. That was initiated by my invitation to Hogwarts, so I found my next memory in Hogwarts, and once again to the early feelings of not belonging or loneliness, and the homesickness for my parents, which then led to the clearest memory of my parents, which is when you saved them and they Portkeyed to safety. _That _brought you into the picture, which led to Potions class of course since I associate you with Potions. It's so _logical, _Sir!"

Hermione could not contain her enthusiasm at that point, and it bubbled over in a huge grin that threatened to conquer her face entirely.

Professor Snape's expression hardened in disgust at her display of "childishness," even as he reluctantly nodded, but she felt as if even his most menacing glare would not serve as a deterrent to her good mood at discovering the flow of memories.

**--break--**

She didn't feel that way after the rest of her Occlumency session. Why, oh why had she ever thought she could master it when Harry could not? Her head ached terribly, and her body had various bruises from the effort of breaking herself of Professor Snape's magically penetrating gaze, and her beginning of emptiness never lasted longer than ten seconds at the most before Professor Snape broke through in a chink in her focus. He also directed her flow of memories, and had managed to see a sequence of memories about her friendless first years at her Muggle school before she found kindred souls in Julia and Sofi, as well as a series of memories about her imaginary friend the pink cat Coral, culminating in her actually accidentally turning her neighbor's pet cat hot pink, and finally, several memories of the recent week mimicking her grief in the common room, in the Great Hall, crying on Harry's shoulder while Ron patted her…

Professor Snape had sneered at the last set of memories and sent her off with a warning to practice focusing on absolutely _nothing _at all before sleeping each night. Just before she exited, he handed her a bottle. "Headache potion," he said abruptly. "Keep it, and take two drops after every session we have until no longer necessary."

Pathetically grateful, she bid him good night and walked up to the Gryffindor Dormitory.

**--break--**

Down in his dungeons, safely locked away in his bedroom with strong silencing charms in place, Severus Snape laughed uncontrollably.

The image of the simpering Muggle woman gaping in horror at her handsome hot pink cat was priceless. He almost wished he could give Miss Granger ten points to Gryffindor for having shown him the vision of "Coral", albeit unwillingly. As he fell asleep, he thought to himself, _I should have known that Miss Granger's first manifestation of magic would be as spectacular and obnoxiously blatant as she is, and just as powerful without any prior minor magics or extenuating circumstances like being in danger…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: This beautiful world is courtesy of JKR, bow down to her**

**Thank you for all your kind reviews! Your comments always make my day. The calming potion in Albus Dumbledore's sweets aren't my invention, and again I really have no idea where I picked it up—I read too many fan fiction pieces, so I'm sorry if I plagiarized your idea! Without further ado, I present chapter three!!**

_I am hopelessly inadequate. Completely incompetent. I'll never be able to get the hang of shielding my mind; it was pure madness for me to even think I could! _Frustrated with her sixth lesson with Professor Snape with no sign of improvement, Hermione was ready to explode. Not an iota of improvement: just Professor Snape being able to access virtually all of her childhood memories and a significant amount of her memories of her time in Hogwarts as well.

She had studied every book in the library, and even obtained reluctant permission from Professor Snape to read two more books of Occlumency and Legilimency from the Restricted Section. She had meditated extensively, and particularly right before she went to bed. She was desperate. Nothing was helping. It was time to take drastic measure.

Hermione took out a sheet of parchment, and sat with her quill poised for a moment, composing her letter in her head before she began writing.

_Mum,_

_How have you been? Are your new accommodations adequate, and equipped the way you wanted? I'm glad to hear that you've been doing well, and that Dad enjoys exploring the magic use and similarities between the Muggle and Magical cultures. He sounds like he's having fun, and he hasn't had a good research project to sink his teeth into for a while._

_Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask of you and Dad. I have been studying Occlumency under Professor Snape. It's a lesser-explored branch of magic that involves mind-control, and if I can grasp it, I would be able to successfully block anyone out of my mind. I hardly need to mention that there are many unfriendly people who are trained in Legilimency, the complementary branch of magic that allows them to invade unshielded minds and access my knowledge in memories. _

_I have noticed many disciplines of Occlumency are similar to the Eastern meditations that you were so obsessed with last summer. I only took several basic classes, but I know you're much better than I am and that Dad was also starting to become interested in it in context with the Eastern methods of thinking, teaching, and culture. _

_Here's my confession, after my long explanation. I am doing quite poorly in mastering Occlumency—I haven't improved since the start of my first session, and it's been several weeks now. I've tried all the usual methods of research and time and practice, and nothing seems to work. Would you and Dad mind mulling this over, and perhaps devising a good "work-out" for my mind in control and emptiness? Ask Dad if he ever did dig in depth on the differences between the Eastern and Western way of using magic. The Western way isn't working for me, and I've found some obscure references that lead me to think that the mind magics originated in the East, and only these two particular branches made it here and evolved into the modified form we have today in Great Britain. If we can attack this with a solution from the East, I think it might just work for me. _

_I miss you tons. It's so hard to lie to Harry and Ron, and Ginny and everyone here. I've already told you about the reactions of the Slytherins—they haven't gotten any better. The seventh years in particular, a few of them keep looking at me with an expression that makes me very uneasy. Funny, I would have thought that it would be Malfoy giving me the most problems, but other than the occasional sneer, he steers clear of me and I of him. He hasn't called me anything drastic, other than Mudblood, which frankly is getting as stale as "stupid" and "freak" did back home. Other than that, neither he nor his posse has tried anything funny._

_Well, I am going to go blast something to smithereens. Perhaps that will make me feel better. I know, it's not very nice, but sometimes a girl needs to be a little violent to express herself and feel better…_

_Love, _

_Hermione. _

Nodding in satisfaction, Hermione carefully sealed the parchment in her modified version of the Muggle envelopes she had brought back with her to Hogwarts. She had never liked how mail could simply be delivered rolled up, ready to be read by anyone who knew how to get past the latent hexes. There were only so many hexes one could cram onto the magical field of the parchment before it wasn't able to hold another spell and was practically unstable and ready to explode. With the envelopes she had enchanted, there was an extra layer of paper for her spells to cling to and the glue she used to stick the lid down was very strong superglue. Only her parents would be able to, by the virtue of their fingerprint, tear open the envelope without setting off the various protective spells and booby traps she had placed on both letter and envelope.

Having sealed her letter, she placed it in her drawer ready to take to Professor Dumbledore, and then went to go change. It was Saturday afternoon, and Harry and Ron both were probably enjoying the Quidditch Pitch and a pick-up game. Hermione snickered at that—such Muggle terms applying to the Magical sport. She, however, was not interested in Quidditch and in her annoyed state, she would be unable to concentrate on her homework or studies, or even the research project she had actually started as a cover for her meetings with Professor Snape. There was only one way she could deal with the bottled emotions. And it meant extra stealth and a change of clothes.

**--break--**

Dressed in black spandex with her cloak around her to hide her unusual state of dress, Hermione tied her hair back firmly, using a handy charm she had found in Lavender's book of beauty tips to make sure her hair would stay secure and out of the way. Then she peeked out of the Gryffindor Dormitory, and satisfied that no one was in the corridors, she quietly made her way to her destination: the Room of Requirement.

Pacing in front of the wall, she thought hard about what she needed, and grinned when the door popped into existence. She entered, breathing a sigh of anticipation.

The room looked like it had been thrown together randomly from places around the world. A section was outfitted like the most current gym that was so popular with her American relatives, with treadmill and weight machines and bizarre contraptions meant to increase fitness. Another corner came straight out of a Buddhist temple, down to the simple mat, incense waiting to be lit, and the jovial and serene statues. The far wall housed a glorious stained glass window, throwing that area of the room into beautiful flickering colors, and closest to her she found a dummy figure and bare space, nothing more.

She began stretching out, before moving to the treadmill. She still didn't know how these electrical appliances worked in the Room of Requirement, in the middle of magical Hogwarts, when nothing else battery- or electrical-run she had brought back with her had. She didn't question too deeply though, grateful for the convenience of the Muggle devices she was accustomed to. Settling into a deep, enduring striding pace, Hermione began to reflect.

She had never told Harry and Ron many things about her life, including this aspect of it. At first, it was because she wanted to be liked. They only seemed to become friends with her _after _she had needed saving, and she didn't intend to tell them that while she wasn't quite up to a troll, she certainly could and would defend herself against many things, even physically. Her parents had made sure of that when it became plain that the bullying wouldn't go away just by telling the teacher. She soon earned a reputation as a little demon in playground fights, and while her classmates might have verbally taunted her, they _never _attempted to attack her physically.

Then, after her friendship with Harry and Ron was rock solid, she had been reluctant to divulge, feeling foolish for engaging in something so—_Muggle. _She wanted to belong, damn it! Harry might understand, he had been brought up with the concept of gyms and fitness after all, and he knew about defending oneself against bullies. But Ron would be bemused, and consider it another of her "little Muggle quirks".

One thing she had learned in her years in the Magical world was that prejudice came in all forms, and the Pureblood stance taken by Malfoy and many Slytherins was simply the most radical and extreme of the views being stated most loudly. Others who had grown up in the Magical world discriminated against Muggles all the time, without even meaning to. It was in the way Muggle Studies focused on how Muggles managed to scrape by without the use of magic instead of how Muggles had given birth to the most renowned philosophers, inventors, and thinkers as well as the brilliant technologies just as magical in its own way as magic. It was in how people like Ron and Lavender considered anything Muggle "quaint" and "curious," but very odd and quite of little significance. It was in how, when others asked her what she envisioned in her future, everyone had questioned her in disbelief when she revealed that she wanted to go to a Muggle university, perhaps even get a job in the Muggle world later on for a while. She couldn't fathom the idea of being completely removed from her heritage and her world. In a way, it was like she lived in a dream (though not always the pleasantest of dreams) for several months out of the year before returning to the "real world" among her parents and Sofi and Julia.

The machine beeped at her, and Hermione jolted before realizing that her timed forty-five minutes at the treadmill was up. Jumping off, her legs slightly wobbly from the exertion and suddenly stillness of the floor after the movement of the treadmill, she wiped the sweat off her face and stretched out again before turning to weight lifting. Here, she did not excel. She had never been, and never would be, an avid weight lifter. Still, it didn't hurt to keep her muscles in shape since she never received any exercise in Hogwarts. Other than the occasional running around after Voldemort, of course.

**--break--**

She was out of breath and panting now, having completed her initial general fitness training. It was time to really get down to business. Settling on the simple prayer mat, Hermione closed her eyes and fell into her usual pattern of deep breathing, whitewashing her mind of everything. It took her a while to snap into her centered state after having exercised strenuously, but Hermione's eyes gradually become unfocused and her mind distant from the physical world and her memories and concerns. She wasn't always able to manage this—often, all she did on the mat was breathe deeply and stare into space. But each time she managed to do it, she reveled in bathing in the joyful peace that Buddhists called the "Stream of Consciousness" and Christians "the Holy Spirit". She rather suspected that Jesus of the Christians had been able to do this at will in an instant, and had been powerful enough to escape into this place where there was no time when he had been nailed to the cross. It certainly explained how his apostles had been able to experience the Holy Spirit without warning—a man that powerful, that magical, would have been able to literally thrust his followers into that river of euphoria.

Reluctantly, Hermione clambered out of the river, but remained in a light trance of hyperawareness, padding over to the final stop in the Room of Requirement. She found her wand where she had stored it for safekeeping, in the random set of drawers by the door, and tapped the dummy before her twice before backing away and taking up the 'ready' stance.

The mannequin wasted no time in attacking her, first with spells and then as she successfully parried and returned them, with physical force as well. Hermione was hard put to keep up her strong defensive stance against both spells and physical attack despite the advantage being in a heightened state of consciousness gave her, and soon switched to offensive. _Ground, center, strike! The most basic maneuver, and one almost no one in the world knows how to successfully perform. Without grounding and centering, one cannot strike—what use is a tree without roots, a building without foundations? _The voice of her martial arts teacher echoed sternly in her mind. Usually, when such memories intruded, Hermione faltered. Usually, it meant that her concentration, her ground and center, had broken—another sign of her inadequacy in Occlumency and the mind magics.

Today, to her surprise, Hermione found that it was as if the river had returned, drowning out all memory that might surface in response to her teacher's voice. Instead, his words seemed dissociated with any memory. She snapped out a Stunning Spell, fully focused, and watched in awe as the black-clad figure crumpled. It was the first time she had ever defeated the dummy the Room of Requirement had produced for her. Suddenly, Hermione felt that she would be able to grasp the mind arts. It wasn't impossible. Much cheerier than when she had walked in, Hermione retrieved her cloak and left to shower and meet the boys for dinner.

**--break--**

"Damn it, Albus!" Severus snarled at the Headmaster, pacing angrily in the office. Albus Dumbledore reflected for the umpteenth time that it really was a good thing that the Silencing Spells around his office had been there time untold, passed down through generations of Headmasters and Headmistresses. It would not do for anyone to hear Severus berating his superior like a recalcitrant child. Worse, Albus knew, as he leaned back and observed his Potions Professor, that Severus was right in this matter.

"I told you that the Corwins needed more than just one Auror for protection! They were in clear _danger, _Albus, and one third-rate Auror wasn't going to matter a rat's ass if Lucius Malfoy convinced the Dark Lord to act on his behalf! To turn down a betrothal to the Malfoys is practically a death sentence—do you remember what happened to Celesta Blackwell when she defied her family and the Malfoys to turn down Lucius Malfoy's courtship? This was an entire family who offended Lucius Malfoy's pride in his bloodline, and they weren't about to go unpunished. Now Matthias and Charlotte Corwin are dead, and their daughter Skye on the verge of following them. The Healers aren't hopeful. And I had to _watch, _Albus! I bloody stood there and did nothing while my compatriots killed two people I respect and tortured and raped a young girl who was my responsibility as a student!"

Albus caught his breath, but said nothing. Severus rarely said much of what he endured in the company of the Dark Lord's servants, but once in a while he simply exploded. Albus felt his own heart tear even more as he listened to the description of what had happened to the family who had dared defy the Malfoys, but he knew that it was better to just listen until Severus finished.

The man gave a choked sob, collapsing into the chair in front of Albus' desk. "And you know the best part, Albus? It could have been prevented. Should have been prevented, if you had listened to me and assigned Order members to watch over the house. Or if I had realized just who your Auror was related to. Michael Dante, your Auror? He is a distant cousin of the Blacks, the ones that moved to Germany several decades ago. He was the one who let us in, Albus. We walked right into the front door, the wards were already all down and the family locked into the bedroom. They didn't stand a chance, Albus. Not from the start. _Damn it!" _

Softly, Albus handed him a lemon drop, the special ones Severus himself had made with Calming Potion. Severus didn't look up, but he took one. They sat in silence for an undeterminable time before Albus sighed, and broke the quiet.

"Severus, my child, I am sorry. Sorry for not listening to you. Sorry for having to put you through that again. Sorry for being so careless. I was concerned about so many other things—it gives me no excuse for such a serious lapse in judgment. I made a mistake, and it was the Corwins who paid. The Corwins and you, and I regret it."

Severus shook his head, mutely. He couldn't speak, and Albus understood. Severus' moods took some adjusting to, but Albus knew them better than almost anyone else's now, and he knew Severus having said his piece, would not want to ever mention the Corwins again for a long time. He changed the topic. "So, Severus. How does Miss Granger in her pursuit of the mind arts?"

Acknowledging the abrupt shift in topic and mood for what it was, Severus resolutely locked up the memory of the child's huge grey eyes staring at him in mute plea, instead focusing on his latest frustration. "Miss Granger started out well. She managed to keep me out of her head from the beginning, blocking me for as long as thirteen seconds. Unfortunately, she has not progressed at all. It is as if her mind refuses to bend to her control. She cannot expel me from her mind except for by casting various distracting and shielding spells at me, or being physically jolted from our connection. I am at my wit's end, Albus. It is not a matter of her intelligence, it is as if she can_not._"

Albus patted him on the shoulder consolingly. "I'm sure she'll get it soon, Severus. Just keep working on it, and make sure none of Tom's recruits or possible followers finds her alone for any length of time. The ghosts and portraits and statues keep me informed of her whereabouts at all times, and I thought you should be informed that she spends much of her time in the Room of Requirement."

"Why does she need—never mind, I shall refrain from enquiring what in Merlin's name Miss Granger needs the Room of Requirement for. I shall be on alert in case someone realizes her little secret hideout. Is that all, Albus?"

"Raring to get back to your potion brewing, Severus?"

"Of course, because brewing Dreamless Sleep for Poppy to restock is so enticing. I will see you at diner, Albus."

"Of course, dear boy."

Severus paused in mid-sweep, poised at the door of Albus' office before clearing his throat and muttering, "The Corwins died bravely, more like Gryffindors than I would have expected from Ravenclaws. Perhaps you are correct in assessing how little our House has to do with our character." He continued on his way, leaving Albus fighting back sudden tears at Severus' unexpected concession as well as his description of the Corwins.

**A.N: Sorry there's no H-S interaction in this chapter, but I feel like Hermione and Sev wouldn't get so close that fast! So I'm taking things slow, to develop a real friendship between the two. They have a lot of opinions and prejudice and bad history to overcome**.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Except for my own creations, all the rights and royalties for the characters and the universe go to JKR. Lucky woman. **

_Hermione Dear,_

_Don't be discouraged in your pursuit of Occlumency. We've asked Natalie, our Order Protection Force Personnel—that's their full name for the Order members trained specially to guard people and places, did you know? OPFP for short, though—well, we asked Natalie about Occlumency. It is part of their training, and she says that it took all of the people she trained with, including herself, the better part of three years of intensive focus to even initially block a skilled Legilimens. It was the Headmaster who taught them, I believe, but it was your Professor Snape who tested them after their training, and he still managed to break through all of their mind-shields in less than ten minutes. That's why they all have boltholes placed in their minds, before being initiated into the Order fully. If a Legilimens as strong as Severus Snape ever catches them, they will trigger a switch that completely and systematically destroys the "mind-map and all human order and organization." Your father suspects that it has a tie to perhaps somehow scrambling the neuron pathways and synapses that signal information. He would have happily pursued that line of questioning with poor Natalie for the next few days if not for your enquiry._

_Which brings me to mention the thick novel your father has managed to pull off this time. He was truly enthralled by your comparison of the Eastern Muggle meditations and the mind arts, spent hours in the truly phenomenal library the OPFP have provided us. You would love this place, Hermione. Of course, I mustn't describe it in case some one figures out where we are, but it has beautiful and unusual architecture and is very comfortable. Natalie is a very nice girl, although I worry—she is so young to be facing such dangers as an OPFP. It makes me worry about you too, Hermione. I know Hogwarts is safe, but is it safe enough? Evidently your Voldemort has penetrated its defenses before, as Quirrell and again as his hologram diary, etc. Be careful, darling!_

_Once again I've digressed, and I apologize. The packet. Your father has done plentiful research, both into the Magical and Muggle realms, and that is his thesis on how the Eastern meditations and the Western and modernized mind arts correlate, as well as the techniques of meditation. I certainly enjoyed reading it; some of your father's finest work, I believe. It's a pity it can't be published in the journal that he submits to when he's written a research thesis._

_I've enclosed a much shorter "project" of my own—it's that list of mind exercises you wanted. It should help; they come straight from my meditation classes and are very relaxing. _

_I would be worried if you didn't feel awful about lying to Ron and Harry, love. You've been best mates for years, and that should count for something shouldn't it? But your secret protects them as well as it does us, and Professor Snape, and Albus Dumbledore, and the Order. Whether indirectly or directly, you're saving a lot of lives by doing what you're doing now, and we couldn't be prouder of you. _

_Go to your Requirement Room and knock the stuffing out of some dummies, love. You'll feel better that way. _

_Love,_

_Mum (and Dad as well). _

_P.S. Hey sweetie, this is your father. You'd be dead jealous of this place; it has the most extensive library I've seen in a decade! I've been doing some light reading, and you know, if your Hogwarts Library has it, you should really try reading _War and Peace: A Woman's Magick, _by Sahara D'Alle_ _No references to the Muggle Tolstoy, the author just thought it was a cute trick to play on the Purebloods of her era, for them to read a Magical book with a nod to a Muggle. I found it intriguing, as did your mother._

**--break--**

"Madam Pince?"

"Good morning, Miss Granger. What did you need today?" Madam Pince looked up and smiled pleasantly, a look that seemed rusty and unnatural on her face. Hermione smiled back politely. While Madam Pince was usually grumpy, irritable, and snappish, with Hermione the librarian often made attempts to tone down the sourness. Hermione, after all, was at the library almost every day, and was perhaps the only student in Hogwarts who revered books the way Madam Pince did, and who took great care of the books in the library.

"I was wondering if you happen to have a book called _War and Peace: A Woman's Magick, _by Sahara D'Alle? It was recommended to me by a friend, and I'm afraid I can't find it anywhere in the library."

Madam Pince stilled abruptly. "_War and Peace, _by D'Alle. You're sure that's what your friend said."

Puzzled, Hermione nodded. "Yes, it was D'Alle. Why?"

She watched as Madam Pince slowly got up, and came around the desk to stand face to face with her. The woman's eyes, usually hardened with disapproval for students making too much noise or abusing the books, were suddenly sharp, piercing, and uncomfortably, surprisingly, very much like Professor McGonagall's analytical gaze.

Finally, as if having come to a decision, she nodded her head once, and motioned to Hermione to follow her into—the Restricted Section?

"Madam Pince? Is this book restricted?"

"Somewhat, yes. It's a very special book. Very special."

"Is it dangerous? Why are you allowing me to read it?"

"It is dangerous in the wrong hands, like all powerful things are. But I think that you may benefit from reading it. I may be wrong, but we will see. _Xin!" _

At the last, Hermione frowned and then gaped at the door that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, in the corner of the Restricted Section. Smugly, Madam Pince pressed her finger to a small screen by the door, waited until a 'beep' sounded and the door lock clicked open. She pushed the door open, stepping back to let Hermione in.

It was like she had entered heaven.

The room was enormous, with vaulted ceilings, dark wood furniture, rich velvet curtains and plush carpeting. It paled in comparison to the books it housed.

Miles and miles of books, arranged on long stretches of antique shelves, wall to wall, and even higher up there was a little protruding balcony running all around the room to access even more acres of books. Hermione felt like she had entered the Beast's library, from the scene in Beauty and the Beast, her favorite movie as a child. Madam Pince laughed at the astounded expression on her student's face.

"Miss Granger, surely you didn't think that I would stay at Hogwarts for a measly handful of tattered books on display out there and for disrespectful students, did you? These books are all either the last copy in existence, or rare texts, or the original handwritten journals and notes of people in history. Very few know of this room. Even the Marauders, in all their prowling, never found this place. It has been revealed to very few students. Consider yourself privileged; the last student to grace this room with his presence graduated more or less twenty years ago."

"Oh…my…" Hermione was speechless. She honestly thought her mind was going to melt, despite the exercises she'd begun doing off of her mother's advice.

""Your book is the original, in D'Alle's handwriting, with spelling mistakes, blots, cross outs, and all. There are only four copies existing. I trust that you will only read it in this room, and treat it with reverence." She crossed over to a shelf on the far right, plucking a thin vellum-bound red journal, its pages yellowed and curled around the edges from age, from the shelf.

"Of course, Madam Pince! I wouldn't dare treat the book with anything other than complete respect, you know that! Thank you so much!" Hermione finally gasped, timidly receiving the book and gazing at the faded red cover.

"Good girl. The password to this room is _xin, _Chinese for 'heart'. Make sure no one sees or hears you when you come. There's a Muggle fingerprint-scanner that recognizes a small list of people and allows them access. If you see me before leave the library today, I'll enter your fingerprint onto the system so it acknowledges you. To lock up, just close the door and say _Dao." _

Seeing Hermione's question coming, Madam Pince continued, "_Dao _means 'the Way' in Chinese, or it can also be translated as 'the word'. There's an entire religion based on the life of _Dao, _I believe. I was not the one who chose the passwords—they change every two weeks, and the teachers take turns picking passwords in appropriately obscure or difficult languages."

"Ah. I see. Madam Pince, I don't know what to say. I truly don't. That you would trust me with something as big and fantastic as this…I can't thank you enough!"

"It's my pleasure to share these books with one who loves them as much as I do, Miss Granger. If you have time now, I can leave you here to begin reading."

Madam Pince patted the red book fondly, before exiting and closing the door behind her. Alone in the wondrous library, Hermione could do no more than cross over to the enormous couches with her new acquisition and curl up for a good reading session.

**--break--**

Severus made his way wearily to the Library of Dreams. There was never a week that didn't pass that he didn't find himself retreating to the obscure and rarely visited library that Hogwarts hid.

Albus had introduced him to it in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had been desperate, seeking a quiet place where neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor would bother him. It had been one of his low points in life. His father had died of alcohol poisoning, finally drinking himself to death, and he had been the one to find him, coming home for Christmas holidays. Buried to his eyes in paperwork, legal jargon, and trying to persuade the court that he was capably of being his own legal guardian even though he was not seventeen, Albus must have noticed his composure cracking because the next thing he knew, he had been given the key to his idea of heaven.

_"Xin." _He pressed his finger to the scanner and entered with a palpable release of tension—only to jolt in surprise, not able to hold back the involuntary noise he uttered. There, looking _very _comfortable on the couches of _his _retreat was Miss Granger. And she was reading a book.

She jerked at his entrance, and stared wild-eyed and a little flushed at him for an instant before she seemed to calm a little. "Professor Snape! I didn't expect…uh…I didn't know you were…"

Since the girl seemed incapable of finishing a sentence, he decided to try to use his own voice. "Miss Granger." Ah, good, it still worked and showed none of his distress. Over the weeks of Occlumency lessons, he had found that he had had to work harder at being unreadable around Miss Granger than anyone else except perhaps Albus, Lucius, and the Dark Lord. She seemed to pick up on any hint of emotion or body language like she was an old hand at it; _good spy material, _his brain told him. _Shut up, _he retorted back at himself silently.

"Miss Granger. _I _am a teacher at Hogwarts, and trusted by Professor Dumbledore, _and _approved by Madam Pince. I am therefore, well within my rights to be in this room. On the other hand, _you _are a student, a sixth year and underaged at that. You are here with no adult supervision. May I ask just _what do you think you're doing?" _She trembled slightly, but he was pleased to notice that other than biting her lip, she showed no other signs of being distraught, embarrassed, or cowed. Certainly not the same way she was have done before the few times he had met with her for lessons, and berated her nonstop for her inadequacies. _See, you're already teaching her the first rule of spies, to show no emotion that will give you away…_

_Go away! She's got better things to do than become a second-rate spy and endangering her life even more than Potter has already! _He hissed at his unrepentant and rebellious mind. The problem with building such strong mind shields and maintaining them all the time was that without the normal mind echoes one naturally hears from the general population (never actual thoughts or memories, more of a general sense of emotion or intent) he was stuck listening to his _own _mind echo, much more forcefully so as it bounced off the walls of his shield and amplified.

"Sir. I was granted access by Madam Pince. I asked for a book that had been recommended to me, and she graciously allowed me entrance to this place. If you want to take up the lack of supervision and her choice to let me in, you will have to take it up with her but I can guarantee you, Professor Snape, that I will be extraordinarily careful with anything in here, as well as my knowledge of this library's existence."

She was openly defiant now, reverting back to her more Gryffindor tendencies. Foolish and defensive. "And how will you protect this secret if perhaps a skilled Legilimens like one of the several the Dark Lord has seen fit to employ were to corner you and explore your mind? What then, Miss Granger? You have shown me no progress in the many weeks we have been practicing. Initially, I agreed only because I thought you would be marginally better than Potter, but it appears I have for once overestimated your abilities. Are you able to protect the Library of Dreams from the Dark Lord if you were to stand before him, girl? Are you worthy to read the books within Morgaine's library?"

She was at once both furious and curious. He could see the emotions battling across her face. She was angry at the insult and his attack on her talent and intelligence. Yet that same intelligence wanted to know what he was talking about—she obviously didn't know the history of the Library of Dreams.

Curiosity won out, partially. "I am well aware of the fact that I am making no good headway with Occlumency, _Sir," _she said through clenched teeth. "I have researched into it, and believe I may have found a way to boost my awareness of the mind as well as focus better. I'm working on it as best as I can with the _little _direction you see fit to give me."

Severus watched her struggle with her anger for a moment before she did something unexpected. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and- _glowed. _It was only a faint glow, so faint he almost thought he had imagined it, and very brief. He didn't even manage to catch a glimpse of its color, as she opened her eyes again and addressed him politely. "Professor Snape, since you seem to know more of this room than I do would you perhaps explain just where I am and how it came to be here? It seems important, but I was too stunned by the books when I walked in to ask Madam Pince."

Bewildered by the odd, brief glow and Miss Granger's sudden _niceness, _he stared at her suspiciously. She waited patiently, looking up at him with no hint of deception or malice. Not knowing what else to do, he growled, "I don't have time to explain things to you, Miss Granger. Why should I?"

She remained unfazed. "No particular reason at all, Professor. But you seem knowledgeable about it, and I would expect that you would ensure that I knew just how significant it is, so that I have proper respect for it and proper gratitude to Madam Pince for showing it to me."

She had him there. Abruptly, he turned and walked the length of the room, running his hand absentmindedly down the polished wood shelves. "Very well. Do not interrupt me, Miss Granger, do you understand?" She nodded. "What do you know of portals?"

"Not much…they fell out of favor as a mode of travel centuries ago, I believe, before Floo was invented. A door would be created as a sort of gate from one place to another, sort of a way of bringing the two places to each other instead of the opposite in modern day Apparating, where you move yourself from one place to another. It needed very stringent constraints and a lot of magic though, which is why it fell into disuse. Is this a portal, Sir?"

"Yes, it is. You are correct, Miss Granger, as usual. We are not in Hogwarts, precisely, although if we step outside the door, we will once again be in school. Right now, we are somewhere thousands of miles away, in the heartland of India at the lost palace of Morgaine le Fey."

"_What?" _Pleased at her shocked response, Severus whirled to face her. "The Library of Dreams was the library of the historical Morgaine le Fey, who collected many archaic texts within her palace which lay buried somewhere in India. We have been adding other rare books as we have been able to, each person who knows of the Library of Dreams. Morgaine was one of the most powerful witches in Europe's history, and traveled extensively, Apparating country to country and finally settling in a hidden part of India while maintaining the appearance of living in England to appease and lull Arthur into complacency. She had _not _been on good terms with her half-brother and his court wizard, Merlin, and she was…innovative in protecting herself."

He paused for dramatic effect, eyeing the rapt girl who had once again sunk onto the sofa with her legs curled up under her. She stared back without a hint of fear, fascinated by his narrative and plainly showing it. He wouldn't admit it to anyone for the world, but that sincere attention without any intention of mockery or malice was like water for the parched heart he disdained owning.

"Morgaine is largely considered a grey or even dark witch. I'm sure you know that already. Even in Muggle tales, she seems to take on the role of the evil enchantress. It was not true that she was dark in the traditional sense though. Morgaine was raised in the traditional magics: her mother, Igraine of Cornwall saw to that. However, Morgaine found her powers more effective in the use of Eastern methods, and was shunned somewhat for the forms it took. Mind arts for one, even further than Occlumency and Legilimency, though after Nimue and several others—primarily women, for some reason—that art had largely died out. Elemental magic, for another, which was still practiced in obscure areas of Ireland and Wales, but was considered primal and uncouth by most of wizarding England and other European countries. She was considered eccentric for dealing with Elemental magic, threatening for dabbling in the Mind arts, but when she began to experiment with Blood magic, they ostracized her."

"_Blood _magic? But isn't that what the Dark Lord was using, with the unicorn, and with Harry's blood-"

He cut through her rant. "Blood magic, Miss Granger, simply describes a branch of magic that uses blood to boost the power or seal a vow. You may not believe it, but even today there are forms of Blood magic used legally. The Unbreakable Oath is a spell that uses blood to bind a person. The blood of a unicorn, freely given, can create some of the most powerful healing potions in the world. A maiden's blood, freely given and taken by the one she loves with her entire soul, creates potions of protection so potent that even the Dark Lord himself would die if facing the person who drank it. It was primitive Blood magic invoked by Lily Potter's loving blood-spilling that created that shield that saved Potter the first time he faced his nemesis, and still protects him today. She slashed her wrist before he killed her, and the blood she spilt lasts as a protection for her son. And you stand there and tell me that Blood magic is dark?"

"I…I…" she stuttered, and he found dark satisfaction in her discomfort, in repaying her for the uncomfortable feeling of his own heart stirring in response to her. She didn't look frightened which was a pity, but she did look ashamed, and she was blushing—from his reference to maiden's blood, most likely. He did not find it at all embarrassing, but then he viewed it merely as an ingredient with magical properties, like anything else. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I never realized that Blood magic could be as helpful as it is harmful."

He took a breath, let it out slowly. It wasn't her fault that this was one of his sensitive points, and that he had reacted to simple sincerity and attention so—_emotionally_. "Blood magic is like any other magic, like the Mind arts or Elemental forces. It simply draws on a more primitive source of magic, and therefore has more power. But it is simply that—power. And power can be used for both good and evil. Remember that, Miss Granger."

She nodded mutely, watching him as he continued to pace the length of the room, gathering his thoughts and composure. "Morgaine le Fey practiced strictly healing and protection with Blood magic. She made sure any blood she used was given with a willing heart, or she used her own. She invented several of the Blood potions that, if they could be reproduced today, would heal and protect just about anything. It is a pity that it has not been successfully accomplished in centuries, not since a rather notorious neo-Arthurian Frenchwoman skilled in both the Mind arts and Blood magic successfully created one of the protection potions and saved her husband from Lady Guillotine during the French Revolution.

But Morgaine's Palace was lost, and has never been found. We only know from some obscure texts that it was located in India. But Morgaine left behind one last legacy and gift to her favorite sister, Elaine of Garlot, whose descendent years later would become known as one of the most brilliant women of England, Rowena Ravenclaw. Morgaine left to Elaine's descendents the key to unlocking and stepping into her collection of books accumulated through the years—the Library of Dreams."

**--break--**

Severus collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed and exhausted. Not physically—the day had been a normal teaching day and the Dark Lord usually did not call him on weekdays except for crucial events and news. No, he was mentally drained after spending the entire evening entertaining Miss Granger's rapid-fire questioning on Morgaine, the Library of Dreams, Morgaine's studies in the Eastern magics, and a thousand other topics. He had stretched his memory to reply to many of her questions, referred her to books for the questions he couldn't completely answer, and had somehow been drawn into an actual conversation with the girl, albeit a lecture-style conversation. It was the most interaction he'd had with any non-Slytherin student since…heck, since his own graduation from Hogwarts.

He figured it was the draw of sharing information and knowledge with someone who so clearly lived and breathed it as much as he did that had coerced him into actually sitting in the seat across from Miss Granger and engaging in something other than dealing disparaging insults. It certainly couldn't be that she was so much like his younger self in a queer way, in her avid quest for the key to explore the wonders of the world, before his penchant for the Dark Arts and involvement in…certain regrettable decisions had replaced his thirst for all knowledge of how the world worked with a bitter kind of cynicism. And it certainly wasn't that Miss Granger seemed to be able to stir an emotion within his carefully walled away heart. He wasn't even sure what to label the feeling, so faint it was. Not the father-love and mentorship he shared with Albus, nor the sly banter and appropriate respect he felt towards Minerva and several other of his colleagues. Not the compassion and protectiveness for all his students, especially his Slytherins. It definitely wasn't the easy anger and bitterness Potter awoke, or the derision Weasley inspired. What was it then? The closest he could find was—he winced—Lily.

_Lily. _Her name still evoked a pang of sorrow and guilt, and he allowed himself the luxury of indulging the pain. He had _loved _her—first as a cherished friend, the only one he had in the world, then as a sister and family—and then it had somehow morphed into the love between man and woman, his first love and he had been unable to stifle it. Aghast, knowing that Lily considered him her full brother and would be disgusted, he had desperately tried to isolate himself by delving deeper into the Dark Arts, pushing her away and insulting her.

It had worked, briefly. Long enough for him to truly become caught up in the Dark Lord's false visions and promises, long enough for him to convince himself that it was _her _fault for wanting Potter—oh that had stung!

But what he felt for Lily as a teenage boy learning about love was not what he felt for Miss Granger—the thought was repugnant. She was twenty years younger than him, and a student to boot. To break the sacred trust between student and teacher as well as his trust with Albus was not only inconceivable, it was dishonorable and downright disgusting—taking advantage of an innocent, and Miss Granger as a student, as a young girl, and as a girl largely unexposed to the harsh realities, _was _innocent.

No, it was perhaps the most similar to his bond to Lily in friendship. Companionship. _Kinship. _That was it, finally. The correct label. Kinship. Severus rolled the word around in his mind a few times. Kinship meant finding similarities in character, complementing each other, understanding each other to a degree. It meant enjoyment in spending time with each other, in finding another soul with the same priorities as itself. It was exasperating, but perhaps not surprising, that he found kinship with Miss Granger. They both loved books, after all, and learning. They both found solutions in cool logic and reason, believed that one must always be prepared for anything, and considered honoring duty and obligations above all, he to Albus and she to her friends.

It was an inconvenience, but he could live with a one-sided kinship. For why would she consider him pleasant company? She couldn't. But barring a miracle, they would continue to regularly see each other in Potions class and in Occlumency lessons, and he could all too easily picture a working, crisp and clearly defined atmosphere conducive to both between them. He would have to keep up appearances of course, but in Occlumency lessons—yes, it might work if she managed to allow her reason to rule her sadly Gryffindorish emotion. A professional atmosphere, less disparaging and more instructive, might foster appreciation within her. After all, it couldn't hurt to have someone with Potter's ear favor him.

Slytherin sensitivities satisfied, Severus decided it was time to actually change for bed rather than just stare at the ceiling fully dressed.

**--break--**

"_War and Peace: A Woman's Magick"_

_Sahara D'Alle_

_Perhaps you are most curious about what this book is actually about. It certainly seems paradoxical, the title. Women's magick has never been associated with war. In fact, there is very little known about the branch of magick that women excel in. I hope some time in the future, this may be remedied. There are differences between the way a man invokes the powers, and the way a woman does so, and yet only the way of the man has been taught for centuries in our land of Europa. _

_Yet for a woman to use magick the way a man does is counterintuitive and not conducive to her own powers. You wondered, reader, about the title of this book. I tell you: this book is for the woman who is ready to learn how to invoke the forces on her own terms. And a woman coming into her true power is truly a woman who can begin and end wars. If you do not come with open minds and eager hearts, I say to you now, put down this book, and seek another. You will not accomplish what I set out to teach. _

_But if you are a woman searching, seeking to fill that queer space that we cannot name in our magick, if you are a woman willing to transform her life and in doing so, change those around you, read on._

_Read on, sister, and I will induct you into the clan of Avalon, where each woman can, with a simple woman's magick, bring about the greatest changes in our world, bring about both War and Peace._

**A.N: I'm not sure I'm quite satisfied with how this chapter flows, but I can't figure out a way of fixing it without making it even more long-winded. I hope you enjoy it though, and as always, tell me what you think! **

**I'm foreseeing this story turning out to be pretty long, considering that Hermione's only in sixth year and I plan to get her through seventh year and beyond.**

**I love all you reviewers! Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read my story and leaving me a message. It always makes me extraordinarily happy, and I don't care that everyone else thinks I'm insane for grinning like a fool at my computer screen. **

**--sylphides**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: JKR makes all the money. I make all the "could-have-beens." No money involved in that though, sadly. **

"Pass me the salt, will you, Hermione?"

"Here you go."

"Thanks." Harry took the salt from his friend and sprinkled it liberally over his potatoes. On his other side, Ron wrinkled his nose.

"Hey mate, save some of that salt for the others at the table!"

Harry paused, and gave Ron a fierce glare. "Go get your own salt, Ron. I asked Hermione for this, and I'm not about to give it up before I'm done with it!" He punctuated his statement with another vigorous shake of the salt holder. Then he regally set the salt down on the table and forked up his first bite, only to spit it out, sputtering and choking, grabbing for his pumpkin juice. "_Hermione!" _

"Yes Harry?" Hermione looked up wide-eyed, playing with her own food.

"You gave me _sugar, _you- you-"

"Me? How could you think that of me, Harry?" Hermione batted her eyelashes at her friend innocently before dissolving into giggles.

"Oi!" Harry indignantly dumped the condemned sugar onto Hermione's food. "So there!"

Hermione stuck her nose up in the air and waved her wand, vanishing the contaminated food. "What a waste of food, Harry! Haven't you been thinking of the poor starving babes in Africa who would give anything for a good potato?"

Her answer was sugar being dumped into her pumpkin juice. Beside Harry, Ron shook his head ruefully and continued eating rapidly. _He _appreciated the food just fine.

**--break--**

As they meandered their way back to their rooms to get their books for their next class, Harry noticed a small group of older students ahead, walking towards them purposefully. He cocked his head quizzically at his two companions, who shook their heads indicating that none of them knew any of them personally. "Wonder what they want," he muttered.

"They're Slytherins—it can't be good," was Ron's hissed response as the two groups drew near. Hermione kept quiet, but Harry noticed that her eyes had narrowed and there was a tension in her stance that hadn't been there before. It was subtle, but it was almost like Hermione was readying herself for a loud confrontation the way a fighter takes a ready stance for an attack. He didn't have time to wonder at Hermione's unusually grim stance though, as the group of seventh and sixth year Slytherins—five in all—stopped directly in front of the trio.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Mudblood's parents dead not two months, and already you're laughing and acting like nothing's wrong. Goes to show how much of a human a Mudblood really is, doesn't it?" The tallest, a brunette girl, sneered at Hermione.

"And still buzzing around Potter like a fly too, proves a Mudblood's idiocy. It was your association with Potter that killed your parents, you know. I hear they died a death worthy of their station as freaks who gave birth to filth!" That was someone else near the front of the gang, a dark and square-jawed boy Harry remembered vaguely who had a reputation as a Romeo of the seventh year and half of the sixth year as well.

"How _dare-"_ Harry began, taking a step forward. Ron followed, his face as red as his hair in anger, hands balled into fists. It was Hermione's hand on his arm that made him pause though, cutting through his blinding rage on behalf of his friend.

"_No. _Harry, Ron, stop. It's not worth it. Come on, let's go." She tugged at him gently, pulling them away from the Slytherins.

"What, are you scared, Mudblood? Running away?"

It was too much. Ron pulled out his wand and hexed the boy, and seeing five wands simultaneously come out on the other side, Harry went to his friend's defense, alternately shielding and hexing.

Harry, busy with spell after spell, didn't notice anything until he froze mid-spell, unable to move or talk. He panicked until he realized that everyone, Slytherins included, were frozen in their various positions.

"What is the meaning of this?" The familiar drawl from behind him would have made him groan in frustration and despair if he could have made a sound. Of all the people who would have to catch them, it had to be Snape!

"Miss Granger! Get off of Miss Cain immediately!"

If Harry's jaw could have dropped, it would have. _That didn't sound right, on many many levels. I wonder if Snape realized just what he said…_

There was a pause, and then Harry felt the lifting of the freezing spell, slowly. Still fighting the remnants of the spell, he twisted his body around to view the scene behind him. He gaped. Snape had his arms crossed, staring down in distaste at Hermione, who was slowly getting off the brunette who had insulted her. It looked like Hermione had been beating the girl: she had had a tight grip on her hair, and the girl, besides having painful spots that looked like chicken pox all over her body, was still trembling in pain from some other unknown hex.

"_All _of you, regardless of who began this fight, will lose ten points each person for fighting in plain sight of the younger years and setting a bad example." Harry looked around, and for the first time noticed that they had an audience—a class of small first years, all gazing in awe at the scene before them. Harry grimaced. _Wonderful. More attention. I bet this makes headlines: Boy-Who-Lived attacks Pureblooded Prats in Hogwarts Corridor. _

"Furthermore," Snape continued, "The Slytherins will all report to me after dinner to discuss an appropriate punishment. Potter, Weasley, you both have detention Friday with Mr Filch. Miss Granger, you have a detention on Saturday afternoon with me. Now scat, all of you!"

"But-!" Ron began to protest.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley, for talking back to a professor. Did I not say _leave?" _

Harry would have had continued the face off, but a quick glance at Hermione's white face convinced him to wait for another time to talk back to Snape. He had to get his friend back to the dorms before she collapsed. He poked Ron in the ribs, sharply, and quickly moved to flank Hermione, dragging Ron along with him and leaving the Slytherins behind him.

**--break--**

Back safely at the dorms, Hermione's trembling became worse and she curled up silently on the couch. "Hermione? Are you okay?" Harry was concerned. His friend had been devastated when her parents died, and she had been increasingly acting as if she were over it, and unaffected, like it hadn't happened. Now…

He glanced over at Ron, feeling helpless. Ron shrugged despairingly, but steeled himself and approached Hermione.

"Hey. Hey, Hermione. Don't listen to those snakes out there. They're just a lot of hiss and air, grasping at anything to ingratiate them with Moldy Voldy. C'mon, you know they're all like Malfoy, bloody bastards." Ron threw a desperate glance at Harry. _C'mon, mate, help out a guy here! _

Harry chimed in. "Yeah, Hermione. Although I wonder that the amazing bouncing ferret weren't with this gang. I would have thought he would never pass up the chance to hit a man when he's down. Err, or girl I guess. Maybe his influence among his fellow Slytherins isn't as much as he'd like us to think?"

Hermione gave a stifled half-sob, half-laugh. Harry eyed her anxiously as she lifted her head from her trembling hands, hair wild and face blotchy. "Hey there, you okay now?" He asked gently.

"Thanks, Harry. Thanks, Ron. I- I guess I needed that. I've been trying to block it out, you know? To live my life the way I know they would have wanted me to live, to move on and concentrate on succeeding and on doing what I could to help you bring the monster down. But every single day, I think about them. Every single day, I can't help but remember like it just happened, I can't understand it—that I'm _never _going to see them again. Never see Mum hold Dad's hand, or go grocery shopping with them, or see them across the dinner table. I _can't. _I can't comprehend it, it's like a part of me is- _empty." _She finished in a strangled note, and Harry's heart squeezed in sympathy. He and Ron simply couldn't understand the depth of what their best friend must be going through, he thought sadly. He met Ron's eyes over Hermione's head in mutual grief. Ron had his two loving parents who could and would defend themselves efficiently. Harry had lost his parents too, but the ache that the loss left was dulled by age and years. He could not remember them. His loss of Sirius was more recent, and something he tried to lock away and forget most of the time. Hermione's loss was fresh and raw, and he could only guess at the pain of losing someone who had taken care of you all your life and knew you inside out. Even he hadn't had that with Sirius.

"Oh, Hermione…"

She looked up wearily at them, her two best friends. "We're late for class."

"Just like you to worry about skiving off class, Hermione," Ron joked in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Hermione smiled weakly.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione. Me and Ron will go to class, and take notes for you, okay? You go and take a nap now. Or go to Madam Promfrey, that way you have a legitimate excuse for skipping class. She'll write a note for you. Hell, Hermione, the teachers should have expected something like this to happen sooner or later, its not been very long since…"

Ron interrupted, giving Harry a glare. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Go to Madam Pomfrey, she's a nice woman. I'm sure she'd write you a note, and maybe if we walk you to the hospital wing she'll give _us _a note so we don't get a tardy!"

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and made a brave attempt at a smile. "All right. Harry, I rely on you for good notes in class do you hear me? Ron's aren't worth a knut."

Relieved that Hermione seemed to be herself again, if a subdued version, Ron played indignant good-naturedly, protesting her accusations as Harry poked fun at Ron and they walked Hermione to the hospital wing.

**--break--**

_Chapter One: Meditations, or Preparing the Mind and Exploring the Senses_

_The European Wizarding World takes after the fashion that it practices the best methodology of magic known to mankind. In doing so, they not only cut off viable and potentially powerful forms of magick from their repertoire, but also stalled the evolutionary processes of magick. _

_You see, as humanity originated from the Fertile Crescent, spread first to the Asian world, and then to Europe and lastly to the Americas and Australia, so too did magick and the ways to use it originate and spread in this manner. And so the magicks that the Asians and Middle East practice today are far closer to the ancient ways, and closer to the source of power, than ours are. _

_Today, we use pitiful little branches with magickal cores to focus all our magick into being, into flowing through our body, our veins, our fingertips, to the outside world. But there are other ways in which we may tap into a deeper power, a more primal force, and it seems that it is women, not men, who have been given special ability to hear, smell, see, touch, taste, and feel that primeval power, and to channel it. _

_To begin, one must meditate. I teach you the words of the master of mind arts in India, who left behind the teachings of Krishna of India. These precepts for his disciples I give to you translated from the original, and explain their relevance below._

"_Seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, eating, walking, sleeping, breathing, the disciplined man who knows reality should think, 'I do nothing at all.'"_

_Experience the senses. Feel them. Breathe. Know them, and then activate a higher understanding—these things are nothing in the face of true reality, which is eternal and unchanging, while these that the senses capture are ephemeral. Acknowledge that, and let them float away. Cast away desire to experience more with your senses, it will not last. Instead, look to reality where one simply _is _and yet does not have to do anything to achieve it. _

"_He should entirely relinquish desires aroused by willful intent; he should entirely control his senses with his mind…focusing his mind on the self, he should think nothing."_

_Know the fleeting nature of the senses, and of desire, and cast them away deliberately. Do not want—it is of the uncontrolled senses. Instead, hone the mind to grasp firmly these senses and hold them in self-possession. You must focus, not on the outward experience, but inward, on yourself—and without the senses, yourself will be nothing. Emptiness. Tranquility, and an inability to disturb that serenity._

**--break--**

Hermione crept into the Room of Requirement to complete her ritual of meditation, exercise, and dueling with the dummy. She was slightly surprised that Professor Snape hadn't found her memories of the room yet. Well, actually he had stumbled across some earlier memories when she had used the room mainly to recreate her bedroom at home when she was homesick. But somehow, his searches were always directed, and always led away from the Room of Requirement and her secret. She supposed she was lucky he hadn't stumbled across it yet, or that he hadn't performed a general search since the first day. She probably would have somehow served up the memories on a silver platter to him. She wondered how long she'd manage to keep it a secret. Hopefully, until she graduated. She had spent hours at the Library of Dreams after taking a nap in the quiet hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye, and realized that the origin of Occlumency was much more than just simply "concentrate on nothing at all."

_Perhaps next time I have Occlumency lessons, I will be able to show some improvement. Drat! I have detention with him on Saturday as well as lessons on Friday. _Hermione pushed herself to run faster, angry with herself, the boys, the Slytherins, and Professor Snape himself. She had known that the group of Slytherins were coming to torment her—they were the same seventh years who jeered at her when Harry and Ron weren't there. She would have been able to brush them off if Ron and Harry hadn't taken offense on her part and waded in, and then she'd noticed what she was sure no one else but maybe Professor Snape had noticed—a pair of eyes, watching from further down the corridor.

And if she wasn't mistaken, those grey eyes belonged to Draco Malfoy. _Harry has a point. I wonder what he was doing watching, and not participating in the name-calling and provoking? _

Nevertheless, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, and had put on her best show of Gryffindor recklessness by attacking the brunette. _I've been wanting to plant a fist to her face for weeks now anyway, and I bet she was winded a good long while after I kneed her in the stomach. The chicken pox will have to run it's full natural course before she's better again, too. I modified that hex myself, and there are certain advantages to knowing Muggle diseases and medicine._

_Still. _Hermione sighed. It had been wearying to go inside herself and let her acting self take over. Grieving was _tiring. _She had fallen straight asleep without any aid from any potion at Madam Pomfrey's.

And now she had a detention to boot. _Lovely. Just what I need—to spend my time scrubbing cauldrons on a Saturday. At least I know how to wash dishes the Muggle way, since I do that at home all the time. _

Although she had to admit that lately, she had come to appreciate, almost look forward to, Professor Snape's dry wit and acerbic tongue. Sometimes he slipped and was almost pleasant to be around, like when she had bumped into him at the Library of Dreams the first time. She rather enjoyed engaging in intelligent discourse and debate with him like an equal. Harry and Ron were smart in their own ways, but Professor Snape was truly brilliant academically. He seemed to know everything she wanted to learn, and referred the most intriguing books she read during the little spare time she had when she wasn't with her friends, in the Library of Dreams, doing homework, or in the Room of Requirement.

**--break--**

Fawkes hummed contentedly. Albus sometimes thought that Fawkes seemed almost like a cat that way, with a more musical purr perhaps. He often wished he could swap places with his phoenix. _You have so much less to worry about, Fawkes. A little food and water of the best quality, a nice perch, a good view, and a warm office. That's all you need to be happy. You don't have to worry about how much your meddling in the lives of others will harm the ones you care about, or if the pay off is worth the pain. You don't have to wonder, if you had done things differently, you wouldn't be at this impasse you're at right now, with Tom Riddle. You don't have to face the stark reality in the deaths of good people like the Corwins, and you don't have to secretly recruit and train a network of fighters for the Order members. Fighters? It's hard enough to find people willing to fight, let alone spy. I'm afraid poor Severus is far too burdened, and yet he is perhaps our only advantage against Tom._

It was all too much. Despite it being midday, despite the heavy robes he was wearing, Albus Dumbledore thought of the future and felt cold.

**A.N.: A little shorter this time, but I thought you guys would rather a short chapter now than a longer one in another week or more…**

**The quotations from my fictional D'Alle War and Peace book on meditation is actually straight from a translated version of the Bhagavad-Gita, an Indian epic about a prince who must kill many of his family members in battle, and his charioteer-advisor, Krishna, who is a divine being in human form. Krishna encourages the prince to fight bravely without emotion or attachment, performing his duty as a warrior. It's a great philosophical-theological text. Look out for more themes from it in coming chapters!**

**Thanks to all who have taken the time to review my story—you're all the best and deserve a nice box of Godiva chocolate. (It's just about the best thing I can think of, so if you don't like chocolate pretend I said something that you like.) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All hail Queen J. K. Rowling, ruler of the HP universe. I am merely a commoner waving a branch around and hoping one of the spells will actually work. **

"Honestly, you two, I'll be fine." Hermione glared at Ron and Harry.

"I still don't see why you won't come with us to the Burrow, Hermione." Ron looked slightly miffed that she had turned down his offer to stay at the Burrow for Christmas. Harry, who had accepted the invitation, was investigating her with a gaze too inquisitive for her liking.

"And I told you, some peace and quiet and time alone over break will do wonders for me. Not to mention the unlimited time to do some research for my project. Did you know that-"

"All right, all right, spare us!" Ron capitulated with a yelp. "The last time you described your _research _to us, I just about had a bloody anu-what'sit that Muggles get all the time!"

"It's called an aneurysm, and Muggles don't get it _all the time. _Besides, Wizards and Witches get it too; it's just called by a different name. You know it as a brain-storm, when the magic breaks loose from your mind-control and starts destroying itself physically. It's worse in the Magical world for that reason, because we have enough magic to do us serious harm. Aneurysms for non-magical humans happen when for whatever reason, the little elemental magic all humans have in great or small quantities turns on the brain."

Hermione sighed inwardly at the look on Ron's face. Once again, that Muggle-Magical barrier. If she couldn't even influence her own best friend to actually credit non-magical humans as humans with just as great abilities and intelligence as magical folk, how would she be able to in any way influence the Magical world she found herself in to respect the Muggle despite their lack of magic? Harry, with his Muggle childhood, understood her better as she tried to make her point, but only to a certain extent. After all, it had been the Magical world that had first accepted and acknowledged him, and shown him friendship and love. It had been the Muggle world—damn his relatives—who had shown him nothing but fear and bitterness and pain.

"You two have fun and write to me often, all right? Don't worry about me. Besides, Hogwarts is the safest place I can be, and most of the professors will still be here, and some of the other students as well."

"If you want to come to visit for several days, just write to us okay? I'm sure Mum will talk to Professor Dumbledore and he'll let you Floo to our place and back."

"Thank you, Ron."

"Take care, Hermione."

"You too, Harry. Make sure Ron doesn't hog all the food Mrs Weasley makes. Give your parents my love, Ronald."

She watched as her two friends hopped onto the Hogwarts Express that was taking most of the students back for Christmas holidays, and felt a pang of wild loneliness and terror as the train slowly moved away. Her parents were alive, but she had no reassurance that she would see them for years, or even at all if something went horribly wrong and either the safe house was discovered, or she was killed. Hermione harbored no illusions over her ability to stay alive till the end of the godforsaken war she had found herself caught up in. If the war did drag out long enough, she would be an adult and inducted into the Order. From her mother's frequent letters, she had heard quite a lot about the training an Order Protection Force Personnel went through, and it was grueling. The training to be an active member in the aggressive force and not just part of the protective corps was even harsher. And yet Order members and trainees died in skirmishes with Death Eaters. As one of Harry Potter's best friends, she could count on being targeted, even if she wasn't standing by Harry's side in any battle he was in, as she and Ron and privately vowed to be doing. They were his bodyguard, so to speak.

It was a dangerous position, and she was nowhere near the skill level of most of the Death Eaters, evidenced by Dolohov's curse, which had taken her weeks to recover from. No, Hermione knew that her life was very much in danger in this war.

She returned back to the castle, and feeling melancholy, decided to visit her new favorite haunt: the Library of Dreams. Madam Pince greeted her enthusiastically. It had taken a while, but Hermione had finally adjusted more or less to Madam Pince's hidden personality behind the dour façade of school librarian. Truly, she was eerily similar to Professor McGonagall, and Hermione was not surprised to find the two women close friends.

"The passwords have just changed again, Miss Granger. The unlocking word is _brahma-buta, _and the closing one is _jivatma._"

Hermione grinned. "Who picked this time?"

"Filius Flitwick. He had to use a translation spell to find a password that we could pronounce reasonably without strangling ourselves. It's one of the dialects of India, I'm not sure which. Brahma-buta has something to do with the self-actualized person, and jivatma is supposed to mean 'soul'. Of course, the last time Filius picked a password, it was in Thai and Albus' friend happened to be visiting and had lived four years in Thailand, and, well, Filius found out that the words he picked actually meant something quite different from what he had meant…"

Hermione couldn't stifle the giggles that bubbled up.

**--break--**

"Miss Granger." Professor Snape greeted her courteously as she knocked and then entered his classroom. "I trust you were appropriately careful about coming down here?" He didn't need to remind her that several other students had stayed back at Hogwarts for the holiday as well, including three Slytherins.

"I was suitably cautious, Professor Snape," she shot back humorously. Her weekly Occlumency lessons were becoming both a source of frustration and enjoyment for her. On his good days, Professor Snape was quick-witted and funny, and had her in stitches with his dry humor and observations, engaging and altogether much to easy to get along with. He provided intelligent conversation, something she had missed dearly when she had first come to Hogwarts and had not been able to actively debate with her parents, especially her father.

On his bad days…well. Professor Snape was just as quick-witted and intelligent, in a manner much reminiscent of a toothy shark on the prowl, or the coiled and ready to strike serpent his House claimed as a symbol. His vitriol was enough to make a hippogriff suicidal and give Boggarts depression and feelings of inadequacy.

Today appeared as if it would be a good day, and why shouldn't it be? It was the beginning of Christmas break, most of his dunderheads were gone as were Harry and Ron, and she knew for a fact that he was planning on devoting more time, now that he had some, on creating more difficult potions than Pepper-Up and bruise balm.

"Indeed. So I will not have to deal with my Slytherins questioning my sanity—or _yours—_in permitting the Gryffindor and Muggle-born best friend of a certain boy-celebrity to spend time in my company?"

"They will not, Sir, unless they have somehow managed to recruit that suit of armor down the hall into spying for them."

"Good. Sir Tinman has heart enough to spare my reputation, I'm sure."

Hermione choked at his play on the Muggle movie. "You just cited the Wizard of Oz, Professor!"

"I'll have you know I'm not completely ignorant of the world outside our magical boundaries, Miss Granger."

"Oh. Er- yes Sir. Of course."

"Now, where were we? Oh yes. _Legilimens!"_

_I hate it when he does this, _Hermione grumbled mentally has she hastily brought up her walls. They wouldn't hold for long, at the most several seconds. _Quick, what did D'Alle say about meditation? Experience the senses fully, instead of trying to shut them down. Acknowledge them, and then cast away the desires that go with them. Breathe._

She inhaled, and feeling the prodding on her mental walls increase in strength, searching for memories related to the Wizard of Oz, let herself fall into the pattern of concentrating on what she could sense around her, rather than the conscious memories that wanted to flash into being and present themselves to Professor Snape. Scents intensified, as did the relative quiet of the locked and warded classroom, and the darkness of the dungeons compared to the rest of Hogwarts. The air was not damp here as it was outside in the hallways, as Professor Snape had built up a strong fire and kept it going constantly. She focused on each of her senses, and then ruthlessly began to distance herself from the experience and from anything related to what she was receiving through her five senses.

She had been practicing each day in the D'Alle meditation style—well, technically the Krishna meditation style, according to D'Alle's citation of source. She had even The simple quotes and explanations on how to separate the frantically active mind which never stopped thinking from the still soul which held control of her memories and exerting the control of her stillness over her whirring mind had been enlightening, a new way to look at how to block a mental invasion.

Just two days ago, after weeks of patient practice, she had finally been able to enter that Stream of Consciousness at will, and not just by luck. She dove into it now, allowing her senses to overpower the rest of her mind, while clinically detaching her emotion, the key to her memories. The flimsy walls of her 'Western' Occlumency, as she had begun to think of it as, came down and Professor Snape entered her mind—only to begin drowning in the overwhelming flood of nothing but information being received by the brain. _Soft brushing of her fingertips against each other, pressure on her feet on the floor, feverfew, mint, honey, all various potions ingredients, dark shadows in the corners of the room where the light of the torches didn't reach…_

But no emotion, and no memories. She smiled dispassionately as she felt him desperately seeking for a handhold or foothold to pull himself out of her sensory flood. Didn't he realize that there was no point in searching? He would find no emotion, no active passion within her mind.

When she had started to read Krishna's ancient advice on the relations between mind, body, and spirit all clearly outlined by D'Alle, Hermione had gone on a quest to cross-reference the sources, and been led to two things—Morgaine's own diary in the Library of Dreams, mentioning a deep admiration of the principle teachings of Krishna, and one of the earliest copies of the text she had thought completely Muggle—the _Bhagavad-Gita. Shows how much Muggles can appreciate things magical in nature, despite their ignorance of the existence of magic. In fact, the growing popularity of yoga as a form of meditation and exercise proves that Muggles value the teachings just as much, in their own non-magical way._

She couldn't tell how much time had passed, but finally, Professor Snape stopped thrashing around in her sensory-stream and left her mind. She reluctantly let the Stream of Consciousness leave, but maintained in the state of calm and stillness and awareness. She looked expectantly at him. He was staring at her as if he had just seen her for the first time. She waited.

"Miss Granger. Are you aware of what you have just done?" He asked her incredulously.

She smiled triumphantly. "I think I just blocked you from entering my memories, Professor Snape."

"You did, Miss Granger. And not only did you manage to completely block me from your memories, you did it in a way that is completely different from normal Occlumency. I believe, Miss Granger, you have something you need to tell me."

_Trust him to be so factual and unexcited by my accomplishment. _Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't stop the joy breaking out in a humongous grin as she launched into an explanation of her research into a more Eastern mindset of approaching the mind arts and controlling the mind.

**--break--**

He was fascinated, and impressed despite his growing sense of foreboding. How had Miss Granger managed to, through nothing but several old texts, learn an ancient and mostly abandoned method of Occlumency? For months now, he had been unable to get her to block him from her mind for longer than a minute, at the most. That had always been an issue with Western Occlumency. Most people found it impossible to gather the will to completely grasp and hold the entire mind, and erect a firm barrier as defense. Miss Granger simply had not been able to concentrate on nothing and on her mental shields at the same time. It was the most common problem that stopped most from becoming Occlumens.

What Miss Granger had just done was nothing like the Western mental walls he was accustomed to. Instead, she had put up her usual paper-thin shield, which he had quickly penetrated, only to find himself assaulted by nothing but pure and trivial information. It was nothing like he had ever felt, being within one's mind and yet not finding any emotion or fleeting feeling at all. Nothing to grasp to pull him from the realm of the senses to the realm of emotion, which was inevitably connected to her ever-active mind. He was, however, realizing with a sinking heart and horror rising that he recognized, intellectually if not by experience, what Miss Granger had just done.

She had reeled off an impressive amount of books that she had studied intensely in her spare time. Foremost in his mind, however, the reason that had brought him Albus' office now, was the book by the infamous Sahara D'Alle.

"Albus? Are you busy?"

"Oh, Severus, of course not. What brings you here today, my boy?" Albus' eyes lit up as they landed on Severus, and he motioned him to take a seat.

"It's Hermione Granger, Albus."

"And what about our resident Miss Intelligence, Severus?"

He ignored the jovial nickname of the girl, and ploughed on. "Miss Granger successfully performed Occlumency today. She did so several times in a row, with no wavering."

"Splendid! I knew you'd be able to teach the girl, Severus-"

He interrupted. "No, Albus. Let me finish. The girl performed Occlumency, but she did it in a way that follows the ancient Eastern traditions, not the Western method. She drew on the stillness of her spirit and temporarily severed all emotion from her actions and thoughts, Albus."

The headmaster drew a swift breath. "Are you saying-"

"She's been reading many Eastern philosophy and magical books and journals. Not in the least is _War and Peace. _I'm sure you must already have known about it. You know the significance of that book and that author, Albus! What were you thinking?"

Albus sighed. "Yes, Irma Pince let me know that she had granted access to Miss Granger to the Library of Dreams primarily because Miss Granger had asked specifically about the book. I felt that perhaps it would be of use to Miss Granger…"

"You _know _that Sahara D'Alle was the last person short of the Asian mystics in India and China and the East who was successful in replicating Morgaine le Fay's mixture of Eastern and Western magic! You know what it cost her, learning the yoga and principle of detached action! She saved her family and her husband from la Guillotine during the Revolution with her innovations in Blood magic and the Eastern meditations, but she paid for it. I'm sure you remember that D'Alle slowly began to live purely in the realm of logic and forgot her emotions, her passion, that which makes us human? Perhaps it was what the Krishna devotees longed for, a release from the sorrows of the world, but she lost all she held dear in life, her family, because she forgot how to _love. _Do you want that to happen to your precious Gryffindor? Well, you've certainly succeeded in starting her down the path to a life with no emotion, Albus. You've created a wonderful weapon that, given time, will be able to kill thousands and feel nothing. Did you know that even as I spoke to her after she came out of her state of true detachment, she was still glowing brightly?"

Severus was aware that his voice had steadily increased in volume, and he was much too angry than he ought to be about the dangerous path Miss Granger was now unknowingly navigating, considering his only stake in her wellbeing was that she did not crack when a Legilimens invaded her mind. But try as he might, he couldn't help but feel fury burning in his veins at the callous way Albus had allowed Miss Granger to become entangled in such a dangerous branch of magic. Flashes of random memories played like a silent movie reel in his mind. _Hermione Granger, bouncing up to the stool to be Sorted, staring defiantly back at him for some undeserved insult or another, helping Longbottom not destroy his potion completely, a bright and fierce expression far too mature for her young face as she matched wits with him during one of their better Occlumency lessons. Eyes and ears absorbing the information he gave her like it was the bread and water of life. Yanking viciously on Miss Cain's hair from her position on top of the girl. Glowing as she blocked him from her mind, the alien feeling of no emotion within that mind. Crying as she fell off her bike as a child and scraping both knees badly. Turning her neighbor's cat pink. Debating with her father over a philosophical point. Smiling as she linked arms with Potter and Weasley. _

It frightened him, that a child, a mere slip of a girl, could have so easily penetrated the walls he had built around himself to protect his suffocating heart. _Kinship. That's all it is. A connection between intellectuals, a surprising similarity and too much time spent together either bumping into each other in Morgaine's library or in Occlumency lessons. Nothing more._

He sneered at Albus, who looked crushed. "Severus-"

"Tell me, what was your plan in creating such a weapon? Is it for Potter's benefit, as usual?"

"No. Severus, please listen to me. I did not mean for Miss Granger to succeed to brilliantly in copying D'Alle's meditations. When Irma told me that Miss Granger had requested to read the journal, I was apprehensive but at the same time, overjoyed. Do you know what a stunning work _War and Peace: A Woman's Magick _is, Severus? I don't think you've ever read it cover to cover. It was my mother's favorite book. She could not manage the Occlumency presented within the pages, of course, but the chapters that spoke of a woman's unique magic greatly increased her powers and her magical ability, once she knew how her power as channeled through a woman, worked, different from a man's. We are still a highly patriarchal society, Severus. The Muggle-born witches are worst off. At least Pureblooded witches, even most Half-blooded ones, are taught by their family from the cradle, and they instinctually access their magic much better than Muggle-borns, who learn everything through school. And yet our syllabus remains largely for a man's magic and how to work magic as a man, not a woman. I have not been allowed to make modifications for the witches, and so many of them struggle. It's why Miss Granger is so special, Severus. She exhibited, even as a young first year, the power a strong witch controls, and this while being taught only the magic of men! Imagine how her power would grow exponentially just by being taught, or teaching herself, the way her magic wants to work."

Albus looked at Severus, eyes fierce with an emotion Severus could not place. It was one that made him feel vaguely uneasy, as Albus crackled with magic. After a minute of tense silence, the energy died away and Albus sighed. "I did not think she would utilize the Occlumency portion of the book so well, truly. To glow like that, she must have completely taken control of her mind and cut all ties between her action and any emotion. I merely wanted to help, in my own way, to show a student the avenue she and all her female classmates have unconsciously been seeking for. Their subconscious knows something is wrong with how they work magic, and why there seems to be a resistance they work against as they perform magic, a wrongness that they know shouldn't be there. Miss Granger sought for answers in books, by trying to excel in her studies. Many other witches give up, and think it is how it is meant to be."

Severus felt suddenly drained of anger. The residues were still there, but he could not stay furious at the man who had clearly handed his student the way to a path of certain destruction with completely good intentions. "Well, the deed is done. Now we must find a way to circumvent Miss Granger from getting lost in Krishna's Nirvana of emptiness, while allowing her to continue using her form of Occlumency since it seems to be completely effective against any form of invasion. I doubt even the Dark Lord would be able to use Legilimency to find what knowledge she stores."

Albus gratefully nodded once in acknowledgement of the gruff rejoinder, knowing it would be the closest to an apology for Severus' loss of temper as he was likely to ever receive. "Yes, and I believe Irma can help us with that as well. She's been supplying me with a list of books that Miss Granger has read over the past few months, and it is quite a hefty number I must say."

**A.N.: Well, I hope this chapter is satisfactory for you guys! Some things are starting to come together, and hopefully after a couple more chapters I'll be able to pick up the pace and get to the real action. **

**As always, please review! It takes seconds, and makes me happy.**


	7. Chapter 7

**IMPORTANT NOTE!: Thanks to the observant reviewer yapyap, I've finally found where my inspiration for the Arithmancy equations mentioned in chapter two and in this chapter came from. They are from Caeria's Pet Project, a wonderful wonderful story I recommend highly, and she's kindly okayed me using her idea, so thank you to her!**

**ALSO, thanks to Danielle who pointed out an aberration in the timeline sequence of certain events, I've made an important change—THIS NOW TAKES PLACE IN HERMIONE'S SIXTH YEAR, NOT FIFTH. Got that? I've gone back and changed all the places I mentioned age or year, and I've even stuck a couple references to events in fifth year that weren't there before into previous chapters. Nothing big though, just keep the year change in mind. Again, thanks to all you observant reviewers! **

**Disclaimer: I do not claim JKR's work, I simply claim her fun. **

It was late, but Severus couldn't sleep, and made his way to the Library of Dreams instead. If he was going to counter Miss Granger's new success and knowledge of Krishna's Occlumency, he was going to have to learn the methods and techniques of it as well. It wouldn't do to be lax in that respect.

He carefully pulled the slim volume from its place in the bookshelf, and noted a battered bookmark hovering in the midst of its pages. "Shh! I'm Reading, Moron!" was emblazoned in red across the place-marker, and Severus smirked at that. Obviously, Miss Granger got testy if interrupted while reading. He wondered where she had gotten the marker. It was very Muggle-style, and looked like it had seen many books.

Curious, he glanced down at where she had stopped her reading. _Elemental Magicks, a Woman's Forte. _Perfect. His mind started churning, logically following a lead. The trouble D'Alle's book had caused might yet be solved by D'Alle herself, in the latter chapters that explored elemental magic. He found it ironic that D'Alle had arranged the chapters so the beginning, focusing on meditation and Occlumency and the mind arts, was what she had explored in the late stage of her life, leading to her closing off of the emotion. The later chapters of the book, dealing in elemental magic, blood magic, and so on were her earlier forays into Eastern magic, and dealt primarily with the utility of certain emotions. D'Alle had been powerful with elemental and blood magic, but had lost those venues of magic in her pursuit of the mind arts. She hadn't complained—it had given her just as phenomenal a power, but her husband and children and friends had never adjusted to the new D'Alle.

Perhaps this was what might steer Miss Granger off the one-track path to destruction. If she was powerful enough to master the mind arts, she would certainly be powerful enough to manifest elemental magic. Since elemental magic's crucial force was the human emotion, she might just maybe be able to combine the two tracks in a way D'Alle had not been able to, and blend the studies into a superb control over emotion but not a complete disconnection.

Severus soon lost track of time and exhaustion as he buried himself in research, yanking relevant books off shelves, writing down theories, and formulating a rough sketch of a syllabus for Miss Granger. He had lost his first friend in an obsession with the Dark Arts and all it offered as an escape and a power tool. He would not lose this second, odd kinship that he didn't dare contemplate to another form of Grey magic, not if he could prevent it.

**--break--**

"It seems all in order and thoroughly researched, Severus, I must say," Albus nodded thoughtfully, staring at the proposal and lesson plans Severus had laid before him. "By all means, implement this in replacement of Occlumency lessons. And I'm sure you'll find a way to impress on Miss Granger the difficulties that you spoke to me of, in the method of Occlumency she has chosen to pursue."

"Of course, Albus," he stated with a sense of irony. Both of them were dancing around the topic that had caused Severus to blow up the other day.

"Severus, I must confess something. While you were busy writing up this plan to bring Miss Granger safely to her full potential, I too was doing some thinking." Albus glanced briefly down at the hand, hidden in the folds of his robe. Severus stiffened.

"Your hand, Albus. How is it?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "You know how it would be, Severus. The curse was supposed to be instantly fatal. I'm lucky I had such a talented Potions Master nearby to concoct that vile stuff that has keep the curse isolated. But it draws on a man's strength, Severus."

"I'll spend more time researching a cure. It's Christmas, and I'm relatively free. The Dark Lord will not call us often this season, he knows that his followers will want to spend time with their children and their family. I'll get started—"

He was interrupted, gently. "No, Severus, don't waste your precious time and resources on something we both know to be futile. I want you to concentrate on Miss Granger's safety and training instead. And also, there's the problem of Draco Malfoy…"

"I have still not been able to get the boy to tell me what task the Dark Lord has set him."

"Well, we must continue to offer all opportunities to him. He isn't lost to us yet. And hopefully, the Vow will not endanger you in any way."

"I should never have taken that cursed Unbreakable Vow!"

"You had to, or your cover would have been as good as blown. You know your value to us, don't bother denying it."

"Albus—"

"Severus, I'm going to propose to the Order to induct Miss Granger into its ranks soon."

Caught off guard by the abrupt segway, Severus blinked. "Miss Granger? You're planning on bringing her in as a sixth year? How about Potter and Weasley?"

"Yes, I believe that what you have told me of Miss Granger's impressive accomplishments merit her belonging in the Order as a valuable member. Certainly not in the fighting ranks yet, not as a student still. But she has great potential, and I think she needs to be inducted soon. Not Harry yet, as his Occlumency skill is still a touch lacking." Severus snorted at that, and Albus eyed him with a humorous look. "He is not a natural at the mind arts like some people, Severus."

"The only thing Potter finds natural is riding a broom, which does not bode well for all of us relying on him. Quidditch is all very well, but the Dark Lord won't be killed by fancy moves on the broomstick."

"Too true, and how very cynical of you, Severus."

Severus merely glanced over at Albus. "Yes, well we all know that about me."

"I'm sure you'll be uncommonly pleased that I don't plan on informing either Potter or Weasley of Miss Granger's impending induction, and will instruct her to keep this a secret as well—once it's confirmed and I tell her, of course. Mister Weasley has a good heart, but he will find it hard to master Occlumency as well. The control to do so will have to develop on its own, and later on in Order Training."

"Thank Merlin. Here I thought we'd have students as Order members left and right."

"I pray that day never comes, Severus." Albus looked directly at his spy, eyes sorrowful. "And yet, I fear it will, and all too soon. Promise me, Severus, that you'll stay alive and watch over my children, my students, for me."

Severus' breath caught unpleasantly in his chest. "Albus…"

"_Promise me, _Severus!" The old man's blue eyes were no longer their usual twinkling light shade. They were dark, intense, and infinitely old.

"I will do my best, Albus. I'll take care of your students for you. I swear."

**--break--**

"Miss Granger. A moment if you will?"

Hermione turned at the by-now familiar voice. "Professor Snape," she greeted courteously.

"Please follow me." He turned brusquely and stalked off, leaving Hermione scurrying to catch up. When they had reached the library, the dark man nodded silently at her to enter first. She muttered the password and went into Morgaine's library, puzzled at the odd behavior her professor was exhibiting. He closed the door behind him, and motioned to the sofas. "Sit if you would, Miss Granger."

She sat. "Professor Snape, what was it you needed to talk to me about? It sounds serious."

"It is." He looked uncharacteristically earnest as he took a seat opposite her and fumbled for a beginning. "You successfully occluded your mind several times three days ago, during our lesson."

"Yes." She still didn't see what he was so troubled about.

"Have you felt any side effects at all since those successes? Anything queer perhaps with the way you perceive events, or your thoughts?"

"Not really, no. Although I have felt like everything was a lot easier to handle, the past few days since our lesson. Like everything in my life that was in confusion was sharper and clearer to grasp and deal with. But I thought it was just from the advent of Christmas holidays, Sir."

_It's already starting, then. _"Miss Granger, you mentioned that you had learnt your form of Occlumency primarily from a book by D'Alle that your parents had recommended to you. You practiced meditation as Krishna teaches?"

"Yes, Professor Snape. I don't see what any of this is a problem, though."

"The problem, Miss Granger, lies in the fact that the last person to successfully occlude her mind in this method eventually become so successful she literally could not feel any sort of emotion anymore!" Professor Snape finally snapped, eyes boring into hers.

"Yes, your precious author Sahara D'Alle from France first dabbled into elemental magic and blood magic and managed to save her husband from being executed during the French Revolution. They escaped, and relocated to Britain with their three children. Unfortunately, she was obsessed in following Morgaine le Fay's footsteps. She traveled to India, studied with some different sects of magics there, and came back with the dangerous practice of mind arts in its purest and most distilled form, from which the Western mind magics today are derived from. In delving too deeply into occluding by disconnecting action from emotion, she managed to block off her human emotion entirely and was never able to access them again. She attained Krishna's nirvana, a serenity born of not caring. Do you wish this for your future? To be at peace, simply because you have no emotional stake in whether your friends live or die, or if your parents survive this war? To never love, and never hate with equal passion? To be completely at rest at the cost of all human relationships? Is this what you truly desire, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was deathly pale, her hands clenched and shaking. "No! I didn't realize! I didn't _know _that was what happened to Sahara D'Alle, it just seemed a more logical and easier way to shut off my memories by cutting the connection that emotions serves as, I never thought that it would be harmful!"

"Where are your famed research skills, girl? You could have easily found Sahara D'Alle's life in any of many history books and numerous biographies, she was a unique woman and the last truly powerful witch Britain and any European nation had. You would have found a full analysis at your fingertips simply by _looking, _but instead you dashed headlong into danger like a typical Gryffindor fool. I expected better of a methodical thinker like you."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could barely see straight through the tears that threatened to spill. She was trembling both in fear and shock, as well as no little amount of fury at his accusations.

—And then just like that, she wasn't. She felt calm, slightly distanced from the entire tableau, and very much in control of her mind. From the look on Professor Snape's face, he had noticed her rather abrupt shift as well.

"Professor Snape, you may find it amusing to verbally slaughter me, but I'm sure you have much better things to do with your time and I know I have much better things to occupy myself with. You may find me again when you are ready to speak without insulting or impugning my intelligence. I was simply not aware of the risks involved in my endeavors, and I made a mistake in that which I acknowledge and apologize duly for. That is all, and there is no need for further argument or accusation. Good day, Sir."

She turned and left him, heading for the Gryffindor dormitories. On her way, she nearly tripped over a small first year, who took one look at her and rushed off, terrified. Hermione was a little puzzled, but dismissed the incident. She merely wanted the peace of her own room. Everyone else in her room had gone home for Christmas, so she had it to herself.

Entering her room, Hermione happened to glance across at the mirror—and stopped in slight curiosity. _I'm glowing. Very subtly, but its almost as if someone dipped me into a puddle of corporeal starlight, and I absorbed some of that. I wonder if it's the result of my instinctually snapping into my meditative state that I usually fight in under the duress Professor Snape was giving me—_

She dropped to the floor although the bed was only two feet away, vaguely noticing that the roaring in her ears was _not _supposed to be normal. _Oh, gods. What have I done? _Snapped free from the deep emotionless place she had just been by the realization that she had without thinking broken off connection with her emotions, Hermione felt pure terror flooding her veins like lava. She had done exactly what Professor Snape had been warning her about! Her shaking grew worse, and she wished, as she plastered herself onto the floor of her dorm, that her someone, anyone, would come and reassure her that she would be able to handle this. Because, for once, she didn't know, and that scared her more than anything else.

**--break--**

"She'll pull through, Severus. Don't worry. She's a strong girl, and she's always fought hard for what she knew was right. She won't abandon her emotions that easily."

"You didn't see her, Albus. Her eyes went from being completely an open book to complete blankness, emptiness. It was like I was staring at the eyes of an Inferi, without the madness. Even the Dark Lord's followers, and the Dark Lord himself has had some sort of emotion in their eyes, whether readable or unreadable. No human can just block them off! But it was like she was gone, in nirvana already."

"I imagine it was the stress of the situation that triggered the switch into the void. I do know something of what Miss Granger has been doing to prepare herself for this war, and her body is in the habit of reacting to her best defense, and clearly she's succeeded too well."

"It's my fault, then. I was just so furious at her shoddy background research on what she was studying that I provoked her enough for her defenses to kick in."

"No, no dear boy." Albus rushed to reassure him, and although Severus appreciated the fact, it didn't change anything. "It wasn't your fault, merely a combination of uncontrollable events. You were upset, rightly so. She was feeling panicked, and her defense mechanisms kicked in before she could think. No one's fault, really."

"What has she done to prepare herself other than research and master the mind arts?" Severus inquired, willing to leave the blame issue behind. Albus had never let him wallow in guilt, and Severus found it more efficient to skip it and wallow later, in his own company.

"Ah, I'll leave that for Miss Granger to tell you herself. She'll need to do so anyway soon—I just received confirmation from Moody ten minutes before you came in. She's been voted into the Order by the majority, and she'll be inducted at the end of the holiday before the students come back, if she's willing. And you'll be her trainer."

That caught Severus by surprise. _"What?"_

"I've discussed it with several others, Severus. We all feel that this is the best utilization of all her skills. She's already established an alibi for her spending time with you, and she's gotten used to you. She won't have to travel far to train in secret, nor will someone new and strange have to sneak in here to tutor her. She is proficient at research, and she's been given access to the Library of Dreams and she's definitely proven herself worthy of keeping the most dangerous secrets. And finally, you're the only one skilled enough to teach her how to control the new way of mind arts she's discovered. You can use that brilliant lesson plan you submitted to me to train her."

Albus twinkled cheerfully at the man, but Severus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Albus, my primary job in the Order is a spy. Miss Granger surely does not need to learn those details, nor does she need to learn the job. Isn't it more prudent to give her into the teaching of one of the others? Not the OPFP of course, or the Aurors—that will involve too much fighting and she's still a student. But perhaps with the Healers, or among the Researchers or Strategists? Septima could use an assistant with all the Arithmancy equations for the war, or Poppy can always utilize an extra pair of hands."

"I could never pull a fast one on you, could I Severus?" Albus sighed soberly. Severus didn't bother to ask what that meant. Most likely a Muggle saying Albus had picked up from a student, or on one of his summer vacations in years long gone by. Instead, he waited for Albus to continue.

"Severus, I don't like it any more than you do, but as of now we're neck-to-neck with Tom Riddle in this cursed war, and it looks like we're slipping behind slowly. Recruitments are low. People are afraid to join, afraid to do anything that will make them or their families a target for Death Eaters. Tom continues to gather strength, and there are always men and women ready to pledge to him. He may not be as charismatic and charming as he once was, but he continues to attract the ones who want power. The one thing that's keeping us slightly ahead is your information, Severus, and you're only one spy. We have several, but none actually close to any Death Eater, and none close to Tom, except you, and I fear for your safety every time you go out. No matter how much I hate to see it, I know that soon even children will be asked to make sacrifices they shouldn't have to make. Harry and Cedric Diggory have already done so, and soon the rest will follow."

Throughout the speech, Severus had been fighting the cold knot growing in his stomach. Now, he spoke, his voice flat and toneless. "You want to cultivate Miss Granger as a spy."

"Yes. Not within the actual ranks of Death Eaters, mind you Severus. She'd never make it there. No, I had more in mind simply having an extra ear and ability to judge people close by Harry so she can advise him, as well as listening to the others in school. When she graduates, if she decides to go into the Ministry we can have her listening there, or we could hire her as an assistant teacher if she so desires, and utilize her more in research as you said. However, I believe that with her unique Occlumency skills, she is in less danger and she jeapordizes the Order less than any other candidate I can think of for the job."

Severus closed his eyes wearily. _How had it come to this? _No matter what Albus tried to explain away, they both knew the truth. They were setting a huge burden on a child. Spying was a thankless job. Even the more harmless position of mole that Albus was thinking of took their toll on a person. And he knew, though Albus had insisted against it, that if it was unavoidable, if Severus was discovered or killed or both, they needed a trained spy to take over his position, to infiltrate the actual Death Eaters. And it would seem that Albus had decided Hermione Granger was the best choice, despite her youth. _She's just a child! Innocent still, despite all she's seen and done, even after the Department of Mysteries. Oh Albus, how have we come to this, deploying children to do grown adult's work because the adults are too scared, too frightened of their own shadows to step up and defend their young?_

It was no use arguing with Albus. The twinkle was gone, and a hint of steel was there instead—reminding that this was not Albus, the friend and mentor and "old fool" who liked socks and the tropics. This was Albus the general, who had killed Grindelwald, sent men and women to their deaths to procure victory, and was feared even by the Dark Lord himself. And Albus had made up his mind. So Severus murmured his excuses, and, heartsick at the thought of sending children to war—_especially Hermione Granger!—_trudged back to his dungeons to indulge in a rare binge of alcohol. He didn't forget, however, before he stumbled to bed in a stupor, to summon a house-elf to check that Miss Granger was safe and in bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: We all know that JKR is not going to pose as some poor college kid, so we also know that I cannot lay claim to any of the content of the world that this is based on. Too bad, too. **

Hermione flipped through the pages of the thrice-cursed book that had gotten her into trouble in the first place, frantically searching for any evidence of D'Alle's movement from passionate and powerful witch to detached and dispassionate force of nature. She had been in the Library of Dreams the entire morning already, and missed lunch in research. She'd first looked up Sahara D'Alle's biography to read an account of what Professor Snape had already told her, and glean any more details she could about the moment when the switch had become permanent. Then she'd looked up anything she could find on whether the disabling of emotion had happened with any other witches or wizards in the past. Apparently, there are been two less famous witches centuries ago, and their stories were hardly more than legends. And then there was the myths surrounding Morgaine le Fay, that she had been able to control it and not let either passion or non-emotion take over, but there was frustratingly little to nothing on it. Interestingly, there had been no wizards at all, and Hermione couldn't decide whether it was because no wizard had attempted the mind arts in this fashion, or because men had been more successful in controlling their ability. _Ability. _She had to think of that way, think of it in a positive light because if she didn't, she knew she would collapse like she had yesterday, and never get up again.

In fact, she probably wouldn't have had gotten up at all last night if a house-elf she didn't know had appeared and become distraught at the state she was in, and somehow managed to get Hermione from floor to bed, undressed and changed into nightclothes, and drinking a dose of Dreamless Sleep. The details were muzzy, but she thought she recalled the house-elf—_Minky? Mindy? Mimsy?—_babbling about Professor Snape, bed, and not taking care of herself. She'd have to ask Dobby who the house-elf was, and be sure to give the proper thanks.

But for now, she was buried deep in her research, and the quest for information was the only thing keeping her thinking somewhat sensibly and logically. And her brain was cataloguing the avenues of research she'd already accomplished, and devising the most effective method to chasing down a solution for her problem. _No. Ability. Talent. _She really had to find a name for that detachment that was neither good nor bad. Not Occlumency, that was associated with the flimsy walls of the European style mind barriers. _The Latin roots of Occlumency is Occulto, to hide, and mens, mind. What if I mimic something similar to name this particular—branch of mind magic? _Hermione didn't have to think very far to remember the particular state she'd been in yesterday. The predominant feeling had been on of existing in an utter void, where nothing truly mattered, and she had no desire for anything, simply small urges as to what she should be doing. _Vacuus. The vacuum of nothingness that's neither good nor bad. Vacuumency? I am a Vacuumens. Yes, that sounds right. There. I've accomplished something. I suppose it's a little hubristic of me to name an entire branch of specialized magic, but its better than calling it that scary nothingness of tempting serenity. No wonder Krishna's followers all wanted nirvana, it is so truly a luring thing to become addicted to: no worrying, no sorrow or fear or anger, just peace and acceptance and rising above everything. _

But her mental naming of Vacuumency wasn't getting her anywhere in finding a way to somehow "compartmentalize" her separate selves, the Vacuumens and the human. She still had yet to find anything helpful in _War and Peace, _although she had almost gotten sidetracked several times by some very interesting topics in the topic of women having easier access to the more primal forms of magic that drew more directly on nature, such as blood magic and elemental magic. But nothing further on mind magic, except for what had put her in this position.

Her mind whirred at a feverish pace, chasing down leads and examining ideas and theories. Perhaps she could find something, anything, that would reveal how Morgaine le Fay had managed it—or so rumor said, anyway. Perhaps she could write to her parents. They obviously had quite a library collection, including rare books since the D'Alle her father had recommended were few and hard to obtain. Maybe the solution lay there. She suppressed the insane desire to go find Professor Snape and beg him to make it all better. She hadn't needed an adult to solve her problems for her since she was a young child and her father had first taught her the basics of thorough research.

She did wonder what he had thought when she'd suddenly gone Vacuumens on him without warning, and dreaded the sneer and biting comment that she was sure to receive the next time she saw him, for being exactly the foolish Gryffindor he'd said she would be. The worst was, she knew he was right. _That's us Gryffs, jump first look later. Just like when we landed in the Devil's Snare first year, and nearly got strangled before I remembered that Devil's Snare doesn't like light and heat. _Obviously, Harry and Ron had been bad influences on her. She sighed, and jumped when a tall shadow fell on her pages of frustrated scribbles and stacks of books.

She looked up with a start, and it was as if just thinking about him had summoned him here. She fought to keep her composure, a battle she was fast losing.

"Miss Granger. I take it you are…looking into the effects of the magic you are pursuing?" The diplomatic wording gave her pause. Why wasn't he ripping into her for her obvious stupidity?

"Um, yes sir. I've been researching since after breakfast."

"I did not see you during lunch."

"Oh, I guess I got caught up here." She twisted her hands nervously, before realizing that she was fidgeting nervously and she _hated _nervous fidgeting. She stopped hurriedly.

Professor Snape went on in an abnormally gentle tone, "You should not have skipped lunch. Take a break from your research, and go to the kitchens and ask the house-elves for something to eat."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Oh, but my research—"

"Can wait," he interrupted. "Or, better yet, I'll continue for you while you take a break and eat and clear your mi-" he broke off abruptly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Professor Snape had thought the better of his choice of words, since neither wanted Hermione to _truly _clear her mind. "-eat and relax," he amended, closing the book she had open for her. "I take it this mess is all your notes on something semi-relevant?"

_That was more like the Professor Snape she knew, with that faintly acidic bite. _She felt relieved. "Yes, sir. I thought I'd look for information on Morgaine le Fay, since she's reputed to have successfully done what I'm trying to do. Oh, and I named what I do, since I couldn't find a proper one name for it. Just an unofficial name to refer to it by, um- yeah. If you wanted. I just thought-"

"Miss Granger, what precisely _is _this name you've come up for it?"

"Um. Right. Vacuumency. You know, using the similar form to Occlumency and Legilimency, only the Latin root is _vacuus, _it means-"

"I know my Latin very well, thank you Miss Granger. For lack of a better name and for time, we'll continue to refer to this particular brand of magic by your uninspired name. Now go!"

She went.

**--break--**

The Hogwarts elves had a long memory. Hermione Jean Granger's name had been marked down as one to be extremely cautious with in fourth year with her creation of S.P.E.W., and regardless of the fact that she had not picked it up again or done anything more than vehemently speak her mind for the past year, all of them with the exception of Dobby seemed reluctant to speak with her, or have anything to do with her other than provide what she politely requested with stunning alacrity before vanishing to wherever house elves go when they weren't needed. Hermione imagined an image of herself as seen by a house elf, and rather thought that it might be something very similar to her wearing an invisible Muggle warning sign: _Caution! Handle with Care_, or something of that sort.

She was therefore slightly shocked when Dobby tugged on her sleeve and whispered, "House elves wanting to speak to yous, Hermy!"

She looked over to where he was pointing, and noticed a large group of house elves all staring shyly at her, as if she was about to hex them. She sighed at that expression, but smiled encouragingly at them, and they in turn pushed a house elf to the front of the crowd. She seemed to be the elected spokesperson.

"I is Minny, young Miss. I is being sent to see Miss last night, and is finding Miss on the floor and helping her."

"Oh! I meant to ask which house elf had done that for me. Thank you very much, Minny, I don't know what I'd have done without you," Hermione exclaimed.

The house elf seemed to gather her will, and continued, "Miss is saying to Minny, 'don't tell the Professor, don't tell about needing help.' Minny has not told anyone but house elves, not even Headmaster. But Miss should know, was not Minny who went to Miss, was Master Snape who sent Minny to check on Miss. Master has never done this for anyone but godson, so Minny thinks Miss can help Minny maybe with Master Snape?"

Minny ended on a squeak, having rushed the odd request out, and then started hitting her head on the floor.

"Minny! Stop that this instant!" Hermione ordered, grabbing at the house elf. In distress, she managed to talk the elf into stopping the self-inflicted punishment, and then sat down wearily again.

"All right Minny. You've asked me to help you with Professor Snape, and you've said that he was the one that sent you to check up on me, is that correct?" When Minny and the collective elves nodded, Hermione couldn't help my feel a frisson of elation. Professor Snape had purposefully sent an elf to check on her, which meant that he had been worried about her! _Don't be stupid, _her mind whispered. _He's more likely worried what damage you'd cause if you stayed in Vacuumens-state. He might be worried about you, but purely on a basis of being responsible for you as an adult and as the teacher for a student. _In Loco Parentis _and all that. He would never see a student, especially you, as a friend, just someone to teach and tolerate. _

Duly subdued, Hermione focused her mind again on the house elf standing in front of her. "What I don't understand is how these two things relate, and what you think I'd be able to do that you house elves haven't already done much better than I can."

The group murmured and stood slightly straighter, some daring even to look at her in the eye briefly. Minny answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Yous must help Master Snape in listening, of course! Master Snape is Listener. He tells Headmaster everything he hears. He is Headmaster's house elf. But Minny is afraid all the time for Listener, afraid that one day the Dark One will find out and not be happy. Master Snape is good Listener, but is only one. Needs more and more Listeners to listen. Minny is hearing Headmaster tell Master Snape that young Miss is making good Listener when she graduates, but Master Listener needs more help now! Miss is close to Master Listener's heart, he will let you help him."

Hermione gaped at Minny's earnest explanation, her mind already dissecting the house elf speech into terms she understood. _Listener. Headmaster's house elf. They must be talking about Professor Snape's status as a spy, since a spy's job among other things is to listen to the enemy's plans and report them. I'm not too fond of the house elf analogy, but I suppose it'll do to describe the spy-handler relationship between the two. Unless there's something stronger that's compelling Professor Snape to actually do what the Headmaster wills, whether he wants to or not? That would be more like a house elf bond. Professor Dumbledore wants me to be a spy after I graduate? _She stopped at that, mulling it over. _I suppose I proved his point right_ _when I was able to lie effectively to my best friends, and for months on end, about my parents. If I can do that, I can lie to the enemy and be believable as well, I suppose. With my widely known affinity for social equality, he probably wants to place me somewhere in the Ministry both to use my influence as well as to gather information. That makes sense. _

Hermione let that matter rest, but didn't dare dwell on the next question that surfaced at the last declaration from Minny. She'd examine that last statement later, in the privacy and quiet of her room. Instead, she asked, "Minny, how would I go about helping Professor Snape listen?"

The house elves looked at her incredulously. Minny clarified, "Miss is always reading, students is not paying attention to Miss because they thinks she is not listening. Miss is having the _best _cover to listen to everyone! Miss can listen to the students! Professors is not around students enough to listen to them, and many older Masters and Misses are being called to serve the Dark One soon. Miss must become friends with them, and learn their secrets. _That _is how Miss must listen."

Hermione gulped.

**--break--**

She had an eerie feeling of déjà vu. She paced alongside Professor McGonagall, having been summoned from the Gryffindor common room late at night where she had been furiously reading the tiny journal with cramped writing of one Mariana D'Alle-Veronte, the youngest daughter of the infamous Sahara D'Alle. She didn't know how Professor Snape had found the journal in the Library of Dreams when she hadn't been able to, but she was grateful at any rate. However, she was now once again being summoned to the Headmaster's office, and as she stepped into the room, she caught sight of Professor Snape standing much in the same place he had been several months ago when her parents had been brought to Hogwarts.

This night, however, her parents were not there. Instead, she was ushered in and took a seat, and Professor McGonagall left again without a word. She sat in the chair, growing more nervous as Professor Dumbledore seemed to be lost in his thoughts and unaware of her presence, while Professor Snape, whom she had somehow come to equate with always having something either witty or relevant to say, merely stared at her fiercely with an unreadable expression until it felt as though she had never learnt Occlumency or Vacuumency, and he was accessing every thought and memory she had.

Nevertheless, she continued to sit in as relaxed a pose as she could manage, trying to give none of her unease away. Finally, Professor Dumbledore looked up and broke the silence, smiling at her reassuringly.

"Ah, Miss Granger. How have you been? Severus tells me you've mastered an ancient tradition of the East and blocked off your mind from all access, and given it a wonderfully clever name as well, Vacuumency is it? You're to be congratulated on such evidence of your power, my dear. Would you like a lemon drop?"

"Uh- no thank you, Sir. Um, Professor Dumbledore, I don't see how my mastering Vacuumency is any good! I mean, I see the benefits of blocking my mind, but Occlumency could have done that in a much safer way. Professor Snape pointed out how shoddy I had been in researching the methods I was using to practice mind magic, and he was right, Sir. I could have lost my humanity, the emotions that define our lives—I could still lose it if I can't find a way around it."

"Ah, but Miss Granger, you've managed to completely recreate in several measly months what takes mystics born and raised in the magic and philosophy of the East decades to learn, centuries and millennia if you subscribe to their further belief in reincarnation and the transmigration of souls, of course. Don't you see? You practically reinvented an entire branch of mind magic that's been missing in European magic with only the guide of several books to help. Certainly you are just as qualified, if not even more so, to continue on with the logical process and complete your research by developing a way to protect yourself from—dare I say—yourself? I have full confidence in you, and Severus tells me that he has offered his services as well. The two of you make a formidable pair, I must say."

She lost her composure and goggled at him in disbelief. _Full confidence? Complete her research? Formidable? Had he gone completely barmy? She wasn't some genius, she had slogged away months and months working herself ragged in meditation—oh, the irony—to get to this point. How on earth did Professor Dumbledore believe that a sixth year would be able to solve a centuries-old problem? _

But Professor Dumbledore seemed to think that matter closed, because he changed the subject with a cheerful grin. "Well, Miss Granger, the point of this meeting, wonderful as it's been, was not primarily to talk about your accomplishments. Or perhaps it is, but in the light of something very significant." He glanced up at Professor Snape, who finally glided out of the shadows and took a seat as well.

"You see, my girl, we've been keeping our eye on you especially for a while now. Oh, we've definitely kept a close watch on you, Harry, and the two youngest Weasleys as well. However, you sparked our interest even as a first year, when you managed to solve Severus' logic puzzle correctly and in a minimal amount of time. That was when you first showed us that you could think clearly and logically in stressful situations, and continue to perform successfully. You continued to show us your resourcefulness throughout the years, alerting us even in your petrified state of the basilisk, creating the idea of the DA, holding your own in the Department of Ministries against full-grown adults, the list goes on. This year in particular, both Severus and I were impressed at your ability to keep your parents a secret, and your flawless acting skills. With this new accomplishment of Vacuumency—brilliant name, I must once again commend you on that—we've come to a decision."

Professor Snape finally spoke, and his voice, quiet and forceful, drew Hermione's attention to his piercing gaze. "Miss Granger, where did you picture yourself after graduation?"

Caught off-guard by the question that seemed to come out of nowhere, Hermione stuttered for a moment. "Um, I, uh- well, that is, I-" _Just spit it out already, Hermione! _She scolded herself. "That depends on what the state of things might be then, Sir, with the war and all that. But if I could, I would love to go to a Muggle University. I've always wanted to continue on with higher education. But if circumstances are not conducive to it, I thought I would like to ask Professor Dumbledore if Hogwarts would agree to allow such a thing as an interdisciplinary studies program for apprentices. I know traditionally people will apprentice to only one master in the one single art they wish to practice, but I've always been interested not in a sole branch of magic, but in the way all of the interact with each other."

"And if the battles drag on in a stalemate past your graduation, Miss Granger? Will you continue to devote the lion's share of your strength and work and heart to the cause? Or will you retreat to your Muggle ancestry? Or perhaps move abroad to a new magical community?"

Stung at the venomous accusations, Hermione shot back, "I would do everything in my power to contribute to Harry's victory, Professor Snape, just as I'm sure you would, as much as you hate Harry. I would die for Harry, if I had to."

He didn't respond to that, but Hermione thought she saw something alien enter Professor Snape's eyes before they became cool and harsh again, a state they had not been with her for a while now. It disconcerted her and made her feel as though what the house elves had confided in her had been utter rubbish. _Ah, right. Minny's request. I wonder if that's why I've been called in. Foolish foolish Hermione, I should have remembered this! I'll bet it's something do to with spying, or listening! _

"Miss Granger, what if the final battle were to happen tomorrow, or in a week, or a month? If this war were to come to a decisive battle before you graduated and had been trained fully in the arts of defense and offense, what would you do?"

"I go where Harry goes." Hermione's tone brooked no argument. "No matter whether I am trained or untrained. Ron and I will be with Harry when he faces that monster. We cannot kill him for Harry, but we can guard his back. Harry is, not meaning to be offending, neither more nor less skilled than either Ron or I in magic. We're all students, we're only teenagers, we've all learnt the same stuff. The only difference between Harry on the battlefield and Ron and I and all the other students who trained in the DA is that Harry is the only one singled out by Vol- uh, by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to personally kill for whatever reason. Revenge, twisted retribution, I'm not psychoanalyst. But I go where Harry goes."

She stubbornly folded her arms, and watched the two men carefully. To her surprise, neither seemed particularly angry with her for declaring her intent to put herself in danger "needlessly". Perhaps they knew that it would happen anyway, and they had no choice but to accept it.

"And," Professor Snape's voice intensified even more if that was possible, "if you were abducted or cornered by some foul miscalculation or misfortune, would you willingly destroy all your humanity and become the Vacuumens for good, to protect the secrets you held by virtue of being Harry Potter's close friend?"

She shuddered at his tone, and swallowed convulsively, but her answer was not hesitant at all. "Yes. I would. Because it would be better that I keep the trust of those I loved, or even once loved, and swore loyalty to. As a Vacuumens, the bond of love would no longer tie me to keeping a secret. But the bond of loyalty and honor would. They aren't really emotions, I've found. They are more a sense or state of obligation or duty, which is sacrosanct to both the Eastern philosophies as well as the Eastern mind magics. Because anything, including myself, would be worth sacrificing if it meant that the evil that is that snake would never be a menace to our families, our friends, and our future. Yes, I would do it."

She locked eyes with Professor Snape, willing him to see the significance of this, consciously letting the emotion fill her rather than rejecting them. He glanced away first, looking down briefly before glancing over at Professor Dumbledore and nodding.

"Splendid, splendid!" Professor Dumbledore smiled, breaking the tension. A knock on the door announced Professor McGonagall's re-entrance, followed by—Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Ah, Minerva, Alastor, good to see you both. Just in time too! I was just about to tell Miss Granger here what this little meeting was all about. Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, Albus."

"Straight to business it is, then." Professor Dumbledore smiled back at Moody, who nodded and then fixed Hermione with an examining stare. She stared right back, undaunted, and he eventually grunted in approval.

"Good. Have guts, you do, girl. You'll do. I'll still want a demonstration of what she can do, but I think she'll do."

Confused, Hermione looked over at Professor Dumbledore, who only grinned and said nothing. Professor McGonagall then gave her an appraising once-over as well, and Hermione tried not to feel like a first year again. "I have much faith in you, Miss Granger. I wasn't particularly pleased at the idea of students and children fighting in wars, but I think that if we must, you are a wonderful choice," her head of house said warmly.

A light bulb went off in Hermione's head, but she didn't dare voice her suspicions. She turned mutely to Professor Snape instead. He raised his eyebrow sardonically at her, but after a moment, contributed his say. "She's not completely worthless." Hermione struggled between wanting to laugh and wanting to scowl and stamp her foot childishly at him.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore spoke up. "Miss Granger, I have the extreme honor to ask you to become an official trainee-member of the Order of the Phoenix tonight."

She had been suspecting it, almost disbelievingly, since she had talked to Minny and the house elves. And yet, to be told this by Professor Dumbledore, with the tacit approval of what must be the senior and highest ranking members of the Order, was mind-blowing. Her mouth dropped open.

"If you become an Order member, you will not be allowed to tell either of your two friends, or anyone else," Professor Dumbledore warned.

"Are you willing to have yet another big secret from them, Miss Granger? Are you prepared to lie shamelessly and well to anyone and everyone when needed, and to endure torture and endless pain and death to keep those secrets?" Moody grilled her.

"Absolutely. I would do anything that would help bring an end to the cursed thing that calls himself a wizard and a lord."

Professor McGonagall picked up her lecturing tone. "Miss Granger, as an Order member, you will be sworn to secrecy during your induction, and will be able to tell no one of your status as a member, including your friends and family. As a trainee, you will not be expected to fight or participate actively until you have been fully approved by your training instructors as an adult and acting member able to take care of yourself. As a trainee, you will be assigned to either one or more instructors for special lessons in protecting oneself, others, and what to do in different situations. You'll also get lessons specified in an area in which we think you will most benefit the Order. The Order Protection Force Personnel, for example, would be one area where you would be trained specifically in protection, either in safe houses like your parents, or as a precautionary guard. The Order Fighters are the actual able-bodied soldiers that are just regular members skilled in dueling and in curses as well as shields and agile for a battle. The Healers obviously take care of our wounded. And so on."

Hermione blinked, taking all the information in. She had had no idea that the Order was so complex and organized, even though she knew about the OPFP. Professor Dumbledore took over from Professor McGonagall. "Being an Order member is an enormous task and burden to place on you, Miss Granger. We discussed this and debated for hours over this. It's been decided that you have unique skills we dare not wait until your graduation to utilize. Do you understand the consequences if you become an Order member, Miss Granger?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to take a Wand Oath at your pledge. If you break that vow, Miss Granger, there are serious ramifications that are more than a simple hex to mark a tattletale. Unless released, you could slowly waste away. Not as blatant as the Unbreakable Vow, but eventually your organs would stop working and you would die from all the minor consequences building up. Are you still willing to become a member?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm certain."

"Then we will hold your induction on Christmas Day, at night. Congratulations, Miss Granger." Professor Dumbledore shook her hand solemnly, and the others all murmured their congrats as well.

Hermione suddenly couldn't wait to get away from this too-serious atmosphere, and, as if sensing her attitude, Professor Snape sneered, "Come, Miss Granger, I will escort you to your dormitory. I believe, Albus, that you had said you wanted a word with Moody and Minerva while Moody was here?"

"Why yes I did, Severus, thank you. Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night and thank you, Professor Dumbledore, Mister Moody, Professor McGonagall. I'm- I'm honored." She smiled at them before exiting, following Professor Snape's impatient steps down the corridor.

Minerva McGonagall sighed forlornly. "I hate to see us at the state where we must involve children in wars."

"These children were involved one way or another the minute the prophecy was made and Voldemort caught wind of it and decided to act, Minerva. I do not like it either."

Moody, in an attempt to lighten the heavy sadness permeating the room, poked Albus roughly in the shoulder. "Hey old man, I hear that you're thinking of pairing Severus with the Granger girl. Is that wise, will she be able to take his teaching for so long?"

Albus winked. "Oh, I think you're in for a surprise sometime soon, Alastor. In fact, I think all of us will be quite surprised by what these two can do together."

**A.N.: I'm going on Spring Break for a week, so there will probably be a delay between this chapter and the next update. I'm sorry to do that to you guys, but I tried to make this chapter less of a cliffy so you wouldn't kill me. :) **

**A number of you are upset at Dumbledore's decision to cultivate Hermione as a spy. All I'll say is that in war, children grow up too fast—that's a sad, real, fact. Without giving too much of the plot away, I am not a normally evil writer. That's all I'm going to say on that subject…**

**Thanks to all those who've reviewed, it really does make a difference in how fast I get motivated to write more. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter does not belong to me, and is exclusively owned by J.K.R. Pardon my unashamed altering of actual events in her books.**

Severus blinked, his eyes gritty and watering from the noxious fumes that were the signature of the second-to-last stage of the Wolfsbane potion. He hated this part the most, as it was also at its most delicate state and even a simple charm to protect himself would throw off the entire balance of the potion and render it useless and instable. He'd learnt that from hard experiences. Instead, he made sure that he performed this stage late at night or early in the morning, when it was unlikely that he would be disturbed, and he grimly bore the hour of this stage. Thankfully, it was not poisonous or dangerous to inhale, merely extremely unpleasant. Severus sometimes wondered what was worse, the smell of the fumes or the taste of the final product that he bottled and presented to Lupin regularly.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the smoke from the cauldron abruptly ceased and the liquid inside flashed silver, the signs of its movement into the final steps. He had brewed Wolfsbane so often that he could let his mind wander a little as he completed it. It was six in the morning, on Christmas Day. Tonight would be Miss Granger's induction into the Order of the Phoenix, after which Albus would instruct her as to her training schedule. She wasn't the only one being inducted—there were two others, an Auror and one of Albus' old friends who was going to be visiting from China. The Chinese man intrigued him. Albus had not mentioned much about him, except for the fact that he had been very helpful once when Albus was a young man and adventuring in the East, and that he had specifically contacted Albus several weeks ago with an offer to help.

Severus now wondered whether or not this man was trained in the Chinese magics, and whether he might be of help with Miss Granger's predicament. If he knew how the Chinese dealt with the fine line between meditation and Vacuumency. He wouldn't put it past Albus to already have mentioned it to his friend. Severus hoped that the man could be trusted. He knew Albus was no fool, but he was also very prone to the Gryffindor failings in being rash and believing the best of people only.

As Hogwarts woke up, Severus decanted the finished potion, and set it aside to deliver to Headquarters later. After clearing up his work station, he went into his chambers and got ready for breakfast. Entering the Great Hall, he noticed that Miss Granger was glumly pushing food around her plate rather than eating, and frowned. _She should be eating, especially today. She'll need all the strength she can get during the induction ceremony and trials tonight. _Firmly squashing the thought that sneered, _Why should you care? You never noticed her before, unless she was making trouble with Potter and Weasley, _Severus rebutted with, _She's a student as well as a future trainee under my guide. I am responsible for her wellbeing at all times. _He strode over to the professors' table.

Several seats away, Albus beamed at him. "Merry Christmas, Severus!"

"And same to you, Albus," he responded courteously. Years ago, he had struck a bargain of sorts with the old man. In return for Albus' solemn vow never to attempt or even contemplate attempting to match-make him to anyone at all, Severus would be _pleasant _on certain occasions—Christmas day being one of them. He refused to be more than polite. He had a reputation to uphold, after all, and a spy never falters in his projected image.

As he dug into his own meal, he glanced down at the students' table again. Miss Granger was now swirling her pumpkin juice idly, staring down at her cup. He looked further down, and a flash of blond caught his eye. His godson was also staring at his food, eerily similar to Miss Granger. His head was down, and the mashed potatoes looked uneaten. _This isn't the first time I've seen him look like the weight of the world is on him. I have to find out what the Dark Lord assigned him, soon. _Severus stared at Draco until the boy looked up, eyes seeking for an unknown observer. _His reflexes are coming along, at least. _Meeting his eyes, Severus held the stare for a full minute, until Draco looked away first. _You'll have to tell me sometime or other, Draco, _Severus thought, watching the boy abruptly excuse himself and exit, followed several minutes later by Miss Granger who had given up on playing with her food.

Severus sighed inwardly. Both of his specific charges were in trouble or upset. A wonderful start to Christmas day, a time supposedly of joy.

**--break--**

He suspected that Miss Granger had holed herself up in the Library of Dreams, and he was right. She was concentrating intensely on an enormous text, curled up in her customary position on the couch nearest to the crackling fire.

"It will do you no good if you don't eat at all today, you know." She merely looked up, marking her place in the book with a finger.

"Merry Christmas, Professor Snape. And why would you notice something like that?"

"You weren't making a particularly impressive try at faking appetite today, nor were you participating in the Christmas spirited conversations of your mundane and petty peers beside you. One in my line of work must notice everything, and you in particular are of concern to me as a recruit and inductee."

"I see. Well, before you arrived I had a cup of juice and an egg, okay?"

In response to her snippy comeback, he left the library. She looked affronted, and then startled, when he returned moments later with a steaming tray between his hands. He handed it to her. "You will eat all of this. I will not have you embarrassing yourself and Hogwarts by collapsing during the induction ceremony tonight. You are the youngest recruit to have ever been inducted, and you must represent the student body of Hogwarts as well as your precious Potter to the rest of the Order. You need to make a good impression."

She blinked, and took the tray from his impatient hands tentatively. "But Sir, this is a library, I'm not allowed—"

"If you are responsible enough to be shown this room and entrusted with the codes to open it, you are certainly perfectly able to eat cleanly in a library, unlike Weasley, who has managed to outdo pigs in eating habits. I had one of the house elves bring it to me. They aren't permitted into this room, so you'll have to take it outside and call one when you're finished. Now eat!"

Hermione ate.

He had been planning to leave after he delivered the tray of freshly made toast and orange juice, but then she had taken a sip from the cup and her eyes had widened and then next thing he knew, he was being pelted with questions of how he had managed to persuade the elves to serve orange juice, and how he knew she preferred it to pumpkin, and from there, they had somehow launched into a discussion of Wizard culture versus Muggle, and then strayed onto a path of feminism, with Miss Granger demanding to know why it was known as the _Wizard _world instead of _Witch. _That led to anti-Muggle and Muggleborn discourse, and before he knew it, they had heatedly debated, discussed, and dissected numerous topics until his stomach reminded him it was long past breakfast and was probably lunchtime.

Regretfully, he took the tray and walked her out, realizing that it was ten minutes to lunch. "Minny!"

_Pop. _"Yes, what can Minny dos for Master Snape? Or for young Miss?"

"Take the tray back to the kitchens, please. Thank you. No, nothing else." Miss Granger had a neutral look on her face, but was looking at him in a way he had come to associate over the weeks with her equivalent of surprise and questioning. He raised his own eyebrow back in return. "Yes?"

"I didn't take you for one to treat house elves well."

"They provide service for me. Therefore, I appreciate their work. It is a simple code that _most _in our world had behaved towards elves as a whole, until recently, in this century when they became taken for granted and the age of powerful and dark wizards and witches began to tear apart this society. We had a proper code of ethics once. It has degraded and fallen to pieces."

"We did? Why didn't we ever learn any of this in class?"

"It was unwritten, passed down as oral law from father to son and mother to daughter. When more and more Muggleborns entered this world, they were not educated in our ways and brought more change than many purebloods could cope with. That is part of the beginning of the long-instilled fear and hatred of Muggleborns. The code became something that was old-fashioned, as Wizarding culture became conflicted between those of tradition and those who wanted to facilitate change and install the latest craze or popular culture. It is still recited to pureblood children when they are five and many are required to memorize it still, but it is only one of the many rituals that have lost meaning, just like the practice of the sword is one some pureblood families still train their children in but has lost its relevance."

"Pureblood children learn to duel with a sword?"

"Yes, and many more things. You would be surprised at how many useless things someone like Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson would know, or be proficient in."

"Really?"

Hearing the disbelieving tone in her voice, Severus turned to her abruptly. They had been in the doorway of the empty Hogwarts library, speaking in low voices so as not to be discovered by a wandering student. "Do not underestimate anyone, Miss Granger, and especially not those who may be fighting against you one day. It would be detrimental to dismiss anyone, even that idiot dunderhead Longbottom. Underestimating a mother's love was what destroyed the Dark Lord the first time. Do not make the same mistake."

He pulled away and briskly walked towards the Great Hall for lunch, leaving the girl standing and staring after him.

**--break--**

He did not talk to her again until ten thirty at night, when he and Minerva escorted her quietly and quickly from her room to Albus' office, and from there by Floo to the location of the initiation. He hadn't mentioned the parting words he'd left her with to mull over, though he expected that she _had _spent extensive time thinking about it, if only to distract herself from the upcoming event. Severus had made sure to observe her at both lunch and dinner, to see if she actually ate, which she grimaced and did after catching his reproving gaze. Now, as she stood rock still and gazed with wonder and curiosity and the slightest touch of apprehension at what was surrounding her, Severus turned to her.

"Miss Granger." It came out a hushed murmur, appropriate to their location. At her inquiring attention, he continued.

"This is the hidden portion of the Queen's Wood, in North London. It is protected by the Ministry, and shielded from Muggles. We are at the heart of the preservation, and this area has been chosen as your induction site. Each inductee-group are taken to different locations and are required to complete a series of different tasks, depending on what they may be expected to know or learn in training, and to test the person's strength of will and character and determination. First, you and two others will first be sworn to an initial vow of silence on all that goes on tonight. Then you will be instructed in what you are to do, placed in your tasks, and you will attempt to complete them."

He glanced at Minerva after having recited the litany of what lay ahead for their protégée. Minerva reached out impulsively, and he watched in bemusement as the woman grasped the girl's hand and squeezed it. "Miss Granger, I won't lie and say the tasks will be easy, or even moderate. Some may be impossible. But I have trust in you, that you will rise to the challenge."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall." The moonlight slanting through the thick and verdant vegetation and trees of the primeval forest they stood within brushed a cheekbone and highlighted the soft brown hair that Severus was beginning to become accustomed to. In the gentler light of the moon, Miss Granger looked serious, mature, confidently adult, and almost pretty. Indeed, as he examined her earnest expression and relaxed pose, Severus realized with a shock that Miss Granger would soon blossom into a very beautiful woman in the future. Right now, she was still a child, innocent and on the brink of womanhood. But as Minerva continued to speak with her, Severus saw the possibilities endless, the child's soul restless and ready to undergo that transformation all young men and women go through somewhere along the way between adolescence and adulthood. _She'll be beautiful. Unconventionally beautiful, like Lily was. Not even Narcissa Malfoy with her thin figure and blonde hair held a candle to you, Lily. It was like there was a candle hidden inside you that made you glow like the sun. I can see so much of you in Hermione Granger, Lily, so much more than I see in your own son. You'd like Miss Granger, I think. You were always moaning about not having any close girl friends at all because no one wanted to discuss the meaning of life or debate theories of philosophy like you did. Did James ever read Confucius and Plato for you, or learn about your Muggle heritage and culture that you remained loyal to even as you learnt about your new magical world? For your sake, I hope he did. I don't think I'd be able to stand by and watch Miss Granger, like you, enter a relationship with either one of her dunderhead friends and not be able to hold a deep conversation about anything but Quidditch and food._

He noticed that conversation had ceased, and Minerva and Miss Granger were now both looking at him curiously. "Yes, what is it?"

"I asked, Severus, if you wanted to proceed now," Minerva repeated.

"Oh- yes, go ahead."

His colleague patted Miss Granger one more time on the shoulder, and then turned and walked forward, disappearing among the dense brush and towering trunks. Miss Granger turned, puzzled, towards him.

"She will go ahead to notify the Order of our arrival. In the mean time, there are some things you must do before you present yourself." He reached over to the tree next to him, which seemed perfectly normal but shimmered when he touched his wand to it.

"_Revealo!"_

A small hole appeared in the seemingly smooth wood, and he felt inside and drew out a small pile of white cotton and wool. He held it out to her, and she took it, and unfolded the cloth. The furrow that had been between her brows vanished as she shook out his offering to find a simple robe of white, un-dyed cotton, followed by a Merino wool cloak, also white. Tucked into the cloak were the appropriate under-things.

"The tradition demands that any who seek entrance to groups such as the Order is must be dressed completely in unprocessed and natural fabric, ruling out most clothing that is available today. You will be cold for a while without the hat and scarves and modern amenities, but I'm certain you'll warm up soon." He flicked his wand again, and a small curtain wrapped around her. "Change, Miss Granger, and hurry. We will be summoned before the Order soon."

"Yes, Sir. Do you know what my trial will be, Professor Snape? Will the others be given the same tasks I am, or are we given separate trials? What kind of trials? What happens afterward?"

"Stop asking questions, Miss Granger, and get dressed. You'll find out soon enough."

"Yes, Sir."

**--break--**

When a Patronus in the cast of a silvery fish darted out from between the trees and informed them in an unfamiliar voice that the Order was ready for them, Severus guided his student through the trees in a complicated pattern until they reached an enormous clearing, where the most important Order members had formed a waiting circle, almost complete except for one spot. He gestured for Miss Granger to enter into the center of the circled men and women and join the only other two in white. When she had reluctantly left his side and entered the ring, he moved to complete the final space in the circle to form the complete ranks of the highest-level Order members. All was silent except for the rustling of the forest around them.

A silver-haired woman with strong features and a proud cast was the first to break it. "Inductees, would-be suppliants to our holy ground and peoples, you have willingly entered the complete Merlin circle. It is said that Merlin himself drew on the ancient knowledge of the power of the unending and enduring constancy of the circle, advising young king Arthur to tap this primal and elemental magic in his Round Table. Today, you have entered this same circle which will be your testing-grounds and your pledge-ground, if you should succeed in proving to us why you belong among our ranks."

A man across from the woman took over, his baritone a quiet rumble. "The Merlin circle is our own oath to you the suppliants, that we will hold no prejudices and judge fairly on you no matter who you are or what you come from. In return, having entered this circle is _your _pledge in acting fairly and in accordance with truth, light, and honor. Let this be your last warning, if you do no wish to proceed, please step out of the Merlin's circle now."

There was a pregnant pause. No one moved.

"It is decided. I now call on the sponsors of our suppliants. Suppliant Li Mong Xing, please step forward."

Severus studied the short Chinese man as beside him, Albus also moved forward to stand by his friend. _This is the man who might have some clue of how to help Miss Granger. _Observing the man, who looked perhaps slightly younger than Albus, he noticed that the two men exuded a similar air of authority, despite their very different appearances. Albus was smiling slightly, his signature twinkle firmly in place. His friend was not smiling at all, but rather scanning the circle coolly, as if he were the one in charge. _A man not to be underestimated, I think. I shall be careful when I talk to him. _

"I speak for Suppliant Li Mong Xing. I am High Council member Albus Dumbledore. Suppliant Li Mong Xing has been a trusted friend for over a hundred years, and I vouch for his trustworthiness as well as his value to our Order."

"Accepted. Suppliant Christopher Harper, please step forward."

A woman Severus recognized from Order meetings as one of the few older (relatively to the current group of Aurors) purebloods in the Auror ranks moved to join the inductee. She had just joined the force around the time he had entered Hogwarts as a first year, if he had his facts straight.

"I speak for Suppliant Christopher Edwin Harper. I am High Council member Aquila Lynette Avis. He has been within my personal overview among the Aurors for seven years, and has conducted himself in a manner of the highest esteem. I will vouch for his honor and his worth to our Order."

_Christopher Harper. Muggleborn, Ravenclaw, two years above me. I never really noticed or paid much attention to him in class. He didn't join the Aurors for a while, though—what did he do in between graduating and becoming an Auror?, _Severus wondered. He didn't have much time to ponder over the sturdy sandy-haired man who seemed to be trembling a little despite his supposed position as a valued Auror. Miss Granger was next.

"Accepted," the man replied. "Suppliant Hermione Jean Granger, please step forward."

Severus felt himself tense. Miss Granger moved forward slowly, and though she appeared completely calm and controlled, as he approached, he noticed the small telltale signs he had just begun to recognize as signs of nervousness over the weeks he had spent tutoring and debating with her. _She's got her teeth clenched tight, and she's moving much more stiffly than I've really ever seen her walk. Usually, she's much more flexible than that in her movements. _He came to a halt when he reached her, turning to face the elected speaker for this particular induction.

"I speak for Suppliant Hermione Jean Granger. I am High Council member Severus Tobias Snape. Suppliant Hermione Granger has been my student for the past six years, and has consistently proven herself intellectually mature beyond her age and able to tackle challenges and succeed where others fail. I will vouch for her loyalty and her intelligent contribution to the Order."

"And accepted. Suppliants, you are now formal inductees of the Order of the Phoenix. Inductee Li, will you swear your silence on the events of tonight, and on all Order secrets?"

"I will." At the reedy voice, runes appeared in the air between the speaker and the inductee and glowed brightly for a second before fading, signifying a Wandless Oath. The first test, before the trials had even begun—each inductee had to seal the magical oath wandlessly and bloodlessly, and their wands had been taken from them by one of the members before allowing them to even arrive the Queen's Wood.

The speaker continued, turning to the next, "Inductee Harper, do you swear your silence on the events of tonight, and on all Order secrets?"

"I will." Runes glowed, much weaker than the first set cast by Li, but it was acceptable, and Severus smirked inwardly at how visibly the man had steeled himself for the effort. He was distracted and unable to properly enjoy the less capableness of Harper though. Miss Granger would have to be able to cast strong magic wandlessly, without any hand motions, cast the spell on the basis of her words alone. No one had been allowed to warn any of the inductees in advance. _Will Potter and Weasley be able to handle this? Potter might, simply on the basis of his power. He has very little control, but very much power. That is a scary prospect, and I completely agree with Albus and the other Order members that he certainly is not ready to be pledged into the Order with such big character flaws! Weasley, well, he will try hard, but will it be enough? I have not seen him exhibit either Potter's sheer power or Miss Granger's control, talent, and intelligence. If one can make it simply by being determined, he will get through. Unfortunately, unless he shapes up I do not think he will get through the trials…_

"Inductee Granger, do you swear your silence on the events of tonight, and on all the Order secrets?"

Severus held his breath. Miss Granger stilled until she looked almost like an un-breathing statue, and then—

"I will." She stated it with assurance, and fire-fly sparks began to blossom in slow-motion, building to a stunning display of impressively glowing runes sketched into the air before her. They held for an infinite moment, and Severus couldn't be prouder—they weren't quite as bright as Li Mong Xing's, but they were close and definitely a damn sight better than Harper's!

When the sparkle gradually vanished, the speaker intoned, "So let it be. Your trials commence."

Severus, Albus, and Aquila Avis hurried back to their positions in the Merlin's circle, and with a firm stroke of each member's wand, a wind picked up. Another counter-movement, the joined circle glowed much as the runes had, but continued to get brighter and brighter until it was unbearable to see at all. Severus squinted to search for Miss Granger, even knowing that it would be impossible. He had never managed to see any of the inductees in the Merlin's circle at any of the previous inductions he had participated in either.

Abruptly, the light gave way to complete darkness, leaving shooting stars blazing across his vision. He blinked, and waited. He didn't know how long had passed, perhaps five minutes, perhaps ten, when the natural light of the moon overhead began to filter back into the stifling nothingness, and reshape the Queen's Wood around them. As the natural light came back and Severus readjusted his eyes to see, all the High Council members of the Order blinked, and leaned forward eagerly to see what had become of their inductees.

Li Mong Xing looked unbearably sad and old, nothing like the authoritative man he had seemed at the beginning. While diminished, he retained no visible injuries.

Christopher Harper was clutching what appeared to be a broken arm, pale and shaking with the pain but otherwise fine. He even managed to give a tight-lipped smile when he realized he was back in the circle.

Miss Granger…Severus was afraid to look, to see whether or not she had made it, if she had been injured in some way or even if her mysterious ordeal had somehow triggered her faulty and unreliable Vacuumency. _I should have forced her to work harder at controlling it. I should have been better at tutoring her in traditional Occlumency. If she's hurt or permanently damaged in some way, It'll be my fault._

Swallowing dryly, Severus glanced to the spot where Miss Granger was.

She had a look of abject despair and stricken sorrow that hurt him to see so unnaturally on her face. Looks such as that, world-weary and desperate, did not belong on the young face of a naïve sixth year girl, clever and exposed to strong magic and with danger though she was. It was a look _he _had worn, the weeks and months after Lily's murder. It was an expression that belonged on the faces of war veterans and Holocaust survivors, not on students not yet graduated.

_She's bleeding! _He experienced a sudden panic, involuntarily jerking forward before he remembered his place and realized quickly that the gashes on her left arm and cheek did not look serious.

As the last of the moon's light once again shone in the clearing, the woman who had begun the ceremony spoke again. "Inductees, you have taken your trials. Do you bear the tokens you were instructed to receive?"

Moving slowly, as if age had crippled his joints, Li Mong Xing carefully extended his hand, palm flat and outstretched upwards. Resting lightly on it was an exquisite apple that looked like it had been carved whole from a solid bloodstone, green with red flecks. "I bring you the apple of justice and alignment."

While they were forbidden to speak of what had just occurred to them, Severus suspected that this man had just been through an ordeal of will. The Greek and Roman old lore of the apple whose descriptions ranged from the apple of discord to the golden apple from the Tree of Life, and the golden apples of love held by Venus, was something he was acquainted with. The Christian model of the fruit of knowledge, thought to be an apple and the start to sin, was yet another association, and the apple of eternal youth and beauty from Nordic tradition was yet another interpretation of the famed fruit. Ordeals were generated by a combination of the pure elemental magic of the earth and the organized and structured magic of witches and wizards, and the trials they set up varied greatly and could, if needed be, borrow from any religion's beliefs and any legend's symbol to set up the most demanding test of the biggest weakness of the person. Severus would not be surprised if Li had been forced to choose a single apple, the one that he thought would most benefit himself and the world, and had been personally tempted by the various other choices.

The woman spoke again, after examining the offered apple for a long moment. "Li Mong Xing, do you still wish wholeheartedly to belong to the Order of the Phoenix, knowing greater troubles than your trial may come your way? A binding that will last forever, and result in death or worse if you betray us?"

Severus watched the aged man regain a sliver of his former air, although still haunted by whatever he had gone through in the past few minutes. "Yes, honorable speaker. I still wish to be bound to this cause and this Order."

"So it is. _Iugo socius infinitas!"_

A golden mist formed at the tip of the woman's wand, and she glanced to her right. One by one, the members of the High Council repeated the binding spell. "_Iugo socius infinitas," _Severus murmured at his turn, adding his own golden shimmer to the mix. Finally, when all had cast, Severus watched Albus as he returned the wand to the owner, allowing Li to finally grasp his wand and add his final oath to the binding. The flash of gold converging had Severus blinking once again. _These inductions are harsh on my eyes. Perhaps next time I should bring those Muggle sunglasses to shield them. The other shielding charms aren't allowed into the circle, unfortunately…_

"Congratulations, Li Mong Xing. You are now our newest trainee. Please join our ranks beside your sponsor, Albus Dumbledore." The circle shuffled to make room for the man, and the woman turned to the Auror. Implacably calm despite the man's obvious pain, she once again repeated her question of what token he had brought the Order.

In answer, through gritted teeth, Harper said, "I present to you a vial containing three drops from the tears of a Chinese Phoenix." He carefully felt in his shirt, and pulled out the vial dangling from the end of a silver chain, and Severus was reluctantly impressed by Harper. Most men would be on the floor screaming in pain at the broken arm, and it looked like a bad break. Instead, the Auror was sweating, sheet-white, and shaking with effort—but he had so far not groaned or cried out, and his voice was carefully controlled, although muffled from the clenched jaw. Severus wondered what Harper had been forced to endure during his trials—fighting, certainly. What else had he faced? It was much more ambiguous than Li's task. The Chinese Phoenix was rarer than its European cousin, and traditionally stood for high virtue and unity of light and dark in yin and yang. It was also associated with the Chinese empress as her symbol of power and good conduct, much the way the Chinese dragon symbolized the Emperor's virtue and power.

"And you, Christopher Edwin Harper, do you still wish to go ahead with pledging, though you know that more pain, more sorrow, and more darkness lie ahead of you in this path and that you may not renounce it without the consequences of death or worse?"

"Yes. I know. I still wish to pledge allegiance and join the Order, ma'am."

"Then _Iugo socius infinitas!" _And once more, the binding ceremony ran around the circle, concluding with Harper himself, grimly casting with his left hand instead of right and wincing as he did so.

Immediately after the glow faded, Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief for Harper as Poppy Pomfrey from her place among the circle bustled forward with a strong numbing potion to take away the pain of the arm. She would heal it properly once the entire ceremony was over, as well as mend the wounds of the others and examine them for other less visible injuries.

_It's Miss Granger's turn. Oh dear Merlin, please let her have succeeded, let her not have had too hard an ordeal to cope with! _

"Hermione Jean Granger. The youngest of our inductees, and the youngest in the history of Order inductees. Have you obtained what you were meant to obtain?"

Severus' throat seized, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice sneered, _so, all that _she's my student and my responsibility _crap was just you pretending not to care for the girl as a person, really. You're a big liar, Snape. Can't even accept the fact that you now think of Miss Granger as a _friend—_as a valued friend on the same level as Lily before you fell in love with her. _

_No, _he protested to the inner voice. _That's not true. _

_Yes it is, and you better accept your feeling for what it is. You like the girl. She's smart, she's witty, she's not afraid of you, she's powerful. Admit it. You think of her as your best friend except for Albus, you're just too scared to call her your friend because you think she'll reject you. That's the reason you continue to call her Miss Granger, even in your mind. You daren't allow yourself to call her _Hermione.

He had nothing to say to that, and wretchedly looked on at the scene before him now.

Miss Granger—_Hermione, _his treacherous mind taunted, straightened from her slightly stooped position and flattened her palm upward much in the same way Li Mong Xing had done. Slowly, as if she were dreading it, she undid the catch of the small steel box she held, and pulled out something, murmuring a word he didn't catch. It must have been an engorging spell, because they tiny object she'd taken from the box grey bigger, until all could see what it was, and all froze in shock.

Severus' eyes fastened to what she held.

"I bring Harry Potter's head."

Pandemonium broke loose.

**A.N.: Okay I'm sorry! Please don't kill me! I know it's a horrible horrible cliffy. I will update ASAP, I promise, as fast as my fingers can type and my mind can stay awake. **

**The Queen's Wood is an actual area in England, and it's a remnant of an older forest that covered vast expanses of England. At least, that's what Wikipedia tells me…**

**The name Li Mong Xing is Chinese, and written in Chinese-style with the last name first and the first name after that. So this guy's last name is Li, and his name is Mong Xing. One among many meanings of this name might be "Dream (mong) star (xing) inner/inside (li)", literally. **

_**Iugo socius infinitas, **_**which I created for my binding spell, is Latin and is roughly translated as (via an internet translator): to bind together sharing/comrade/ally for eternity. **

**I wasn't too satisfied with this chapter. But I need a way to get from point A to point B. I know what happens at point A and point B, but not what should go in between (that's usually how I write), and so this was one of the in-betweens that didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it. Also, I felt I needed to write in Severus' POV for a while because he hasn't had his say much so far, but I'm much better at writing Hermione's POV than Severus'. Oh well. I WILL update soon, I'm already working on my next chapter. I won't leaving you dangling for too long.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Potter world = Rowling. OCs and plot = me. Got it? Good. On with the story.**

Through the buzzing in his ears, Severus felt rooted to the ground, unable to move or speak as he saw the grisly head with blank and staring eyes. All around him, the Merlin's circle broke and became a mob of screaming, murdering men and women. He felt numb, unable to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

"_Enough!" _

The voice, almost unrecognizable as the genial Albus Dumbledore's, boomed through the hysteria, stopping the Order members in their tracks.

"I am ashamed of your conduct in a Merlin's circle, all of you! For shame, get back into your places! You know than a complete one will hold against almost anything. Where are your brains? We are not an unruly mob. We will investigate this in the proper manner, not in this rabble!"

Severus nearly winced at the sheer power of Albus' words. No wonder he was so feared by the Dark Lord—it was times like these Severus really remembered just who his employer really was. It was only by the sheer power behind his thunderous voice that the High Council members reluctantly returned to re-form their Merlin's circle.

Looking back at Miss Granger, Severus himself almost broke rank in consternation. She was on the ground unconscious from someone's _Stupefy, _and a tangled web of ropes shot from different wands bound her cruelly, regardless for her injuries. The battered head lay several feet away from her, dropped during the scuffle. Albus must have noticed Severus' involuntary move forward, because he calmly took off all the ropes and sundry chains and shackles that Severus winced at. Unfrozen at last by Albus' silent but palpable approval, he moved forward hurriedly to check on Miss Granger, who still lay unconscious but now unbound within the ragged circle.

He placed two fingers on her neck to check her pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it slow and regular. _Her skin is so soft, but so cold, almost like—_

He broke off the thought there. He didn't want to acknowledge the softness of Miss Granger's skin nor associate it with the many girls he had carried, lifeless and limp, from the Dark Revels. Especially not when Miss Granger had somehow apparently killed her best friend and their only hope for victory over the Dark Lord. But Severus was not stupid. The Queen's Wood was one of the most protected places tonight, with every single High Council member casting individual and powerful spells to ensure their privacy and safety tonight. The particular spell they had cast to bring the inductees to face their deepest weaknesses and insecurities was shielded, and mostly a mental journey.

They had entered a different dimension in their trials, but remained all the same in the Merlin's circle, within the Queen's Wood. If the spell had worked the way it was supposed to, Miss Granger could never have left the Queen's Wood, let alone go all the way to the Burrow and kill Harry Potter.

Reason was flooding back and shifting the world around Severus to color again, instead of the black and white of panic several minutes before. And it looked like Albus had also had the same line of reasoning, because as far as he appeared, the man was rock steady and calmly observing the nervous crowd. Severus wanted to snort, but refrained. _The High Council, most important and most senior of all within the already exclusive Order of the Phoenix, reduced to gibbering frightened puppies! _His acerbic mental commentaries were in full blast, a way of covering up his initial scare.

"High Council! Settle down!" Severus stifled a derisive laugh at _that. _It was truly as if Albus were talking to Hogwarts students. Honestly!

Finally, the silver-haired woman who had been performing the binding ceremony raised her wand, prompting the others to nervously copy her in the old wizard's tradition they had been taught as little children by their parents as a signal that they were ready to be quiet and listen.

"Albus, you seem to be unfazed by this…new development. What do you know that we don't?" That was Aquila. Trust the old auror to speak up first in a tense situation.

Albus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring at the girl still unconscious on the ground. "First things first, Aquila. Do any of you not remember the rules of the Merlin's Circle and the particular boundaries of the particular spell we used for the inductee trials?"

Severus cleared his throat and spoke when the rest of the circle shuffled uncomfortably and it appeared as if none recalled the basics of the spell. "The name of that particular spell is _Deficio probatur, _meaning 'the weakness test, or the test of shortcomings.' It is never spoken, which is why most have forgotten its name. It was created to test each individual to the utmost, finding the weaknesses of each person and testing them in that area. It can have very detrimental consequences, such as death and insanity of the person being tried if they fail their test. It is meant to force one to conquer oneself. And it should harm none but the person under the spell."

"You are correct, Severus. The _Deficio probatur, _if performed correctly, can affect no one but the bespelled. Combined with the containment of the Merlin's circle, I cannot see a way for our Miss Granger to have been able to actually kill Harry Potter." Albus looked around calmly. "In fact, while the lot of you were—talking, I took the time to send a quick _Patronus _to Arthur and Molly, to check on the status of our boy and they should be sending hers back any minute—ah!"

A bright mist in the form of a small female bear lumbered to Albus and reported in Molly Weasley's voice, "Harry Potter is safely asleep in his bed, as is the rest of our brood. He's been watched by a hidden OPFP constantly, just like you requested, and the one on tonight said that there's nothing unusual happening at all."

As the bear dissolved, looks of confusion as well as tentative relief spread palpably through the circle. Albus, Severus noticed, also relaxed the tiniest fraction—barely noticeable except to an experienced spy.

"There. As you can all see, Molly Weasley and the OPFP have verified Harry's safe location fast asleep in bed. Therefore, that head that Miss Granger is toting must be simply an imitation. I do have a vague hypothesis of what happened—but perhaps we should wake Miss Granger and find out?" The last was phrased more as an order than as a question, and Severus noted that most of the members hastily nodded and moved back a tiny step. _Cowards, all of them. Not willing to risk taking on a barely adequate teenager not yet out of school. _He stayed where he was, and watched Albus enervate Miss Granger.

She sat up slowly, her face grimacing as she pulled her still open cuts. _I hope Poppy brought blood-replenishing potion. If the ceremony had gone as planned, she would already be mended. Instead, she had to continue bleeding while this lot argued and dithered around. It's a good thing the cuts seem to be shallow and in places where there are no major arteries. _They stared at her in silence as she carefully looked around in some puzzlement before her eyes landed on the head, lying some feet away. _Then _she moved.

Faster than Severus could catch, Miss Granger scooted back, her face a study of horror and sudden despair. She half fell again when she bumped against a rock, and Severus was about to hastily freeze her in place before she did herself any more harm when her face changed.

It was an expression Severus had hoped never to see again on her young face. Void of emotion, calculating, uncaring. _Vacuumency. Oh Merlin. _

Albus looked startled for the first time, and Severus remembered that Albus had not seen Miss Granger personally in her Vacuumens-state before. A grim look settled on Albus' face, and Severus felt something stirring nervously in his stomach, screaming for attention. He ignored it.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked at him coldly. "What, Snape?"

"You're performing Vacuumency, are you not?"

"And if I am?" She got up carelessly and nudged the head with her toe in a detached scientific curiosity.

"Miss Granger, you need to stop blocking your emotions now. It's not healthy for you."

"I think I can decide what's good for me, Snape. I've endured enough of your little group's pointless torture, and I think I feel like going to bed now. Fighting the boy-wonder sure does take out of you, no matter how crappy he is with his wandwork."

The murmurs behind him grew louder. Severus ignored them and the raucous roiling of his innards, focusing on Miss Granger. "Miss Granger, that's your friend's decapitated head down there. Do you truly wish to feel nothing for him? He's been an adequate friend to you for years. What of love? You told me weeks ago you would never allow yourself to be a hollow shell or a robot with no feelings, and yet here you are."

She shrugged. "We all change our minds, Snape. You certainly changed _yours _a great many times. Voldemort and Dumbledore, my my, tough to pick a side wasn't it?"

The faintly amused tone jarred him. This was not the girl he had come to know slowly as the consummate considerate soul. "That has nothing to do with you, Miss Granger."

"Oh, doesn't it?" She sauntered up to him slowly, stared him in the eye. They were worse than the dead people's he had seen, worse than Harry Potter's blank eyes. Miss Granger's eyes were still physically alive, but they were filled with nothing but shallow amusement. They were dead eyes, and it scared and shook him.

"Hermione, _please. _Remember your family, your friends. They all care about you. Would you really never wish to love them again?"

"Oh, please. Don't get all emotional over _my _account. It's not like I care anyway." Laughing, she started to push past Severus to leave the Merlin's circle.

_"No!" _The consequences of leaving an unclosed circle were severe, and unpleasant. "Miss Granger, desist your little tantrum this minute and leave off your pathetic attempt at shielding yourself from your pain! You're a coward, running away from your feelings rather than confronting them. I should have known it from the beginning, you and your stupidity would lead you into trouble and you'd run. You're nothing but a _coward, _Miss Granger. Just like Peter Pettigrew—"

"_Don't!" _In an instant, it was as if a switch had been thrown and the emotion came flooding back to Miss Granger's face. She collapsed abruptly to her knees and curled up in a tight knot, weeping hysterically. "_I killed him! I killed him, and he stared at me like I was betraying all I ever valued or loved!" _

Swiftly kneeling, Severus shook her shoulder abruptly. "Miss Granger, Harry Potter is safe and sound asleep in his bed at the Burrow. Molly Weasley just sent her patronus informing us of that to a certainty. Your friend is completely fine, you did not kill him so stop sniveling and pull yourself together!"

Surprisingly, the angry words seemed to work. Severus wondered if it was leftover habits formed from Potions Class, that Miss Granger seemed to respond to his cruelty better than his kindness. If so, he didn't know what to think.

She continued to cry, but more slowly now, and finally she drew a ragged breath and looked up in anguish and confusion. "But Sir, I killed him! I can still feel the power from the wand from when I cursed him, and see the blood spurting, and that's his _head _over there!"

Severus looked over at Albus helplessly at this. He was also just as mystified by the circumstances as Miss Granger and the rest of the shocked-silent High Council right now. Albus crinkled his eyes, and only now came forward to rest his hand on Miss Granger's shoulder. "Miss Granger, I have a theory about what happened but you'll have to tell me what occurred during your trials for me to confirm it. Now it is customary for all members to take the knowledge of their own trial to their grave. It is a security measure for both the Order and for the person, so that one does not use the knowledge of that person's weakness to tempt and try the member. However, for the sake of this unusual occurrence, I believe it might be best to waive this just for you and have you tell your ordeal story to a select few members, including myself. Would that suit the rest of you?" Albus turned to the rest of the High Council, who all slowly acquiesced. "Then, perhaps, to have a fair and unbiased listening, we should have people who have no ties to Miss Granger be on the panel for the most part. That leaves out the Hogwarts teachers who are here, except for myself as well as Severus—he should be in as he's spent the most time tutoring Miss Granger of late, and learning her latest talent for the Eastern mind magics."

Miss Granger glanced swiftly at him before returning her reddened eyes to the ground again.

"Ah, Danielle Corwin, perhaps you'd like to join us? You know plenty about discretion, I believe." Severus felt a flash of guilt as he noticed Danielle Corwin, currently an Unspeakable and the sister of the late Matthias Corwin. The Corwins had been attacked, and he had done nothing to save them…

"And Paton Wiley?" _Muggle-born, works as a magical forensic expert in the Ministry's bureau of magical crimes. Good to have on the panel, he'll go over the head and determine if its condition matches Miss Granger's story as well as perhaps tell if it's fake. _

"Datona Fields and Micello J'avere?" _From America and France, respectively. Both unconnected in any way to Miss Granger. Fields is working as a Muggle psychologist at the moment, and J'avere is a French diplomat who was let go when he decided to punch an Italian pureblood in the nose for insulting his halfblood heritage. Now he's doing business with the goblins in bank matters, I believe. _

"And that should be sufficient. Perhaps, if you will, we can bend tradition a little more and close the circle right now, mend Miss Granger, and then have the judging and binding take place later?"

Again, the whispers—_can she be trusted? I don't think she should belong in the Order. She _killed _Harry Potter, whether real or fake! She can't be inducted! _Unfazed, Albus Dumbledore gestured with his wand to close the circle, and the rest followed suit. After, they milled around, whispering. None of them were, after all, allowed to leave until the situation with Miss Granger was completely decided. Poppy bustled forward, her eyes concerned.

"Severus, can you give me some light to see by?" As he lit his wand, Poppy conjured a clean stretcher, had Miss Granger sit on it, and then examined the cuts, frowning disapproval. "We certainly should have had these taken care of much sooner, don't know what that lot were doing standing around jabbering like fools. You've lost more blood than I would like, dear." Poppy continued to talk in her no nonsense manner, and Severus gratefully realized that she was relaxing somewhat under the matron's care. Poppy acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as she carefully performed cleaning spells and healing spells, and then forcing the blood-replenishing potion down her patient.

After checking over the rest of the girl and fixing a fractured wrist, a sprained ankle, and several large bruises, Poppy wrapped a thick blanket around her and motioned to Severus to step aside so she could talk to him privately. "Severus, I don't like to say it but I think she's been under the Cruciatus curse, and I don't have any of the nerve-numbing potions with me to even temporarily kill the residue ache."

"_What?" _Severus couldn't believe it. "Are you certain?"

"I'm positive. I've seen the symptoms on _you _enough times to diagnose it. I'd say she'd been under a strong one for perhaps forty-five seconds to a minute. I don't know what to do—will she be able to survive telling her story while I run back to Hogwarts and grab a bottle of temporary nerve-numbing potion?"

He glanced back at Miss Granger, huddled in a blanket and looking much younger than she had at the start of the night. "She's a Gryffindor, Poppy. She'll survive."

"If you think so—"

"She'll be fine, Poppy. I'll tell Albus, and have them take it easy on her, and you go for the potions now."

"All right. Thank you, Severus."

Severus walked over to where Albus was happily constructing a large tent for, Severus presumed, the privacy in which Miss Granger could tell her tale. "Albus, Poppy's gone for the nerve-numbing potions." Albus whipped around and looked at him sharply. "Yes, it is what you think. She was probably under for less than a minute, Poppy says."

Eyes darkening, Albus nodded once before hurrying over to where Miss Granger sat. Severus didn't hear their exchange, but after a while she tentatively got up, and, clutching the old man's arm for support, made her way over to the tent. As they filed in, Severus found himself sandwiched between Datona Fields on one side and, to his great discomfort, Danielle Corwin on the other. She did not look at him, but stared straight ahead instead.

They all sat at a round table. Severus suspected that Albus had designed that so that no one could claim to lead the panel, and Miss Granger would feel like she wasn't facing a judging court.

"So, Miss Granger, do you think you're up to telling us what happened?" Albus looked at the girl kindly, and she gulped and slowly nodded. Severus marveled at how different she seemed from the confident near-maturity girl he had witnessed at the beginning, and cursed the unknown ordeal for creating a wreck out of a strong girl.

"Yes Sir. I guess."

"Well then, why don't we all have some hot chocolate and you can tell us your story." Albus gestured, and steaming mugs appeared on the table. Miss Granger took several sips quietly before she set down the cup again and reluctantly began, studiously avoiding anyone's gaze by looking down at her hands.

"When you all cast that wordless spell, I was enveloped in some sort of fog, and then suddenly I was at Hogwarts again. Only it was deserted and completely empty. I wondered where the teachers and the students were—well, I figured that the students were still home for Christmas. So I wandered around, looking for people and I didn't find a single ghost or house-elf even. It was so _empty, _like it was abandoned, and there was dust everywhere. So I- I left, and walked out a ways until I reached Hogsmeade."

She swallowed thickly. "That was when the nightmare began."

The silence stretched for a long minute as Miss Granger fought to keep her composure. Finally, she continued. "It was so dark and dingy, all of it, like no one was taking care of the town at all. And people were all hurried, and didn't talk, and all of them looked so scared, as if any time something was about to get them if they didn't hurry and complete their tasks as fast as possible. I tried stopping some people, but they either ignored me completely, or hurried even faster to avoid me. Finally, I went inside the bookstore and just started browsing the books because there was nothing else I could think of to do. It turns out it was the most informative thing at all to do."

Taking a deep breath, Miss Granger dropped the bombshell. "As I skimmed book after book, I realized something. In all of them, there were many fervent references to the _Great Savior, _or the _Hero-King. _All of them were glowing praises. Every single blasted book in that bookstore had devoted at least an entire chapter, if not more, on the glory of this supposed ruler of the world. And finally, in a very thin edition of _Hogwarts, A History, _I found out that the Hero-King had grown up known as _The-Boy-Who-Lived. _Harry Potter."

Paton Wiley interrupted incredulously. "_Harry Potter _was a _despot wizard king?_"

"Essentially."

Severus watched several members of their select group look sick, or disbelieving. He found himself shockingly unsurprised.

"Harry-" here, she took a quick breath, as if to suppress a sob, "Harry had apparently defeated Voldemort-"

He flinched, and noticed everyone but Albus and Danielle Corwin had also done so.

"He'd defeated him, and somehow taken over the Ministry with claims that he wanted to clear out the corruption and prejudices deeply rooted in our system. No one stopped him at first. He was hailed as the greatest hero. And then suddenly he was the sole ruler of Wizarding England, and then when people tried to stop him from doing anything, they were either arrested and thrown in Azkaban, or they mysteriously disappeared."

Sharply, he asked, "Did you get this _all _from a book, Miss Granger?"

"No. After learning the initial facts about the battle between Harry and Voldemort and Harry's rise to kingship, I tried to look up people I knew. Most of them were dead, including the majority of the Weasleys except Ginny, who was married to Harry, and Charlie, who was a criminal in hiding, presumed to be in somewhere in Asia with a colony of Chinese dragons. He had Ron killed when Ron tried to reason with him. I finally found Luna Lovegood in a book about animals on restricted sale, and went to her house. She was shocked to see me, and immediately took me to a very secure location where she told me everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. You see, after everyone started to realize that Harry was out of control, apparently I had confronted him and we had argued and dueled, and I actually beat him before he had his guards gang up on me. I somehow escaped when I was in Azkaban waiting for my execution, and Luna told me that ever since then I'd been on the run and other than vague rumors here and there, no one had heard of me—for the last twenty years."

"_Holy shite!" _That was Datona Fields with her American cursing.

"When Luna realized that I wasn't the Hermione that had lived through all of that, she got really excited, started going off on how she had had a theory on how Nargles could move from dimension to dimension, world to world. At that point, she told me that there was a small Underground movement against Harry Potter, and that if I was willing, she'd take me to the group. So I did, and I spent months training with them and learning what was wrong with their world. It was awful, like Harry had somehow become a slightly more intelligent and organized version of Voldemort. He didn't have persecution of Muggles, but he did organize attacks against any former Slytherin, as well as former Death Eaters, the entire families of Death Eaters and Slytherins, anyone with a connection, no matter how tenuous, to his targeted people, and then slowly began to attack anyone who spoke out against him, including the Weasleys and me and many of the Hogwarts teachers. Ginny was practically his slave, forced into marriage with him, and kept drugged to be docile."

Severus felt nauseated, mostly because he could envision it happening so vividly. Right now, Potter was rash, stubborn, held a grudge, and hated Slytherins and Death Eaters. Only his love kept him back from truly being able to use his great power to subjugate the world, like the Dark Lord was attempting. And in the place Miss Granger had been sent, it appeared that something had triggered the destruction of that love.

"The worst part," Miss Granger went on, her voice stronger, "the worst part was that the rebel group? They were training to _kill _Harry. They'd given up all hope of ever deposing of him peacefully without any blood-shed, and they were training themselves as assassins."

Here, she stopped and looked up for the first time, meeting each person in the eye for a moment. "Do you know how hard it is to knowingly train to kill someone who, literally hours ago for you, was your best friend?"

No one dared answer her.

"We all decided to draw straws for turns when we felt ready. It was Draco's turn first."

Severus froze at that. "Draco? Draco Malfoy?"

"No, Draco Granger. Yes, Malfoy!"

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, and after a moment she flushed a little, and continued. "Draco was in hiding—he was number 2 on Harry's hit list, and I was number 1. We became quite good friends while we were training—the same awful circumstances brought us closer, I suppose. Well, he left, and we never heard from him again. Two days later, his head was displayed at the front gates of the palace Harry had built and was living in. He'd failed."

"We drew straws again. It fell to a girl named Skye Corwin-"

Danielle Corwin's abrupt movement nearly knocked over the table. "_Skye? _Are you sure it was Skye? Long black hair, almond-shaped grey eyes, fair-skinned, always smiling, a little taller than you?"

"Well, she'd cut her hair into a pixie cut and she didn't smile as often, but yeah, that's Skye. She always cheered all of us up when we were down. All of us liked her. Especially Draco. They'd been dating for two weeks before Draco drew the mission and died. She was heartbroken, and I think she somehow magicked the straws to pick her."

Flabbergasted, Danielle limply sat down again. "Miss Granger, Skye Corwin is my niece. She's in a coma right now, and is not expected to wake up. Her parents died in a Death Eater attack led by Lucius Malfoy for spurning the marriage contract proposal between my niece and Draco Malfoy. And you're telling me that in your world, Skye was _alive _and with that bastard that killed her parents and almost killed her?"

Miss Granger looked stunned. "No! I didn't know that! I didn't remember Skye, you see—I didn't know she'd been attacked. In that world, her parents were dead as well, by Death Eaters, but the rest of her family had been killed by Harry Potter for protesting the imprisonment of Fred and George Weasley. Neither of them ever said anything about an attack, or coma, or marriage contract."

"Danielle, please calm down. Let's let Miss Granger finish her story, and see what truly happened when she was in the spell-world, shall we?" Albus cut in smoothly, and Severus was relieved. Shell-shocked as he was to learn about the friendship between his godson and Miss Granger, he'd been even more taken aback at the mention of Skye Corwin and the relationship between Draco and Skye. Especially with his role in the nasty business that the Corwin's attack, unable to prevent it because he hadn't known about the turncoat auror.

"Well. Skye drew the short straw, so she went. It took over a week before we heard anything, and when we did, her head, along with Ginny's was next to Draco's on display."

Danielle gave a choked sob. Severus felt like he wanted to disappear. He didn't want to be sitting next to a bereaved woman who'd apparently lost her niece twice now, and he had played a factor in the first loss.

"She'd somehow managed to get Ginny out of the stupor she was in from all the controlling potions Harry was feeding her, but when she actually tried to kill him, she'd failed as well, and Ginny tried to protect her and died for it. We mourned again, and then drew to see who was going on the next suicide mission." Miss Granger took a breath. "It was me."

"What did you do?" asked Micello J'avere. Severus wanted to hex the captivated look off the man's face. He seemed entranced, as if it was merely a fairytale. _You imbecile! These are the deaths of innocent young lives, and Miss Granger in mortal danger constantly as well! There is nothing funny about it, just as there is nothing funny about the Dark Lord's quest for world domination. You don't seem to find _that _so intriguing or fantastic. If I recall, your brother-in-law and your nephew died by being in the wrong place at the wrong time during one of the early attacks of this year. _

Miss Granger shrugged. "I did what everyone before me had done. I said my final goodbyes to everyone I had grown to respect and love in that group, and left to kill Harry Potter, my best friend."

A shiver ran down the collective audience's spine. Her voice was so matter-of-fact. It felt unreal.

"I remembered that Harry hated dementors, so I had worked on a new spell that would mimic the happiness-sucking aspect of it. It wasn't perfect, but I'd managed to create something that more or less did the job just two days before I drew the straw. I used it on all the night guards and somehow managed to get to his bedroom uncontested. But he was ready for another assassin."

Now, Severus noticed that Miss Granger was staring off into space and reciting the events as objectively as she could. He kept a careful eye on her. _You don't need to start that whole Vacuumency business again, Miss Granger. I refuse another heart attack like the first one I had, thinking you'd succumbed to it. _

"He was somewhat surprised to see me, but _amused._ As if I was a puzzle he'd finally managed to solve, or something. He was so powerful! All he had to do was wave his hand at me, and he'd already taken my wand and frozen me in place. He kept talking about how he wished that I'd joined him when he first took power, that he could have used my intelligence to help the Wizarding World. He was so objective, so unlike the Harry I knew, that I didn't know what to do. He _Crucio'd _me for a while for fun, and then I think my emotions must have forced me into an uncontrolled burst of magic, because I managed to break free and knock him over. I grabbed the knife I'd strapped to my leg, and I shoved it into his heart while he was still recovering."

It wasn't working. She was weeping openly now, and Severus couldn't harden his heart towards her tears. _Damn it, man, bring up your walls! You can't fall apart just because she's crying. Any slip could get you discovered and killed. You can't afford to feel more than a moment's pity for her—the Dark Lord will find it if you allow yourself to feel for the girl for too long._

"It took him ages to die. His power kept him alive, and he managed to wound me several times. I tried to use the dementor spell on him, and it had no effect. I asked him why, and he said it was his secret. Then I asked him, when he was too weak to do anything anymore, why he'd become a tyrant."

The sobs were starting to jerk her body.

"He said, 'It's because of you, Hermione. You were my inspiration. You were the one who taught me how to block my emotions off, and I learned how much simpler it was, and how I could make things better for everyone by being a completely objective leader, not ruled by petty emotions.'"

Severus sucked in a breath, and across from him noticed that Albus had tensed. The others still looked slightly confused.

"It's my fault, all of it! I must have taught him Vacuumency, and he'd not been able to turn it off. He didn't feel anything _at all, _that's why he didn't mind killing anyone he felt like. And that was all my fault!"

It was Danielle Corwin who rose first, and went over to the sobbing girl. "Miss Granger. Hermione. Listen to me. It is _not _your fault that this happened. You are not to blame for this Harry Potter losing control over a skill, especially when you weren't technically the Hermione that taught him this Vacuumency. Just like it wasn't my fault that I wasn't there to help my family when Death Eaters and Lucius Malfoy came for them. I knew that Lucius Malfoy was vindictive, and that all Malfoys don't like being spurned, but still I didn't insist on more protection. I blamed myself for a long time, but it is not either of our faults that life was unfair and dealt bad hands and bad deals to the ones we love."

The two women clung together for a good while, Danielle rocking Miss Granger back and forth. Severus had a sudden vision of Lily Evans, comforting a thin pale boy—himself—when his mother had died. He'd been certain it was his fault, somehow.

_You're not to blame. It isn't your fault that life is unfair. _The words echoed through the decades, and for a moment he could have sworn that Miss Granger's hair had been a fiery red.

After composing themselves while the others looked respectfully away, Miss Granger shakily said, "That's when I felt something telling me to cut off his head, the way he'd cut off Draco's, and Ginny's, and Skye's. So I took back my wand, and I told him that I was sorry, and then I used the curse that Harry used on Draco a long time ago to cut off his head.

"Sectumsempra?"

"Yeah."

Severus felt a bitter sense of irony rise up within him. The spell he'd created for revenge on Potter senior had in turn been used by Potter junior against his own godson Draco twice, the last time fatally, and then turned on Potter by his own best friend and used to kill him. He wondered if fate had it out for him for creating such a deadly spell.

"I'd have to take a look at that head more closely to verify, but it sure does look like the work of that particular spell. I've seen it used by Death Eaters sometimes," Paton Wiley jumped in.

Severus remained quiet.

"I took the head, and I went back to the hiding place. Luna and the others couldn't believe it. They kept touching me and the head to see if we were real. Then I told them I had to go, and I hoped they led better lives. I left, and walked back to Hogwarts without meeting anyone. When I got back inside to where I'd first appeared, it was just as deserted as ever and then I was suddenly back here—back in the circle. And that's all."

**A.N.: I hope this answered a huge chunk of your questions and satisfied you guys! I still have more explanations coming as well, but this was long enough. I rushed this through so fast, I probably still have tons of mistakes in it, so please pardon me for anything I made a mistake on—I really wanted to get this out to you guys fast. Please leave your thoughts behind!**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: "Do not lie."—the Bible. Therefore, if you didn't already notice, I am not the proud owner of HP or all things regarding the like.

Of course it wasn't all. It never was, was it? And her abbreviated version of the past few months—or minutes, here—did injustice to the complex life she had led in that other world. Hermione supposed it must have been the shock of realizing it wasn't "real" in her own world that had snapped the careful walls she and the Draco from the other world had built around her Vacuumency-talent. She'd be more careful next time. Hermione could only be extremely grateful that Professor Snape had known exactly where to hit to get her to feel anything at all, and trigger the release of her other cut off emotions.

She observed the selected members of the High Council idly, even in her fatigued and emotional state noting the particulars of each and every person. When you had been living in fear of discovery and capture every moment for the last couple months, habits like observing other people's demeanors and expressions and staying alert didn't just go away. Besides, for all she knew the Order would continue their mass hysteria and lynch her. Although she didn't think that either Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape would let that happen. _Oh, I've missed being able to rely on an adult I trusted! Skye's aunt looked like she was going to kill me there for a while, but I think she came around by the end, judging by her words. She's a lot like Skye that way, knows exactly what to say and when to say it. _

Tightening her hold on her emotions, Hermione checked to make sure that her mind-fortress of feelings hadn't suffered from the abrupt siege of complete Vacuumency she'd fallen into earlier. Thankfully, the breach hadn't been long enough to seriously erode any of them, and the protections looked like they'd be able to be reset easily enough, once she was rested.

"Miss Granger?" A voice at the tent opening—that was Madame Pomfrey, holding a potion in her hand.

"Miss Granger, why don't you go with Madame Pomfrey here for a while, and let us discuss your situation for a bit? Thank you so much for telling us your story. I know it was difficult for you, and I'm so sorry for it."

She tried to get up and nearly fell, the _Cruciatus _aftereffects crippling her nerves and weakening her capacity to hold her own weight. To her surprise, it was Professor Snape who managed to catch her before she hit the ground. "Thank you, Professor."

He nodded a little curtly, but continued to support her to the mediwitch.

Outside, she tensed again, her body screaming at her to flee. _All those people, all intent on punishing me—I'll never get out of this mob alive! _

But no, she was not in the other world, where a crowd of people like this only meant one thing, that Harry had found someone he wanted to destroy. This was _her _world, where Madame Pomfrey could scatter the people there with a glare, and usher Hermione to a spot a little apart from the rest unmolested, and they would wait on Professor Dumbledore's decision.

"My dear, I estimated that you'd been under the _Cruciatus _curse for around forty-five seconds. Is that around right?"

"It was perhaps a minute and a half, Madame Pomfrey. I've built a little tolerance for the particular pain during my training sessions and close shaves when Harry's aurors almost got us."

Madame Pomfrey shot her a half-disbelieving, half-inquisitive look, but didn't ask questions. _A true trained professional mediwitch, only asks for the bare bones of the injury and anything non-sickness related is off-limits unless the patient talks first. _Keeping in mind that she wasn't supposed to tell others about her ordeal, Hermione kept quiet and waited as Madame Pomfrey quickly calculated her approximate height, weight, and time spent under the curse, as well as the built up tolerance for pain.

"There. That should be the right dose, if you haven't changed since the beginning of the year when we filled out the medical charts."

Swallowing the nerve-number doled out to her gratefully, Hermione sat back in her transfigured sofa and waited quietly for the Order to make their decision.

Back in the tent, Albus had the floor. Severus listened attentively as his old friend began to answer the questions that had been thrown at him by J'avere.

"I believe, High Council members, that from Miss Granger's narrative, I have a strong idea of what happened." He looked around solemnly. "It is said that some decisions change the shape and history of the entire universe. There has long been a theory that there are multiple worlds, parallel to ours, in which, at the crucial moment, a decision was made in one world that was different to another. Until then, says one scholar, the worlds were one and the same, but when this world-changing choice came into play, that was when the worlds split apart and went on separate tracks. I don't know what particular choice led this other world down such a bleak path, but I sincerely hope we do not make that same mistake."

"So essentially, you're saying that Miss Granger really _did _travel to another world, spend months there, and kill that world's corresponding Harry Potter before coming back here?" Datona Fields leaned forward, fascinated. "I know the Split Worlds Theory, we studied it at school in the States. There was a big debate over whether it should be included in the syllabus, because it was not completely proven although there has been a lot of evidence to suggest it."

"Yes, I believe that Miss Granger truly did sojourn for several months in another world, one with a darker future than ours hopefully will be. It is too bad that the journey cannot be revealed to anyone else but ourselves, and we must bind ourselves to utter silence regarding this matter. It would have made a big explosion in the Magical theorists' sphere, indeed, in all of the magical world."

Paton Wiley spoke. "What do you propose we do with Miss Granger?"

"Well, perhaps you'd like to examine the, uh, head so as to verify its authenticity with the theory and with Miss Granger's telling of how it came to be separated from the body?" Danielle Corwin answered for Albus. Severus watched, captivated, as Wiley nodded and went over to the corner of the tent where the head had been hastily hidden away under a cloth.

Severus refrained from speech, but the others murmured among themselves in hushed tones as Wiley slowly scrutinized the head and cast several spells on it. Finally, he straightened and cleared his throat. "Well the head seems to be in perfect agreement with both Miss Granger and with your hypothesis, Albus. It's definitely real, and was most likely removed from the shoulders by a clean-slicing spell like Sectumsempra. And the victim is definitely not school-aged anymore. He looks young still, but the condition of the teeth and the levels of carbon suggest an age of around twenty-five, with evidence of having taken excessive amounts of de-aging potion. Without the potion, the victim could easily have been anywhere from thirty to forty years in age, which fits in the rough timeline Miss Granger provided of twenty years and some between the defeat of You-Know-Who and the defeat of the victim himself."

Severus admired the impersonal way Wiley had reported the facts. But then again, Wiley had a reputation for being the best magical crime investigator, and he supposed it had to do with Wiley's ability to detach himself from becoming involved emotionally with the brutalities. _He'd make a good spy, I think. _

"Brilliant. Well, High Council, your judgment?" Albus looked around the table.

Slowly, Danielle Corwin turned her wand blue. _She's voting blue, not such a big surprise after she identified with Miss Granger in that way, _thought Severus. _That's one to induct Miss Granger into the Order. _

Slowly, Paton Wiley's wand flashed blue as well, surprising Severus a little. _I'd have thought as a man sensitive to the victim and having Harry Potter's head dropped in front of him for examination, he'd vote green. _

Datona Fields joined the ranks of blue wands, eyes sympathetic. After her, Severus placed his own blue wand on the table. They turned their eyes to Micello J'avere. After a long pause, J'avere defiantly changed his wand to a bright green. _Four against one, even not counting Albus he knows he's not going to win this. What is his agenda? Or is he just airing his opinions?_

The last one to do so, Albus slowly changed his wand to blue. "Well, it seems we've reached a decision. Before we go outside and tell the rest of the Order, Micello would you like to tell us why you believe Miss Granger should not be inducted?"

J'avere looked around at each face. "I have no personal vendetta against Miss Granger. She certainly seems capable enough to be in the Order. My main concern is giving so much knowledge to a young girl who is obviously powerful and controlled enough to kill her best friend, even knowing that he had turned. Such knowledge that she would have access to, especially in the course of training and position you plan to implement with her Albus, would be a very potential liability and danger if she cannot keep it from her friends or if she herself turns."

"It is certainly a concern that is worth considering, Micello. Perhaps you would be appeased if I had every one of us here who know the true story keep an eye on Miss Granger?"

"It would go a long way to help my fears, Albus, as long as I know you other members will not lack diligence."

"Are you doubting our skill of observation or our devotion to the cause, J'avere?" Severus snarled at the man, hating him for his sly insinuations.

"If you give me cause for doubt, Snape, I surely will bring that up to the Order," the man sneered right back.

"All right, that's enough sniping. Remember, to be effective we must be a united front and trust one another, even those we do not like. Now, let's go tell Miss Granger and the rest of the Order the good news, and induct the girl before the sun rises." Albus clapped his hands, and they all filed out, the tent and its furnishings vanishing as the last one exited.

Hermione often wondered in the days that followed how Professor Dumbledore had somehow convinced the Order to induct her without knowing why she'd brought Harry Potter's head back to them. She didn't know what he'd said to them, but when Professor Snape and Danielle Corwin had arrived at her place under the large tree being monitored by Madame Pomfrey to tell her of their decision and to walk her over to the re-forming circle, the Order had been eyeing her with great trepidation, some fear, and some downright hatred—but all of them had participated, no matter how reluctantly, in initiating her into the Order.

She would start her Order training tonight. It had been several days now, since that eventful, awful night. There were some nights she felt like it was all a dream, and she'd wake up in the latest hiding place, squished next to Luna on one side and Skye on the other. Hermione plucked at her sleeve uselessly, and wondered what had happened to the rest of her friends, and if the world she'd left become any better since she'd left.

_At least I'm visiting Skye today. _She'd asked Mistress Corwin—_Danielle, she asked me to call her Danielle—_if she could, and Danielle had said yes. It wouldn't be the same Skye she knew, the older and more assured Skye with the mischievous streak under a quiet and unassuming demeanor. She wouldn't be awake, even. But it was better than nothing. A week from tomorrow, Harry, Ron, and the rest of the students would come back and she'd have to hide even more from them. She wasn't sure if she could look her best friend in the eye and not have nightmares, and that was the most frightening thing of all.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, hullo Mi- Danielle. I didn't hear you come up."

"Minerva gave me the password. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am. Let's go."

At St. Mungos, Danielle brusquely brushed off the nurse who had accosted them asking in shrill tones if Hermione was a relative. "She's coming with me." The no nonsense tones and well-seasoned glare sent the woman packing, and then Danielle looked enquiringly at Hermione's stifled chuckle.

"You're almost as good as Professor Snape with the glare," she explained.

"I don't think anyone has Severus beat. I hear he practices it in the mirror."

"No!"

"That's what I heard."

The two burst into laughter.

They sobered quickly when they reached the door to the private room where Skye Corwin lay. Hermione tiptoed to the bedside, and gently brushed some hair off the peaceful girl's face. "She looks so young," she whispered. "So young and innocent still."

Sighing, Danielle settled into the seat and watched with tears in her eyes as the girl she'd come to like in a very short time, Hermione, knelt by her beloved niece's bed and began murmuring to her. "Hey, Skye. It's Hermione. I don't know if you can hear me, but in the Muggle world we believe that people in comas are still aware of what's going on around them on some level, so I'm going to give it a shot.

I don't know if you know me at all. Hermione Granger, from Hogwarts. I never really spoke to you much in school, I don't think. But you see, I had this very strange experience in another world that's got all the same people in it as this one does. And I spent several months there, and I got to know you in the other world pretty well. You were older, a lot older, but you were still really pretty and always so comforting to be around. You weren't loud or exuberant like some people, but you were always there for a person when they needed someone to vent to, or cry with, or laugh with. Everyone always underestimated you, but you were the best of us you know. You were the heart of our group. I really miss the other you, but I know that if you're anything like- well, yourself, you're really stubborn and you cling to those you love like anything. And I'm telling you that you have friends and an aunt who love you deeply, and you're not going to disappoint us all by staying in this coma forever. You'll wake up, I know you will."

Danielle discreetly handed Hermione a tissue. She wiped her tears and cleared her throat. "Well, Skye, it was nice to talk to you. I'll come back. Now I think your Aunt Danielle has something to say to you. I'm going to go outside to wait, okay? Goodbye."

Hermione straightened, nodded to Danielle, and left the room. She leaned against the closed door with her head tilted back, trying not to cry for the Skye she'd known whose staring blank eyes she couldn't stop remembering, and the Skye she'd seen, youthful and naïve like a Sleeping Beauty in the hospital bed.

"Miss Granger?"

The voice she'd somehow come to associate as her voice of dispassionate truth and reason in all the mess her life had turned to since the beginning of this year interrupted her, and she opened her eyes. "Professor Snape."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking out of place in the white starkness of the peaceful ward. "Miss Granger, our lessons start now. I'll escort you back. I believe Mistress Corwin is needed for an emergency at her work."

"All right. She's inside with Skye right now, but she should be out shortly."

"Very well."

They stood there for several minutes, not speaking. Hermione could feel his gaze examining her as if to determine what she'd become in essentially a night. No one had broached the subject of her unexpected detour of several months, or of her shocking arrival back into this world. Hermione was starting to grow weary of the way the other High Council Order members had seemed to group themselves regarding her—either pretend it never happened while scrutinizing her surreptitiously, or downright ignore her. Thanks to Professor Dumbledore and most of the rest of the panel that had listened to her story, no one was hostile or showed any inclination for violence. She'd attended general information sessions with the other two newest members of the Order, and met some of the other specialized forces within the Order who hadn't been present at the initiation, and she found herself mingling with them more. It was a relief to be with one who didn't know the tremendous change that had turned her life upside-down.

She missed the old heated debates and focused lessons that she'd come to remember Professor Snape for though, and it was those long ago—and yet only days past—times that prompted her to speak now.

"Draco spoke well of you, you know."

He started.

"He'd speak of you with affection, said you were a strict disciplinarian but he learned immeasurable lessons from you. It was your memory that was the first thing that we shared before we became anywhere close to friends."

"I was dead."

"Yes. In that world, you'd died a month after I disappeared. You'd managed to stay hidden until then, but Draco said that on that day, you saw Draco being chased by Harry's men, and you placed yourself between them and Draco so he had just enough time to escape. But you were killed, bringing down at least half the force with you."

"How- regrettably Gryffindor of me."

The ironic drawl set Hermione off, and she began to laugh. Professor Snape stared at her oddly.

"Sorry," she gasped in between giggles. "It's just that _I _said the same thing to Draco when he first told me what you'd done, how you'd died, and he nearly punched me in the face for it. I asked him why he was refraining, and he said it was because I was a girl. I told him that was stupid and that I was perfectly proficient taking care of myself, and then challenged him to a hand-to-hand combat with magic as well to prove it."

"And what was the outcome?"

"Stalemate. The others separated us after it was obvious we were injuring each other too much for either Skye or Pansy to patch us up properly, and our hits were tallied and came out equal."

"I am surprised."

She looked askance at him. "Surprised how?"

"If Draco has the skill he does now, I am surprised you were able to fight him to a tie."

"Are you doubting my skill?"

"I certainly cannot judge. I have never seen you in action."

"Well that's certainly being fixed tonight. You're my assigned trainer in just about everything except for the special branches I get to learn. You're teaching me poisonous and healing potions, defense and offense fighting both physical and magical combined, and the art of being unobtrusive and gain entrance to the most sensitive secrets and information. Oh, and memory-recall and all the intricacies of going into the spy business. Enduring pain, that sort of thing. At least that's what Moody gleefully told me when I asked him what sort of lessons I should be expecting. I think he's decided I am a potential threat to the Order, because he either tries to avoid me or he stares at me with that creepy eye of his."

"Thank you for listing the schedule of lessons I must endure with you, Miss Granger, because I truly did not know what subjects I was assigned to train you in."

"Oh, you're welcome." Hermione beamed at Professor Snape, disregarding his disgruntled air. _Draco, you said that taking everything he said as amusing would be a good way to deal with him. I hope you're right, and that it works on this world's Snape. Damn it! Professor Snape, not Snape."_

The creak alerted them to Danielle Corwin's exit from the private room, and Hermione let Professor Snape explain what would be happening. She hugged Danielle—one of the only Order members who knew what had happened and still welcomed her openly—and followed Professor Snape to return to Hogwarts. It was time to begin training, all over again. _Only this time, I have a competent teacher rather than a gaggle of on-the-run outlaws._

She'd been fit when she'd left for her induction on Christmas night. Now, Hermione knew that she was not just fit or able to hold her own, she was better. She was a self- and group-taught machine, and after she'd warmed up and Professor Snape had pitted her in a no-weapons but fists and magic fight against the Auror who'd been initiated at the same time as her—Christopher Harper—she'd instinctively spun into the first simple sequence she'd mastered through sore and aching muscles.

He was good, quick on his feet and extremely speedy with his wand. But Hermione's strategy was sound and had worked for almost all the duels she'd been in: start out with an easy testing of the opponent, and then formulate a plan of full-out attack against their weakest points. As they circled after the initial contact, wands drawn, Hermione was in her element. _Taller and heavier than me, bodily attack won't be so beneficial unless I catch him off-balance. Wicked-fast with his spell-work, but can he work wandless as well as he does with a wand? Perhaps that will be the most efficient, get him away from his wand somehow and then attack him magically to throw him off, followed by a physical attack. _

And it worked. Twenty minutes later, a sweaty and triumphant Hermione climbed off the man she'd brought down, and helped him up before Summoning his wand from the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts and shaking his hand politely.

The man grinned ruefully. "Ah, you have beat me fair and square, Granger. I'd never be able to live this down in the Aurory if word got around that a bitty girl managed to take down Christopher Harper!"

"Tell them to come and fight me," Hermione retorted helpfully.

"Nah, I'd feel bad! The poor men and women wouldn't know what hit them. You're a worthy opponent any day, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, please. We're going to be training under Professor Snape in defense/offense together, you should address me by my first name."

"Hermione, then. And please, call me Chris."

"I'll see you next lesson, Chris."

"I wait with bated breath, Hermione."

Hermione laughed, and waved the theatrical man off, turning to Professor Snape. "Well, how did I do? Are you more convinced now that I truly am able to defend myself if need be?"

She'd definitely seen an interested gleam in his expression several times, a spark of fascinated curiosity at her obvious comfort with dueling and combat that she'd observed out of the corner of her eye during her pauses between attacks. And as she'd been talking to Chris Harper, he'd looked faintly irritated. Now, he'd managed to school his face back into neutrality.

"You are adequate with hand-to-hand combat. Your wand reflexes need to be faster. Harper managed to _Accio _your wand at one point and you had to revert to wandless to retrieve it."

"Well hey, I managed to do it at least. Chris never managed to concentrate enough to Summon his wand all the way from the bottom of the lake."

"Nevertheless, your skills in fighting are acceptable and I believe that after Alastor Moody or one of the other high-ranked duelers test you, I think you can be exempted from the usual training in this area, other than the normal Order requirements of regular practice by yourself and with others. I have yet to test your swordwork, or your formal duel skills."

"I'm just as good in a formal duel as I am in an informal free-for-all like this. Sword is tough though, especially if I try and combine either wand or wandless magic along with the patterns and fighting."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "You have changed more than physically and in skill level, I think, Miss Granger."

"Really." She said it flatly, not wanting to go back to the source of her bad mood when she'd just lightened up after her dueling session.

He continued despite her reluctance. "You have learnt what it is to be an adult and to see the world and your choices not in the black and white, good and evil of children, but in the blend of shades and colors the grown adult knows and deals with."

"Yeah, big whoop. It just took a couple months of intense training, the deaths of several of my best friends, and killing my former best friend to do that."

"Life is not pretty, Miss Granger."

"Yes, I'm quite perfectly aware of that." She began to leave the Room of Requirement, her good mood evaporated like the morning mist.

"You will meet me back in the Potions classroom at nine tonight, Miss Granger. Your potions tutelage will begin then. Do not be seen."

She didn't answer.

A.N.: I have a lot of deadlines next week, so I may not be updating as regularly as I usually do until my life gets back to normal. However, I will try to make time for this as always. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please leave your thoughts behind!

Oh, and just to make clear—throughout this story, stuff is going to be inferred or mentioned that I'm just not going to have the space, inclination, or time to expound on or explain. If you want a full description of something or didn't understand a reference/inference, just ask me and I'll try my best to clear it up, but I'm not going to be able to write about everything that I mention in my chapters, it's just too long and detracts from the actual plot.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Did anyone notice the similarities between the Christ-resurrection story and HP7's climactic scene with Harry doing his thing and then coming back and killing off Voldy?...Yeah, just a thought. Anyway, I can claim neither of those stories as mine. One belongs to God. The other to Rowling.

_Breathe, Hermione. Inhale air. Hold. Release air from mouth. Repeat. You've been training for almost four bloody months, three of them in a hopeless situation in a completely different world and daily for the past couple weeks of break with the best and hardest tutors of the world, practically. If you can't face a simple thing like this, you'll never make it with the rest of the training._

Hermione was concentrating on _not _running in the other direction. In less than two hours, the students would once again flood Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron would be standing before her grinning and completely without a clue as to how she'd changed over Christmas holidays, and what she'd done. This was perhaps the best test of what she'd learnt over the intense and information-packed lessons she had received from Professor Snape. If she could continue fooling her best friends and the entire student population to the changes she'd undergone and her sudden introduction into the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione would know that she would be ready for the next level in her lessons.

Professor Snape had drilled her in just about everything she knew over the past week and a half, since her first lesson until the beginning of official classes. She'd learnt, in the past several days, how to recognize and brew dozens of deadly poisons and their antidote. She'd been thoroughly tested to her utmost ability to guard her mind and memories, both from outside intrusion and from her own instinctual self. Professor Snape had been particularly disbelieving of the solution she and Draco had come up with to shield herself from any unwanted Vacuumency states after the first time she'd slipped and lost herself in Vacuumency. She still remembered that episode quite vividly—it was perhaps the first time she and Draco had worked together amicably on anything without an underlying tension between them.

_"This pitiful little group of vagabonds are going nowhere except to the gates of death and beyond. If you don't get caught now, you'll get caught later and be punished anyway. Really, I don't see why you didn't take the most sensible course of action long ago and just leave the country before Harry Potter closed the borders. Now, of course, you're stuck in here to rot and die. I don't know how you roped me into joining your little rebellion of less than a dozen people, but I do know that I have come to my senses and will be taking my leave right now." Hermione calmly walked to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor entry of their hiding place, only to be bodily blocked by a tall shadow._

_"Get out of my way, Malfoy. Now."_

_"No. Granger, what is up with you? Has someone put you under the Imperius or what? One minute we were reminiscing about our Hogwarts years, and the next you up and call us the pitiful fools we no doubt are, and make to leave in broad daylight. Snap out of it, whatever you're doing, because this place has no room for a trumped up little Mudblood bipolar bitch!"_

_By the time he'd finished his tirade, he was shaking her forcibly by the shoulders and it was the harsh use of 'Mudblood', which shocked her into reconnecting to her emotions again, primarily in fury. She punched him in the eye and then began trembling. The rest of the others had jumped to their feet at some point during her confrontation with Malfoy, and now they reacted in the way they'd been training for the past three weeks since Hermione had arrived unexpectedly. Dean, Hannah, and Pansy dragged Hermione backwards, freezing her so she wouldn't retaliate. Luna, Skye, and Theodore Nott did the same thing with Malfoy. _

_When they'd both finally been released from the petrification, Hermione had reluctantly told them of her inability to control her Vacuumency, and she and a wary Malfoy, the only other truly skilled Occlumens of the group, had sat down to sort out a solution to her problem._

_"Well, since Occlumency is all about control of the self and of one's own mind, I would assume that you wouldn't have needed to think about controlling your skill because a wall needs to be built or taken down by human hands. But with Vacuumency, it isn't a wall that you purposely build, it's just cutting a connection within the mind. That would indicate that it has no control-switch already installed within the art itself, therefore-"_

_"Therefore with Vacuumency I would need to actually build the walls to contain the skill, because they aren't there naturally like with Occlumency! You're a genius, Malfoy!"_

_"I know."_

_She smacked his head, and after an initial moment of _uh oh, did I go too far? _He lost the surprised look on his face and cracked up. She joined him, and just like that they were friends. She apologized for the black-eye she'd given him—he said sorry for calling her the M-word, and they got down to the dirty business of actually erecting barriers in her mind around the Vacuumency-talent so that it wouldn't spill into everything._

True, the walls had fallen once since they'd been put up, when she'd arrived back home again bearing her friend's head. It would not happen again, Hermione vowed, remembering the absolute nothingness she had felt even knowing everything she'd been through and done.

But despite Professor Snape's harsh criticism of her ability to maintain the mind-wall, Hermione had passed all her preliminary tests with flying colors. Not only in her mind magic, but in her formal dueling, her informal defense/offense, and even her sword-fighting had all been accelerated onto the fast-track and her skills tried by the best of each category in the Order: Moody had fought her, as had Professor Snape and Auror Aquila Avis. Then she'd had a long discussion with the oldest trainee, Master Li, at Professor Snape's order. Master Li had been fascinated by her Vacuumency and her solution to it.

"_Yes, you are truly special in some way indeed, to have listened so wholly to the music your neurons and synapses play and learn how to insert rests forcibly."_

_Hermione didn't answer. Her blank face must have signaled her uncomprehending state, because he sighed and backtracked. "My child, there are many ways of looking at the same thing. You were able to master the Eastern way of mind magic, but without the proper training a Master would receive before he even would fathom attempting what you have succeeded at. Because you did not have the proper environment in your mind, you viewed Vacuumency as a foreign invasion taking over your control of yourself, when really a true and prepared Master ready to attempt the true Dao, as we know it, would see it in a light that would place the reins firmly in the Master's hands."_

"_So, you see it not as a cut or separation from emotion, when you're in this state?" Hermione ventured._

"_Oh no, properly attempted with ritual and full understanding and acceptance, it is not separation at all, but merely like a composer scanning an orderly sheet of music he has written and then placing a beat of silence where there was none before. That way, after the task of the rest is accomplished, the music continues flowing without disruption."_

_Hermione was absorbing all of this, glad that Professor Snape had forced her to speak to Master Li despite her protesting that she had successfully controlled her Vacuumency. "Are you saying that until I perform these preparatory rites, I will not have full control over my Vacuumency? Even with my walls?"_

"_The Great Wall of China was built to keep out invaders, but even this invincible wall failed. Similarly, there will come a time when there is too much stress on your mind, and your walls will fall to the siege. That is also the downfall of European Occlumency, because it relies on the strength of walls rather than the unchanging nature of water. For now your walls are fine, but before you conclude your final training, I would work with you to give you the true experience of the Dao and the peace that comes from knowing. What you have experienced is but a perversion of the real serenity."_

Hermione hoped it would be soon. After all, Master Li had himself already passed all of the tests and was just about done with his training, thus almost ready to be qualified as a tutor rather than a trainee. He only had to take general lessons in the Western ideas of magic and how it was used. Hermione herself was already halfway done with training, and she'd barely started. She'd tested out of all the fighting requirements, even sword-fighting in which she'd been hard-put to hold her own against Draco, Pansy, and Theodore. Evidently, they'd been better tutors and better swordsmen than she'd suspected, because she'd beaten Chris with an average rate of about seven out of ten fights, fought Professor Snape to a draw once, and actually beaten Moody when he'd come to test her. Ironically perhaps, she'd won with the same pattern she'd pulled to catch Harry while he was still off-guard and recovering. The same one she'd learnt from Draco and practiced with Pansy, enabling her to find Harry's chest unerringly between one breath and the next, and strike the killing blow. The look of shock in both the real and the fake eye of Moody's had been enough to wipe that memory from flashing before her eyes, and she'd barely refrained from laughing when she'd extricated her sword tip from its position in killing blow. She thought, as he conceded her victory and the pass for the test, that she'd seen the tiniest hint of grudging respect for her prowess. Perhaps she'd gone a little way in earning back the trust she'd lost from him when she'd turned up with Harry Potter's head and then slipped right into Vacuumency.

So she was well on her way to becoming a full-fledged Order member. If she could only survive Harry's return to the castle, she would begin her new set of lessons: the art of spying (Professor Snape), healing (Madame Pomfrey), and to her surprised delight, elemental magic (Professor McGonagall). She was glad she'd been once again given a time-turner discreetly, to use as she saw fit.

"Crookshanks, if someone had told me last school year, or even this past summer, that by New Years, I would be pretending that my parents were dead, lying about my entire life to my two best friends, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and leading a double life with the most interesting lessons in the hidden one, I think I would have called the mental asylum." Her cat, curled up on her pillow, blinked lazily at her. Crookshanks had been suspiciously absent the entire year, and Hermione suspected that he had taken to haunting the kitchens and sleeping by the hearth there rather than staying in her room like he used to.

"Oh, but then I suppose I would never have thought that in just four short months, I would have mastered a completely alien talent, lost control of it, gone on a three-month sojourn to a different world, trained as an assassin, killed Harry, and then come back and dive straight into accelerated training. It seems so fantastic, too unreal to have happened to me." Crookshanks didn't respond.

Hermione sighed. "Now I'm going crazy, talking to my cat. Perhaps I'm the one that belongs to the loony bin." She glanced at the clock. _An hour until they get here. Maybe I'll pay a visit to the house-elves._

She plodded down towards the kitchens, avoiding both professors and the odd student out of habit. "Hi Dobby. Hi Minny." She greeted when she entered. The two elves, who had been cheerfully tending various pots on a stove, looked up and beamed at her. "Hermy! We is so happy you is come to see us!" Dobby bustled off and returned moments later with a slice of apple pie and pumpkin juice. "Eat, eat!"

"Oh, thank you Dobby. Would you mind dreadfully if I asked for some soothing tea instead of juice? I'm rather nervous today."

"Of course!" He whisked the cup away, and within moments Hermione was sipping gratefully at a thick, homely mug of hot tea.

Minny cocked her head to one side. "Is young Miss needing anything when she comes down here?"

"What? Oh, no, nothing in particular. But perhaps both of you could do me a great favor and call me Hermione instead of Miss?" She asked hopefully. The elves exchanged glances.

"Dobby is fine calling Miss, Hermy. Real name too long. But other elves not so happy, they is complaining they is already used to 'Miss' and 'Master' and 'Mistress'."

Minny weighed in anxiously. "Young Miss asks a lot of house elves. Perhaps Miss would not mind if elves call Miss, Miss Hermy?"

_Miss Hermy. _Hermione tried not to cringe at the callous slaughter of her name. _It's better at least to be Miss Hermy than to be young Miss, or worse, if I get married ten years later, I would hate to be called Mistress. Ugh! _"Yes, that's perfectly fine, Minny. You've thought of a wonderful solution."

Minny grinned from ear to ear, and Dobby patted his companion in a congratulatory manner.

"So, we is hearing many whisperings among elves," Dobby confided after they'd settled down.

"Oh? What sort of whisperings?"

Minny took over, bossily. She reminded Hermione almost of herself at a younger age, and she cringed a little at her younger self's attitude. _I was such a bossy little swot! No wonder no one liked me back then. Well, I _was _young and nervous about newness and being away from home and the magical element too. I think I can almost excuse my behavior that first year. And Ron and Harry were unforgivably rude in the beginning too, so I had good reason to hate them. _

"All about Miss Hermy, the talk. House elves speak among themselves that Miss Hermy is joining the secret Order, that Miss Hermy is learning many things, that Miss Hermy is often tired. Is Miss Hermy learning things to help Master Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Hermione sighed. Apparently her acting had not been good enough to fool the elves. "Yes, it's true Minny. I am part of the Order now. They're putting me through training, which is why I'm tired all the time. You can't tell anyone about any of this though. Will the other house elves be tempted to tell anyone, or someone else's house elf that may tell his or her master, or-"

"Hermy must not worry! House elves bound firstly to Hogwarts itself, and its demands. Hogwarts is interested in Hermy, and in battle and Order and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the glorious Harry Potter."

Minny piped up again, adding on to Dobby's quick response and fervent reassurance. "Dobby is speaking truth, Miss Hermy. Hogwarts is binding elves to silence on these things of importance."

"By Hogwarts, do you mean the headmaster?"

The house elves exchanged glances. "No, _Hogwarts. _Not headmaster. Not person. We is sworn to serve Hogwarts school over all things, even over people."

"Hogwarts, as in the _school? _The actual building is sentient?" Hermione sat up straight at this concept, furrowing her brow. "It speaks to you, the building does?"

"Yes, but it speaks to everyone. Only house elves listen. And Headmaster too, he also listens. No one else notices."

Absorbing this new revelation, Hermione fell back in her chair again, thinking hard. "How do you go about listening to Hogwarts, then?"

Minny and Dobby both looked completely baffled. After a pause, Dobby said slowly, as if talking to a younger child who had completely missed the point of a lesson, "Hogwarts just speaks, and we is able to hear it."

Left completely unsatisfied with the perfunctory and lacking answer, Hermione dropped the subject and made a note in her mind to look it up in the library, and perhaps ask Professor Snape about it if she couldn't find anything useful. Now that she thought about it, Hogwarts as an actual sentient building made sense—it would explain the very hum of magic deep in its bones and foundation that she'd felt when she'd stepped into the castle, that was different from anything she'd felt. She'd thought it was just the difference between Muggle and Magical homes, but the Burrow had not felt nearly as powerful or innately magical. And the moving staircases and Room of Requirement certainly were marks of the castle having a mind of its own.

She continued to discuss more trivial matters with the house elves for a while, finishing her tea. They were delighted to hear about some of her training sessions, especially in fighting. When she mentioned she'd drawn Professor Snape once (although he'd beaten her plenty of other times), they both gasped.

"Miss Hermy is a _very _good swordsman! Master Snape has not been defeated in many many years, since he was a student here. Even Headmaster Dumbledore cannot match Master Snape in sword duels, although in magic Headmaster Dumbledore is stronger."

"Then why did he have Moody come and test me for competence if he knew very well that he was better than Moody and that I'd drawn him once already?"

When Minny and Dobby just stared back, Hermione answered her own question, feeling rather stupid for being so slow. "Oh, right. He wanted Moody to test me to have an unbiased trial of my skill, because he's my tutor so he might be inclined to let me slide, or that's what others might think."

_Hardly, _she snorted to herself inside her head. _More likely he would have been harder on me for the mistakes I made than Moody was. The most probable reason was to keep the Order members who still are wary of me satisfied that I'm not being favored, and that so that Moody can take back only a good account of me to them._

She didn't share this with the elves. They might be good at keeping secrets, but she wasn't allowed to tell anyone about her ordeal anyway, which is what she'd have to explain if she shared that thought, and she didn't want to think about it her initiation at all if possible.

Which, of course, was an impossible notion because now Dobby was telling her anxiously that the students, and of course, the good and kind and great Harry Potter, would be back very soon and Hermy should go see her friends since she must have missed them very much.

Tensing a little at the praises sung of Harry Potter—it sounded just too similar to what she'd heard from everyone on the streets in that other world, where everyone was trying to stay on Harry's good side—Hermione reluctantly said good-bye and left the kitchen, heading for the dormitory common room to wait for the boys.

On the way there, she passed Professor Snape, who slowed a little from his usual sweeping pace and commented with a sneer, "So, Miss Granger, I'm sure you're looking forward to becoming complete again with the other two-thirds of your worthless trio."

_Snape-talk: May be interpreted as, will you be okay facing your friends after certain events that have occurred? Gee, I'm getting so much better at gleaning the hidden meanings behind his public insults. It's getting to be a game, really. _She stopped and replied very politely, "Oh, I just can't wait Professor. I've missed them very much, there just isn't much to occupy me when they aren't here with their havoc." _Translation: I am bloody scared at seeing them again, and how am I supposed to keep this charade up with all this training tiring me out like this?! Hah, I love the language of insults and snide or sarcastic remarks. Or double-meaning comments. No wonder Sna- er, Professor Snape, became so good at delivering his lines. It's addicting, doing is so perfectly. _

His sneer deepened, and acidly he remarked, "Pray, _do_ have fun with your _havoc _now that your dunderheaded idiots are returning. I would only be too pleased to assign a detention or two, as cauldrons have been building up over Christmas."

_Bastard! That was a comment about my dangerous potions lessons, I'm sure. We certainly went through a lot of cauldrons, some of that stuff is so poisonous it corrodes the metal, or leaves debris clinging at the bottom and sides that won't come off by magic. _

Of course, it was also a snide reminder of how much she'd prepared and sacrificed and learnt, and that she wasn't about to throw all she'd given up away on a breakdown that would _not _reflect well on her already precarious position with the Order. _Alright, I'll show you. I'll do this, even if it kills me. _She couldn't tell him that though, since he'd stalked off triumphantly after his last jab at her, typical really. He always had to have the last word.

But she entered the Gryffindor common room in a better mood than she'd left, and while she was still shaking at the thought of seeing Harry now, it was a carefully controlled panic and not a mindless fear. And she found that she could concentrate on a book well enough, as she hadn't been able to before. Thankfully, Hermione dove into one of her reference books on elemental magic, which she had found in anticipation of the new type of magic she'd be encountering soon if all went well. Annoyingly, the section that mentioned elemental magic was very brief and not at all helpful. In fact, the writer had a very condescending tone overall, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at obvious biases in words like, "woman's manifestation of magic," "more suited to domestic purposes," and "mostly spells of emotion and healing."

_How very chauvinistic and disgusting. Honestly! Too bad the author is already dead, and too bad I can't take a time-turner back a couple decades and show him what a woman's manifestation of magic really is like. All of these books that mention elemental magic are either of the same attitude, or neutral but very short and vague. Perhaps I really should go back and look at that blasted book again, the War and Peace by Sahara D'Alle, I remember references to women-specific magic styles later on in the book that I skimmed but didn't really study. It might have something on elemental magic, since all these other books seem to at least agree that the realm of elemental magic is almost entirely all for women. _

Hermione reached absently out to feel for a stray quill on the table where she knew there were several, so she could jot down the growing list of things she needed to investigate. _Hogwarts as a sentient building, D'alle's take on elemental magic, maybe other women writers like D'alle? Professor McGonagall may be able to recommend something, or perhaps Madam Pince. Hmm, I should go down to the Library of Dreams soon, sometime this week. I haven't been there in a while, been too busy with training. It'll be a nice relaxing way to unwind in peace, _and _get things accomplished as well. _

She was just about to dip her quill into the inkpot when the door burst open. She froze. Students started pouring in, laughing and talking loudly about their Christmases and what presents they had received. Some of them shouted greetings at her, which she responded to in like, hoping she didn't look like she'd been running a marathon, because her racing heart sure felt like it.

Finally, when she thought she'd somehow missed Harry and Ron, she spotted a blotch of red. Her eyes rapidly traversed her friend's beaming features, his hair standing out from the rest of the gossiping crowd of newly returned students. Slowly, her gaze moved to the person next to him, and she was aware that they were now standing almost in front of her, having somehow moved from across the room to where she was seated. Standing, she finally looked steadily into Harry's piercing eyes, which seemed lighter somehow than she remembered. _Of course. She was remembering the older Harry, the one with no light in his eyes at all. _

"Hello, Ron," she heard herself saying, as if from a distance. She hugged him briefly, and he hugged her back enthusiastically. Then she looked at Harry again, heart thumping painfully like a sea bass frantically trying to free itself from a hook. He smiled at her, and she hoped that she was smiling back and not crying and begging for forgiveness like she thought she might at any moment.

She took a deep breath, looking at the bright green eyes regarding her. "Hi, Harry."

A.N.: Kind of a filler, especially at the beginning. And shorter than normal too, but I've been crazy busy. Life happens. The next month and a half also look pretty busy, but after that I should be home-free for a while. Hope you liked this chapter anyway. Lots of people liked the house elves, so I brought them back for a bit here. 

Oh, and for the anon reviewers who didn't leave a way for me to respond, thank you so much to you guys for reviewing my story! To all you others, thank you as well. But I tell you that in my replies, so you know that I'm profusely grateful for your support already. 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Goodness, you really think I'd deign to write something as asinine as that epilogue out of a four-year-old's favorite fairytale where the person you fall in love with at sixteen is the one you marry and live happily ever after with? No, I do not in any way own Rowling's books or sad sad ending to a pretty darn good series.

"Hi Hermione." He regarded her solemnly, and for a panicked instant Hermione thought that she'd messed up, that she'd given something away, that Harry suspected something was wrong—

"Did you know we finally managed to prank Fred and George successfully?" Harry's face lit up in mischievous amusement.

_Thank God and Merlin and Mary Mother of Christ, I didn't flub up!_

"Sweet Merlin, it was hilarious, Hermione! We finally pulled it off yesterday, after Ginny decided she wanted to get back at the twins for trying to dose her with a potion to turn her skin polka-dotted. You should have seen their faces when they realized that they had to go the entire day wearing pink dresses with lace bows in their hair!" Ron doubled up with laughter just thinking about it, and Hermione smiled fondly at them, the enormous grin feeling strangely foreign on her face.

"Oh? This sounds interesting. Why don't you tell me about it." She threaded her arm through Ron's, and did the same with Harry on the other side without the barest hint of hesitation, dragging them off to the third floor. They had some catching up to do, and the Room of Requirement always came in handy when one did not want to face a rowdy night in the commons.

_I need a room where we'll be safe and undisturbed and cozy. Private and warm and quiet. A place for us to just sit and talk…_

"Ah!" She triumphantly gestured to the door that had appeared. Harry, green eyes sparkling in a way that made her heart hurt with joy—_he's nothing like the other Harry. This is _my _Harry, and he's going to stay that way if I have any say in the matter!—_threw open the door dramatically and bowed, hand on his chest.

"If Milady would deign to enter her Royal Rooms?"

Hermione swatted at him. "You know, the flatterers in this life get an entirely special section in the eighth circle of Dante's hell? They get to wallow in a river entirely of feces and other—shall we say—filth?"

Ron threw himself into one of the comfortable sofas that were arranged before the fireplace that the Room had conjured for them. "Um. Hermione? Do you always read such vivid and disgusting things? I think threw up a little in my mouth just now."

"Well, Ronald, bear in mind that gluttony was punished in the third circle of the _Inferno _by being exposed to the elements, namely snow and rain, and being forever guarded by Fluffy's many-times-great-grandfather?"

It was Harry's turn to wince, before straightening himself in a dignified manner. "Are you suggesting, Madam, that _I _am flattering _you? _Isn't the prideful punished in there as well?"

"In the first place, I'm not a madam. I'm a miss, or mistress if you will. Secondly, the prideful are in purgatory, not hell. Thirdly, are you implying, Harry Potter, that I am, simply put, full of it?"

Two pairs of eyes stared back at her self-righteous tirade, as if assessing whether she was really angry or not. She forced herself to remain calm. Ron cocked his head to one side, then turned to Harry and whispered loudly, "Harry, you're screwed unless you beg furiously on your knees for penitence right now."

Harry shot Ron an incredulous look. "Mate, I think you're blind. Milady is most definitely too taken with my stunning looks to care what comes out of my mouth!"

"Your looks are certainly stunning, Harry. I just about fainted in horror. It'll give me nightmares for months."

Amidst Ron's laughter and Harry's mock-indignant face, Hermione slowly let herself relax, enjoying the suddenly easy banter between them. _This is right. It feels good to laugh. I'd almost forgotten how it feels to just be the three of us, no one else. _

"So, tell me about this business with a certain duo of red-head terrors and some inappropriate cross-dressing. I want to hear how you managed to trick the tricksters."

**breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak**

The Library of Dreams was mostly darkened, but it still held one of its usual occupants. The door grated open to reveal the second, who looked a little bemusedly and in growing frustration at the first.

"Miss Granger. Miss Granger." _Someone's calling me. Professor, must be. No one else would call me that formally. Crap. Curfew. I knew there was a reason I wasn't supposed to spend that long here, I just really wanted to check something on Elemental Magic so Professor McGonagall doesn't surprise me with a pop quiz to determine how eligible I am to be tutored in it, and I guess I got distracted and then dozed off…_

She blinked, and the room slowly slid back into focus. A dark somber shadow was over her, but unlike the menacing feel that the Death Eaters in her dreams seemed to exude, this one was radiating safety, sandalwood, and lemon grass—_wait._

"Professor Snape?" She blinked and looked up to find her guess correct. _Bloody hell. I'm going to be in so much trouble. And Ron's rubbing off on me after all these years. I can't stop swearing, even in my own head._

"Miss Granger. Perhaps you would care to explain just what you were doing out of bed after curfew?" The tall shadow moved back a little, and she now made out his deliberately blank face. _After several months of practice at reading other people, I still can't make out Professor Snape's thoughts or reactions anymore than I could a tree's. _

"Um…I fell asleep and missed it?" She smiled guiltily. His glare intensified. "All right, all right. I was here just before curfew, because I was nervous about whether or not I'd be able to prove to Professor McGonagall that I can tackle elemental magic, and wanted to double-check certain facts here. And I got a little caught up, but then I guess my exhaustion took over from there. I'm sorry, Professor Snape." A short silence ensued.

"As it just so happens," Professor Snape remarked blandly, "I had a short talk with Professor McGonagall this evening, where she confided that if there was anyone who could master such difficult skills, it would be our newest female trainee. She's planning to talk to you tomorrow to tell you that you passed the 'acting test' with flying colors, and expects—"

Hermione cut him off abruptly by jumping up in delight and throwing her arms around him.

_I did it! I impressed even Professor McGonagall. She'll let me learn elemental magic, I'll be able to work directly with the elements instead of indirectly through constructed spells, I did it, I did it, I did it!_

When the sudden burst of euphoria cleared enough for Hermione's brain to process what she'd just done, she quickly let go as if something had burnt her. "I'm so sorry, Sir, I mean, I didn't mean, I mean I meant to say, I wasn't—"

Intensely aware of Professor Snape's uncomfortably stiff posture and that she'd just overstepped the boundaries between Professor and student, or even trainee and teacher, Hermione gulped and met the eyes that were boring into her skull.

_Pure shock at being touched—especially in a hug, of all things! And surprise at my sudden lapse into teen-girl-Hermione when he's been dealing with mature-Order member-Hermione for a while now. Oh, dear. _

Hermione couldn't look away. Finally, after a long moment of absolute suffocating stillness, Professor Snape brusquely motioned to the door. "Come, I will walk you to your dormitory. Ten points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew, and another five for not knowing the limits of your own body. Come along, Miss Granger."

_Ah, so it's to be the 'ignore-it-and-pretend-it-never-happened' way of dealing with things. Well, if he really wants it that way…_They walked awkwardly back in the relative quiet of the night.

**breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak**

"Elemental magic relies more heavily on the emotion of the caster than almost any other magic. It is thought that it was one of the first magics that manifested itself in humans, before traditional wand magic became the most prevalent method in Europe. Do you know why, Miss Granger, it fell into disuse here?"

Even as Professor McGonagall asked the question, the answer rose to Hermione's lips. "European wizards became frustrated at how easily elemental magic fell to witches. With a heavily patriarchal and male-oriented society, wizards began to look for ways in which they could match, or excel above women, and the theory of a logical and systematic tool that drew power and magnified it became the first wands, and wizards did their best to deride elemental magic as too based on weak emotions to really be functional." Hermione frowned, and realized with a start that Professor McGonagall had a very similar expression on her face.

"Completely correct, Miss Granger. Unfortunately for the witches of England in particular, although all of Europe took a hit, women began to lose confidence in her own abilities without a wand, and with the loss of confidence, elemental magic decreased in power and further encouraged a downward spiral in the use and understanding of this unique source of magic. Today, it is only certain parts of the Eastern world that continues the common practice of elemental magic. A shame, isn't it?"

"It certainly is, Professor," Hermione said fervently. _How typical of men! Well, of many men. _Always fair, Hermione allowed that there must have been men who had fought against the installation of the wand and the subsequent death of elemental magic.

"Today, elemental magic is only used in the most trivialized of senses. Perhaps you recall that all wizards and witches, before they received their Hogwarts letter, may have performed a burst of uncontrolled, spontaneous, _wandless _magic?"

"Yes, I remember I turned my neighbor's ca- uh, yeah, every kid has a story about the first time they did magic without meaning to." Hermione felt mortified, and hoped Professor McGonagall would ignore her slip up—she didn't think her animagus Professor would be particularly pleased by Hermione changing a cat bright pink. She had a feeling Professor McGonagall had known what she had been about to blurt out though, because the look she received from her Head of House was particularly vitriolic, almost worthy of Professor Snape.

After the uncomfortable and nonverbal lambasting, Professor McGonagall began her lecture again as if nothing had happened. "Well, in any case, those cases of accidental magic in young children are always documented as happening at a child's particular whim or emotion. This is the most basic and untaught form of elemental magic. _Whatever _magic you manifested, Miss Granger, would have been at the command of a deep desire of yours. I have heard stories of children who wished to be far far away apparate themselves to goodness knows where, and of children who hated a bully so much that the bully somehow mysteriously displayed a rash of bad luck that lasted for days or even weeks. What your task is, Miss Granger, is to tap into that form of want and then allow your more organized adult mind to direct it to the elements.

It is a myth that elemental magic invokes in only the four elements—water, fire, air, earth. Although these are the main elements you have to work with, a skilled elemental witch goes deeper than the large elements, into smaller elements that make up everything, even life."

Hermione was looking for her old science textbook. It was Muggle, that she'd borrowed from her friend Sofi two summers ago, to see what the Muggles had been learning in their school. Sofi had never asked for it back, so Hermione had kept it along with several other miscellaneous things that reminded her of her Muggle life.

She finally found it under her bed in the box that also contained a scrapbook of her family and of Julie and Sofi, a book of John Donne poetry Julie had given her several years ago, and a Muggle magazine she would never have been caught dead reading (although she had thoroughly enjoyed it one of the nights near the beginning of the year, with her roommates both fast asleep and snoring.) _Poor Julie and Sofi. They must be devastated—we just spent an entire summer together, and then the next thing they know, my parents are "dead" and I've abruptly been moved to America to live with my closest relatives. I didn't even get to see them, or say goodbye, although I'm not exactly in the States. That letter that Professor Dumbledore gave them from me doesn't even begin to make up for it. They are my best friends back home—I owe them more. _Hermione hadn't thought about them with all the troubles she'd been through recently either, and it shamed her. Especially since she, Julie, and Sofi had been best friends for a very long time.

_I'll make it up to them somehow, if I survive this blasted war first. _She flipped through the pages, skimming sections here and there. Finally, she closed the book with a sigh and stared into space, taking care not to make enough noise to waken Lavender, who was the lightest sleeper of all four of them in the room.

_I knew that it would be a good idea to never forget my Muggle background and life. I knew it! Muggles are definitely just as brilliant as witches and wizards. _Hermione pondered about how best to approach Professor McGonagall about this. It wouldn't do to walk up to her during her elemental magic lessons and say, "Hey Professor, I've discovered just exactly what mysterious elements you're talking about manipulating, and I've got Muggle science to thank for it. You see, there's this theory that every thing, living and non-living, are made out of millions of little things call atoms, and it completely blows my mind away that with magic, we can play around with the individual atoms and the table of elements…"

No, that would not do at all. Terms like atoms and the table of elements would not be understood. Hermione went back to thinking. _Hm. "Professor McGonagall, Muggles are very very smart and they've figured out what we haven't yet. They know the premise behind what Nicholas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore did in creating the Philosopher's Stone and how the Stone works, if not how to make it do what it does, because you know, it's all a matter of changing the number of electrons in an atom's shell…"_

_No, no, no. That won't do either. _Just how do you go about telling your tutor and Professor about Muggle science during a class in elemental magic? Hermione shoved everything back into the box and climbed into bed quietly, running through possible scenarios and speeches. Halfway through the eighteenth one, she finally fell asleep.

A problem is often solved miraculously if you sleep on it, and Hermione certainly believed in this now if she hadn't before. _Of course, why didn't I think of it last night? _She wondered as she automatically ate her breakfast while Ron laughed at something Harry has said (_my Harry, not the bad-Harry, _she thought to herself—something that had become a mantra of sorts every time she looked at Harry and felt a jolt of guilt or shame).

She had her stealth lessons from Professor Snape tonight, and she would explain her connection between elemental magic and Muggle physics and chemistry to him. He had mentioned going to a Muggle school for a while, and she was certain he'd understand what she was talking about, scientific jargon and all. _I just hope he doesn't blow up or cut me down. Which he will if he's in a bad mood. Please don't be in a bad mood today, Professor Snape! _She willed him to have a very good day, and plastered a smile on her face, tuning in to the conversation flowing around her just in time to hear, "But Harry, you can't say that the Chudley Cannons won't win the next time! You never know." She groaned and laughed at the offended look on Ron's face at the skeptical looks he was getting from the rest of Gryffindor table.

"See, even Milady is against you on that one, Ron." Harry cracked a smirk at his best friend, making him unrecognizable from—the other Harry—and Hermione stuck out her tongue at Harry.

"I've _told _you to stop calling me that!"

"It's such an appropriate name though, you sure do act like royalty, ordering everyone around…"

The rest of Harry's sentence was cut off in a yelp when Hermione threw Ron's pumpkin juice into Harry's face.

"Oi, that's my drink!"

"Get another, Ron."

"Oi, that's my face!"

With a straight and serious expression, Hermione nodded soberly at Harry's indignant howl. "I'm sorry, Harry, but like I told Ron—get another. Your old face leaves something to be desired, Potter."

Let it be said that no one had ever seen, or ever will want to see, Neville shooting pumpkin juice from his nose, or Seamus spraying food all over the general vicinity to the horror of his fellow Gryffindors, all from laughing. The Hufflepuffs chuckled openly with the rest of the Gryffindor table, the Ravenclaws shook their heads at the immaturity of certain people, the Slytherins sneered and made disgusted faces, and the professor's table—well, Professor Snape's glare truly outshone the rest of the stifled merriment among his fellow educators including the twinkly-eyed Headmaster himself.

Hermione hoped that the scowl was just for show, and that Professor Snape would be in an acceptable mood when she met with him tonight for her lesson.

**endendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendendend**

A.N.: Okay, it's been a longer while than usual for my update. I'm sorry! Life happens. Work and more work and writer's block really gets to you after a while. Thank you to all who read, and even more gratitude to those who review.

So, the educational aspects: the hell and purgatory I refer to early on this chapter is part of the trilogy by an Italian poet named Dante Alighieri, who wrote three epics collectively called _The Divine Comedy. _Each book features a different portion of the journey of a pilgrim (identified as Dante himself)—hell, purgatory, and heaven. There are circles of increasing evil in hell for different sins, and there are terraces in purgatory for different sins one must atone for, and heaven of course is grand, with different spheres just like the circles in hell and the terraces in purgatory. They're great works.

"Muggle Science", aka Chemistry and Physics, maybe an eensy bit of Biology. I sure hope you guys know the basics of each science, I don't feel like giving a big lecture on them. Brief summary: Chem—the "potions" of the Muggles, complete with mixing ingredients (chemicals) and explosions (if you mix highly reactive elements together). Physics—the study of the physical world, atoms, particles, how world works and its mechanics. Bio—the study of living beings, cells, the things that make living things live, etc.

Hope you enjoyed a lighter and more humorous chapter after such heavy emotional events in the previous chapters.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: 4 million book locked up in a vault Rowling. 0 e-story accessible to anyone with time on their hands me. I see no comparison, really. Rowling sold her _Tales of Beedle the Bard _for that much, and only the most elite can even glimpse the actual book, much less read it. My opinion (not that anyone's asked me) is that books are meant to be shared. Why write it if no one but a couple rich SOBs are reading it?

So, no, HP is not mine. But you can enjoy this story for free anytime, any day. No key necessary to access.

**begin begin begin**

When she'd worried herself into a frenzy over meeting Harry again, she'd thought of nothing else. But Hermione had just come face to face with Draco Malfoy, and she froze. _Dear Merlin. All ye saints and prophets, I never thought what I'd do when I met Draco again! _The moment's fusion of their eyes passed when Professor Snape began his instructions, but Hermione's heart continued to tap rapidly in her chest, and memories flooded her.

_"Hermione! Hsst!"_

_"What, Draco? I'm trying to concentrate here!"_

_"I'm bored."_

_Hermione looked up from her scattered papers that were rudimentary drawings of the outside of Potter Palace and stared at the blond boy incredulously. "You're bored. And why should I be interested in this?"_

_"Entertain me!"_

_He looked every bit the perfect image of the whiny brat she'd left behind in her past, his lip pouting out slightly and his grey eyes glaring at her as if she were a dancing bear for his amusement. _

_"Merlin, Draco, you imbecilic child! You sound like your schoolboy-prat days, you know. 'I'm bored, entertain me'—go thwack the living hell out of one of the dummies in the other room, or take a nap, or read a book, or talk to Pansy about healing potions or something, and stop bugging me!"_

_"Granger, you've just impugned the Malfoy name by calling me an imbecile. A child I can live with. A prat, I will proudly claim. But Malfoys are not stupid! Prepare to die!"_

_Half-shrieking, Hermione dove for cover under the table just in time, and the impromptu sparring duel began. A half hour later, breathless and having involved the others and sorted into more or less two teams, Hermione smirked triumphantly at a winded Draco. "Do you concede, Malfoy?"_

_"Concede? Never!"_

_"Too bad. Sorry, Skye, say goodbye to your little lover here!" The remaining members still standing on Hermione team descended en masse on the sole survivor on the other side, one Draco Malfoy. On the sidelines, the 'dead' players watched with great interest, and Skye Corwin with no less amusement than the others, as her boyfriend pleaded for mercy in between helpless giggles from the expert tickling._

Class was uneventful, but Hermione felt as if she had been through yet another ordeal within the one period, trying to avoid looking up and staring at Dra-_damn it, in this world he's just Malfoy!-_Malfoy to see the differences between the one she had gotten to know and the one that existed here today.

She must have been successful, because Malfoy walked out as soon as class ended without a second glance back at her, and flanked by his usual bodyguards and various tag-a-longs. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and allowed herself to be swept into the boys' conversation as they made their way to their next classs.

It stayed with her the rest of the day, though, and at dinner she couldn't help but give a fleeting glance down to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy held court.

Or rather, didn't, today. Instead of the trademark smirk and nasty joviality she remembered from before, Malfoy was seated in his usual seat, but staring listlessly at his food. He seemed to pay no attention to the chatter flowing around him, instead staring at the plate in from of him as if it was the cause to all his troubles.

Now that Hermione thought about it, she really couldn't remember Dra- _Malfoy _acing his obnoxious self even before she'd embarked on her unusual field trip. And he'd been at Hogwarts for Christmas, she remembered him at the table during meals. _Why would Malfoy stay in Hogwarts over Christmas? He taunted Harry several years back about not having a home to go back to over break. Come to think of it, there's really been nothing out of Malfoy for the entire year now, except for the odd sneer at Harry, Ron, and me. I don't ever see him skulking around anymore. In fact, I only see him at meals and in the classes that I have with him. I wonder what's going on with him?_

Hermione couldn't recall anything that the Draco of the other world had particularly mentioned about his sixth year, so presumably it was something that was different in the two worlds.

_Wait. Or perhaps not. Draco did mention off-handedly that in sixth year, he'd had the toughest decision of his life and he didn't regret what he chose but he wished it could have been different. I never asked. Maybe this is what's going on with this Malfoy. He has to make a decision between right and wrong. And there's no guarantee that this Malfoy will pick the right one. Shit._

She supposed she could have just let it slide. It wasn't her life, after all. But two things forced her hand. One, that whatever Draco Malfoy was involved with might actually affect her and her world significantly. But more importantly, because the Draco that was in the other world had been her _friend. _And friends don't let friends get lost. _Sure, technically this isn't my friend Draco. But he has the potential to one day be that honorable and courageous man with a sly and witty sense of humor and a sweet and very tender heart. And I will do my best to help this Malfoy become as admirable, or my name isn't Hermione Granger. _That night, Hermione resolved, she'd tell Professor Snape about her observations and fears and the little she knew about Draco Malfoy.

**Line break line break line break line break**

"Let me get this straight. In essence, Miss Granger, you've decided that I am now your- oh, what do the Muggles call it- your _therapist, _in whom you confide all your irrelevant thoughts and _feelings? _Is that the reason for your sudden verbal diarrhea?"

Undeterred, Hermione stifled an involuntary giggle rising up at Professor Snape's scathing use of Muggle terms. _Verbal diarrhea? Therapist? You know something's wrong when you find Professor Snape's verbal attacks more funny than scary or infuriating. Oh dear. Don't laugh, Hermione that definitely wouldn't help my cause any._

"Well, Professor Snape, as I have explained many times, you are one of the few people I know who knows the full extent of my life, as well as knows the basics of the Muggle world. I also see you on a regular basis. Therefore it stands to reason I'd ask you to help me explain my theory to Professor McGonagall. I don't think I'd be able to explain it that well, I'm too entrenched in the Muggle world to know what to explain—it's all natural, it would be like Malfoy trying to explain how magic works to a Muggle. And in the other matter—" here, Hermione sobered, and looked up firmly into the man's eyes.

"I have seen a world where Draco Malfoy becomes a charming young man with an open heart and a firm code of beliefs in right and wrong. I knew him as a man of integrity who hasn't lost a whit of arrogant confidence and Slytherin cunning, but tempered with a real concern for his fellow beings. I don't want to face him—even if it's only in dreams, my head, or after I die—and tell him that his counterpart made several wrong choices and ended up mired in things too big for him to handle, and I could have stopped it but didn't. I owe it to my friend, Professor. And I know that you hold much influence over Dra- over Malfoy, no matter how much he tries to avoid it or shake it. He respects you. He wants your approval badly, any fool can see that. As one of the few important people in his life right now, you are the natural choice to confide my knowledge of the other Draco to, knowing that you can use that to help Malfoy. I can't exactly waltz up to Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy and tell them about an alter-world's version of their son-turned-good."

There was a silence, where Hermione caught her breath. She knew that she was being completely un-spy-like and un-subtle right now, staring in apprehension and hope at Professor Snape. She wondered if he would berate her for that—it was the cultivation of her spying, deception, and stealth that was the actual reason she was meeting with him tonight, after all. But after a long moment, he finally nodded slightly, and she breathed out in relief.

"Very well. I will continue to keep an eye on Draco. Your next lesson with Professor McGonagall is in two days, is it not?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall invite myself to your lesson, but you will explain yourself to her, with me on-hand for anything you are unable to communicate."

It was the most concession she'd get from him, and Hermione smiled thankfully. "Thank you, Professor Snape. You have no idea what this means to me."

"Now that you have wasted half our time with your useless idle yammering, we will get started on the arts that Slytherins prize and cultivate. Your acting skills will only take you so far. How are your listening skills, Miss Granger?"

**line break line break line break line break**

_I'm exhausted. _Hermione flopped down onto her bed, mentally drained. She'd just been put through a mental blender by Professor Snape, and she was sure it was payback for springing her two requests on him at the start of the lesson. He'd quizzed her on the importance of memory.

"_In the business of snooping, it isn't prudent to jot down everything of significance that you learn. Can you tell me why?"_

_"Um, sometimes I wouldn't have the time, if it happened to be when I'm rushing?"_

_"Correct, but you neglected to remember something just as important. Anything written is a liability. Remember that, Miss Granger. Anything you write has the potential to be used against you, or obtained by those who should not gain such information. Now, what is the solution to this obvious problem?"_

_"To…memorize things?"_

_"Inadequate. Memorize what, exactly? The color of a Ministry official's curtains?"_

_"The specific information that I am searching for, or the information that is especially pertinent to our world, sir."_

_"Better, but not enough."_

_"I don't know what you're trying to get at, sir!"_

_"Will wonders never cease, the know-it-all has admitted defeat to a little questioning session. You'd never make it in any sort of interrogation, unless you kept your trap shut the entire time. The correct answer, Miss Granger, is this: that a spy who wants to keep from getting caught and be successful must memorize three simple things. One, the exact order and placement physically of the place you are snooping around in. It wouldn't do for the owner of said place to return and find papers mysteriously in a different position. Two, you must have a pre-memorized list of significant common words related to what you are set to spy for. Those words are the trigger words for you to listen more closely and to memorize anything that may be said or written. And thirdly, a good spy must remember first and foremost the persona they are, as if it were themselves. For all intents and purposes you are the person you are pretending to be, whether it is by Polyjuice Potion or simply a nasty version of yourself. Are you catching any of this, Miss Granger?"_

_"Yes, sir." Hermione scribbled frantically, writing in shorthand to keep up with his lecture._

_"Put down the pen, Miss Granger. This is your first exercise with memory, to take away the main points of this lecture and only skim the rest of the babble that goes with the explanations, and to remember them for next lesson."_

_"But-"_

_"Who is the professor here, Miss Granger?"_

_"You, sir." _

_"I'll thank you to remember that."_

_"Yes, sir." Hermione struggled to keep from frowning and her brow furrowed as she tried to focus on memorizing what Professor Snape said as he continued his lecture, moving on to various techniques on how to listen well, memorization devices, and how to maintain an act far past just acting and well into forcing the self to _be _the person she needed to be for the entire time she needed to be that person. _

Hermione hadn't known how absolutely tiring being a spy was. Even if she wasn't going to be an actual spy for a while, except for within the school among her classmates, she would need to be alert for anything relevant, 24/7. It must be so much worse for Professor Snape, their only real spy within the Death Eaters, who had to constantly be someone he wasn't on so many different levels that she doubted that even Professor Snape really knew who exactly he himself was if he wasn't pretending, at least on some level.

Her assignment was to remember all the main points of the lesson to recite back to Professor Snape, as well as practice noticing minute changes in the same setting, like a pen being moved from one end of her desk to the other. She wasn't looking forward to the next lesson, especially as Professor Snape had hinted at a thorough lecture on memorizing a chunk of speech or text verbatim to the point of being able to recite it back, after only having heard or read something once. _How I'll do that, I have no idea. It seems impossible. But if Muggle waiters and waitresses at high class restaurants can memorize the entire menu for their customers, and then also their orders, then it may be possible. Just difficult. Like I need any more difficult in my life…_

**Line break line break line break line break**

_I'm exhausted. Should have known straight off that teaching that brain would be hard work, with the surprises she sprung on me right at the start. Although her theory about Elemental magic and Muggle atoms is quite ingenious and creative, I must admit. And I am still slightly shocked at her concern for my godson. _Draco worried him, more than he had let on to Miss Granger. Severus hadn't gotten any further in getting the boy to confide anything, and continued to remain distanced and sullen. He didn't appear to be eating well either. If what Miss Granger had willingly expressed about the other Draco's character was anything like this Draco Malfoy, Severus hoped that his enlightenment to the man Draco could become as well as the ambiguous references to sixth year would help somehow in his quest to really get to Draco. The boy deserved better than his lot, paying somehow for the crimes of his father in more ways than one. If it had to be Miss Granger who helped Severus to guide Draco, then so be it. He'd endure the chit if it meant saving his godson.

_Oh, stuff it, Severus, you know you'd work with her willingly any day, and not just for your own gain._

Huffing at his own traitorous thoughts, Severus growled the commandment to kill the lights, and tried to ignore his wandering mind's examination of the extraordinarily intelligent witch. And if it felt hotter in his room than was justified by the dungeons in winter, well, he must have cast extra-strong warming spells on his blankets this evening. It certainly had nothing to do with how he had always had a weakness for intelligent and outspoken witches.

**A.N.: Any thoughts? Questions? Suggestions? Let me know in a review. I love those. Thanks to all who have already reviewed, whether anonymous (I can't respond, but I hope you know that I really appreciate it nonetheless) and those that are signed as well. You guys are awesome. Thanks also to those who have either put my story on alert, or on their favorites, and those who have put me on their author list, it makes me happy. :) **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. If I did, the epilogue would be nothing but ash in the biggest bonfire I could find. No, the pleasure (and money) is all Rowling's.**

_How am I supposed to pull this off? I have less than three months to do what no witch or wizard, not even the Dark Lord, has managed to accomplish, and the lives of my parents are held ransom for this. Who am I kidding, I'm not even old enough to have my apparating license, let alone—kill. _

Draco, in his position huddled in the girl's bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle, shuddered and couldn't stop his spasms or the way his breath hitched up even at the thought. It was all very well to posture and brag and joke around about killing for a cause, for doing anything to further a great goal. But Draco was only fifteen going on sixteen, and he didn't want to kill. He didn't want to die. He didn't want his parents to die. _The quintessential lose-lose situation. Harry Bloody Potter never had to choose whether to kill or be killed, it was always him getting into trouble and other people saving his ass. _

"Fuck!" He screamed in frustration, unable to stand it anymore. Bitterly, he buried his face into his arms, sobbing harshly. _It would be so easy. Just quietly take some of the undetectable poison I swiped from Uncle Severus, and by morning I'd be well out of it. _

But he couldn't. Couldn't because he was a coward. Couldn't because despite the shitty doomed life ahead of him with no way out, Draco didn't want to die.

Of course, life has a way of toying with someone who's already down, as one Draco Malfoy was about to find out.

**--break--**

He came to in a blur of pain and residual anger, along with the familiar despair that had accompanied him all year, since he'd gone before the Dark Lord alone and been assigned an impossible task. It took him a minute to put the white ceiling he was staring at and the murmuring he was hearing in the background together, but when he realized where he was, his memory came rushing back. _The girl's bathroom. Crying like a girl- like a _coward. _Potter. His curse, I thought it was a dark one or grey at best. I never thought Potter would have the guts to try that on me. _Draco felt a rush of indignant fury, but it quickly faded back into the dreary indifference and depression he'd been unable to shake for the past year.

"Mister Malfoy? Oh good, you're awake. Let me just see how you're doing…" Madame Pomfrey bustled around to his side, and Draco saw a shadowy movement beyond the mediwitch.

"Uncle Severus?" It came out much smaller than he'd meant it to—Merlin, he sounded like a five-year-old! But the man silently moved forward, his face impassive.

"Draco. I do not need to remind you that at school you are to address me as sir, or Professor Snape. Nevertheless, I will—ignore it—just this once. How are you feeling?"

"A little tired. What happened after…" _After Potter beat me. _He couldn't stomach the slick bile of resentment that rose in his throat.

"I was able to perform a hasty field patch job on you, and get you to Madame Pomfrey in time for her to force some Blood-Replenishing Potion down you and then heal you properly. You were lucky I got there when I did, Potter didn't know a thing about the spell he invoked nor how to heal the damage he wrought on a fellow student."

Draco heard the undercurrent of tension in his godfather's words, and gave a half-smile. He understood all too well the gross inequities between the Houses, mainly against Slytherins. He would be getting little recompense from Potter, even if Potter had almost killed him. _That's the way the wand swishes, no one said that life would be fair. The world against Slytherins. _They'd learnt a bitter lesson first year, when Dumbledore had abruptly, in a matter of moments, casually awarded Gryffindor enough points to win the House Cup, never mind that countless Slytherins had been working their ass off to get earn the top position. Simply pull a couple brainless stunts and go against a couple rules, endanger your own lives, and belong to Gryffindor. That's all you needed to have a ticket to the world, and Draco knew that no Slytherin would ever be given the same considerations.

"Well you look like you're healing up nicely, Mister Malfoy. But I'm not letting you leave the hospital wing until tomorrow morning, you need a good night's sleep and some good bed rest. Oh, and Mister Malfoy, have you been eating lately?"

"I haven't had much of an appetite the last few days. I suppose I'm nervous for the exams." _Bloody hell, I sound like Granger, obsessing over exams and studying. Well, it was the first excuse that I could think of. I'm not cut out to be a real spy, not like Uncle Severus, but hopefully Madame Pomfrey will buy it. _

She pursed her lips in disapproval, but didn't push the subject. "Well I would advise you to eat more, you're getting peaky and part of the lethargy that some of the professors have reported in you recently can be attributed to the fact that you're not getting enough food to sustain your energy, especially working magic in classes and all that. It's draining on you."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll do better," he said obediently. Father had taught him to always _always _be polite to your mediwitch or wizard. Healers were the worst people to cross—they knew all sorts of nasty and creative ways to hurt the body, and while they took the Hippocratic Oath very seriously, they were also allowed to bend the rules enough to punish someone who deserved it, and no one knew just what constituted _deserving it. _No Healer had ever said.

Uncle Severus- no, Professor Snape at Hogwarts, he had to remember that- raised a skeptical eyebrow at Draco's glib excuse of exam stress, but remained quiet until Madame Pomfrey finally left the two, warning Professor Snape not to tax him too much.

"You have some things to explain to me, I believe, Draco? Starting with why you were found in emotional distress in the girl's bathroom by Potter." His godfather flicked his wand to build a shield for privacy.

Draco suppressed an inordinate desire to panic. _I should have known he'd want to know what I was doing, he _is _my godfather and my Head of House to boot. But I can't tell him just _why _I was cloistered in Moaning Myrtle's company! _

_You can't keep this from him forever. He always finds out. Even back during the time you had a mild crush on a certain forbidden Gryffindor know-it-all, Uncle Severus found out. You'll never be able to hide this secret, you're lucky he's let you slide for as long as he has…_

_Shut up, _he told himself firmly. _I have to do it. There's no other choice. Professor Snape has other commitments that bar him from helping me. It's up to me to save my family. _Draco shuddered involuntarily at how his thoughts had echoed what the Dark Lord had confided in him during their private meeting. _Don't think about it. Clear your mind, Uncle Severus will see too much of the truth if you don't calm down. _Slowly, Draco took a breath and prepared to tell more lies to the people he knew cared about him. _My entire life is a lie._

**--break--**

He wasn't getting anywhere with the damn boy. Sometimes, Severus wished that Draco had not inherited the stubborn streak from his parents. Although with both Narcissa and Lucius often obdurate in their decisions, he shouldn't have been surprised that their boy turned out anything less than an absolute nightmare in stubbornness. What worried Severus the most was that the boy was lying well, very well. Smoothly, as if he'd become suddenly skilled at something Severus _knew, _after years of Christmases and visits to the Malfoy estate, that Draco was not trained at nor natural in. His godson had lied before, but Severus had easily been able to read him. Now, the boy was _too _adept at evading the questions and providing perfectly sound answers for the rest. It was as if the boy Poppy Pomfrey had questioned earlier was gone, the boy who was obviously lying.

That made Severus very worried indeed. What was it that had his godson so worried of discovery that he would suddenly develop an unforeseen talent to lie? He was still getting nowhere with Draco when the door swung open again, and Severus gave Draco a last warning glare to tell him they weren't done by a long shot before hastily lowering the Privacy spell. Poppy was holding a bottle of Dreamless Sleep and a look that said, _don't even bother trying to argue with me. _As she poured out the dose for Draco, Severus backed up and was about to exit the room when a second person entered the room, one who was all together too familiar for Severus' comfort.

"Madame Pomfrey- oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll wait for you outside, I needed to ask you something." Miss Granger stood uncertainly just inside the door. To her credit—and his since he _had _been teaching the chit how to roll with the punches of life, so to speak, in stealth lessons—she did not show an iota of surprise flicker on her face as she caught sight of Draco in the hospital bed.

His godson, on the other hand, seemed to flush a little and it was obvious that he was trying and failing to hide his shock and embarrassment at being found less than perfect. _I know he liked Miss Granger back in third year, and I warned him of what the reactions of his peers and…others…would be. It is all together too dangerous for both parties to get involved. He had better not be rekindling that fantasy. _The unexpected flash of dismay and anger caught Severus off-guard. _It's because it's such a bad idea, especially with whatever obviously troubling Draco having to do with the Dark Lord. It just wouldn't do to have them mixed up in each other. _Severus ignored the suggestive whisper of his truly abominable active mind hinting that he was angry for any other reason. _Don't be absurd. Why should I be jealous? Miss Granger certainly isn't mine!_

Poppy's voice roused him from his reverie. "That's perfectly fine, Miss Granger. Unless you needed to ask me in private, why don't you just go ahead right here? I'm just giving Mister Malfoy some Dreamless Sleep."

"Um. Well. I was just…wondering. You mentioned several days ago that perhaps I could visit Skye again the next time you went to St. Mungos to consult with the Head Healer there, and then I heard that you would be going this evening…"

_I had forgotten about Miss Granger's semi-frequent visits to the girl. _Severus glanced cautiously out of the corner of his eye just in time to see Draco turn pale suddenly, and he cursed silently. _How could I not have remembered just how Skye Corwin ended up in the long-term damage ward in St. Mungos? Damn! _

"Oh, I'm so sorry Miss Granger. I had completely forgotten. Of course you may come. The Healer in charge of her has noted that whenever you're there to talk to the girl, she seems to display a much more relaxed state and a higher positive regeneration of her magic than usual, as well as more brain activity. Whatever it is you're doing with Miss Corwin, it certainly is doing her good."

Poppy handed the dosage to Draco, who took it dazedly without complaining. _I'm going to have to talk to him first thing tomorrow. And Miss Granger too. What was she thinking, mentioning the Corwins in front of Draco?_

He exited curtly, and did not look back.

**--break--**

That evening, despite the dose of Dreamless Sleep, Draco Malfoy's emotional distress countered the effects of the potion too efficiently. A sour taste of guilt curdled on his tongue. He barely remembered what the girl looked like, all he knew was that she was a Ravenclaw with an ancestry going back to almost as far as the Malfoys, and that his father had wanted a Ravenclaw pureblooded witch in his family. And how it had panicked him, that he was going to be bound to a girl he didn't know for the rest of his life, and he'd been so grateful when she'd refused. He'd thought that everything could go back to normal, that he could live the life of a normal kid and pretend that he was just like any other bratty, spoiled student. Until his father had gotten that look in his eyes, and then he had known that nothing would turn out right or the way he wanted it to. And two weeks later, he'd heard that the Corwins were dead and their daughter not expected to make it. _It's my fault. I should have never been born. Everything would have been better for us all if I'd never been born. _In the eerily silent hospital ward, surrounded by deathly white walls, Draco buried his face under his pillow and wished for oblivion.

At another whitewashed hospital room, a brown-haired girl sat by the bedside of Skye Corwin and spoke in a low, soothing voice about school assignments and the memories she had of another Skye in another world. The spell Hermione had put up ensured their privacy, and she spent the next hour trying not to cry while talking to the peaceful body of someone she'd counted a friend during the three months nightmare she'd experienced.

And in a darkened room that was a far cry from the stark whiteness of both hospital rooms, a dark-haired man relived the nightmares of countless memories he wished he could erase, memories he knew he would continue to haunt him the rest of his life. And in his dreams, as he watched himself coldly torture and kill faceless forms, he heard the refrain of his own voice chanting, "Mudblood! Mudblood!" over and over again, a broken record of the worst day of his life.

**A.N.: I borrowed a couple events from the later books and changed them a little, even though I'm mostly not following them from sixth onwards. It's mainly just the Draco-crying-in-the-bathroom episode, as well as an allusion to Severus' worst memory when he called Lily Evans a Mudblood. Reviews are love! Thanks to everyone who's read this far, you're all awesome.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own HP. Jo does. Go bug her for the autographs and the whatnots that come with fame. I do own my OCs like the Corwins. And writing and plot._

**--start--**

He confronted her the next day, after he had tried and failed to get Draco to discuss either the Dark Lord's assignment or the Corwins with him. It had been a lesson day, which meant her prompt knock on the door at seven, carrying her enchanted note of _actual _notes on stealth and other topics he saw fit to cover, as well as her faux notes on the top of outlines and research on her thesis, their excuse for the lessons. She looked exhausted, and he squelched the worry that she wasn't eating or sleeping enough.

"Miss Granger. Ah, you deign to show up."

"Sir? I'm on time…"

"You're a minute late."

"Not by my watch, or by the clock in Gryffindor Tower. I'm sorry if I am a _minute _late by your standards, Professor." Her voice took on a stern tone, and her face hardened.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disrespect, and another five for being late. Sit down."

She sat, obviously restraining her anger. He let the silence tick by for a long, awkward pause before he suddenly straightened and let his eyes bore into hers. "Miss Granger, what exactly were you _thinking _when you decided to mention Miss Corwin in any way, shape, or form in front of Mister Malfoy yesterday?"

Caught off-guard, the brown-haired girl blinked, and opened her mouth. He didn't give her a chance to answer. "I rescind that statement. It is obvious that you _weren't _thinking. Quite a lapse from the little trumped up know-it-all and perfectionist. You neglected to remember Mister Malfoy's relations in terms to Miss Corwin's, and you caused nothing but pain for Mister Malfoy. It appears as though all my lessons in memory and recall that are crucial to your success as any sort of spy, even a Ministry lackey like Percy Weasley, have not reached your thick brain. Have you suddenly caught it from your _friends, _perhaps? Or maybe—maybe you _meant _to torment my godson with the reminder of his hand in the tragedy that befell the Corwins. It wouldn't be the first time a Gryffindor felt no compulsion to uphold their glorified values when dealing with a Slytherin. So _tell me, _Miss Granger, which was it? Were you brainless and un-teachable, or purposefully malicious?"

The words dripped off his tongue too naturally, as they had many times before although the target was different. The familiar fury came rushing back, the helplessness as he twisted and writhed upside-down in front of his nemeses and the world, the blind wrath as the werewolf and his other would-be executioners got off of a murder attempt with a slap on the wrist and he was silenced instead, the betrayal and shame as he watched Lucius Malfoy's pensieve of Lily, _his _Lily, dressed like an angel, kiss Potter and vow to belong to him forever, Lily _smiling _at Potter like she used to smile at him when he pushed her swing on the playground or told her stories about magic.

But the look in Hermione's eyes mirrored exactly one of his worst nightmares, and he had to look twice to realize that it wasn't Lily's green eyes staring at him in wide-eyed speechlessness after he had called her a _Mudblood, _but gentler, more earthly chocolate eyes.

He didn't have time to recover from the breathless shame and _Oh no what have I done, not again _thoughts. Hermione picked up her notes and fled, slamming the door behind her. The dungeons echoed and shook with the force of the door, and Severus stood frozen for what felt like eternity, staring at where she'd be sitting. He felt numb, like he had the last time a girl had looked at him the same way, with the shock and sense of betrayal manifest in her body.

He drank more firewhisky than he had ever drunk before, even more than the day Lily had married Potter. His last coherent thoughts were the brutal realization that somewhere along the way, he has stopped calling her _Miss Granger. _

**--break--**

She wanted to scream. She wanted to mutilate anyone in her sight, especially anyone who looked slightly like Professor Snape. She wanted to _rip _him apart so badly, and throw the pieces of his body to the giant squid.

She could do none of these, and so she grimly slaughtered manikin after manikin that the Room of Requirement sent her, first with borderline dark curses, then sword, then when it wasn't enough, with bare hands. She didn't lose once, barely aware of anything in the darkened maroon chamber that matched her mood perfectly except for the furious pounding of her blood's pulse in her eyes and ears and fists.

She wasn't capable of thought. Somehow, her body knew that if she succumbed to actually thinking about it, her mental walls would collapse and give way to the Vacuumency threatening to take over. Instead, her vision and mind narrowed to only the next move of her opponent, the next countermove she planned, the sweat that rolled down to the small of her back and the bits of hair plastered to her face, the swipe of a fist, the momentary heartbeat between the vanquished dummy and the next. The Room of Requirement didn't question her needs, no matter how violent—it simply gave.

She didn't hear the door open, but she _sensed _it—the old wood itself told her magic. Later, when she was once again able to think rationally, she would look back on this as a breakthrough in her elemental magic studies—when she finally connected on a deeper level with atoms that weren't the basic four, and communicated with it. She defeated the charging Death Eater who had suspiciously lank black hair before spinning to threaten whoever had come to confront her in _her _space. She had very nearly called on the elements of the stone walls and floor around the unidentified person to form a cage around the person before she recognized who it was.

The blood receded from her brain, and she could think a little again without straining her mental walls. "P- Professor Dumbledore?"

He smiled genially, though she detected a hint of compassion and worry behind it. Around them, the bare and gloomy room morphed into a comfortable and familiar place—the Gryffindor common room. "Miss Granger. I hope you don't mind me cutting in on your training session. I see you've been hard at work."

Speechless, she nodded dumbly. "Ah. As always, this room shifts to change to what is needed of it. I believe that through that door there you'll find a shower and a change of clothes. Perhaps you'd like to get more comfortable before we have a chat?"

Hermione gaped at the smiling headmaster before nodding jerkily and going to the small and unobtrusive door in the corner that he had pointed out. It didn't take her long to make herself slightly more presentable, and she came out wringing her dripping hair on a large towel, dressed in one a version of her comfort clothes from back home—obviously Muggle in origin, but she preferred the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants to robes that one always tripped in.

She sat down across from the headmaster, who was cheerfully popping a square of chocolate into his mouth. "Oh, excuse my bad manners. Would you like anything to eat? A bar of chocolate, a lemon drop perhaps? I find this room quite accommodating to my tastes."

"No thank you, Professor." Hermione reached for the water bottle she'd set aside instead, taking big gulps. She'd lost quite a lot of liquid after all—she hadn't pushed herself this hard since…well, since her impromptu trip to an alternate universe.

"Well then. Was there anything you wanted to tell me?"

His voice and his smile gave nothing away, but Hermione knew that somehow, Professor Dumbledore _knew _what had happened and was not going to leave until he heard the entirety of it. _Is this how Professor Snape feels whenever he has to report to the headmaster about meetings with Voldemort? _Hermione shied away from the thought of Professor Snape, preferring not to think about the bastard who had caused all of this trouble in the first place.

"What do you know?" She was curt and to the point.

Professor Dumbledore was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Well, my dear, I don't know much. But what I've heard from the portraits and from the Bloody Baron that Severus hasn't been this drunk since Potters' wedding. And that several suits of armor were witness to you running from the dungeons straight to this place in quite a hurry, not very long after you had entered."

"You called Professor Snape Severus in front of me," Hermione said.

"Yes, my dear. I did that on purpose. You are an Order member now, almost out of your official training, and within the Order all are equal, even the High Council and the outer peripheral members. Once you finish the rest of your lessons, you'll be expected to use our first names, and we will use yours. I believe Minerva is looking forward to welcoming you as her equal and colleague soon, she was telling me how fast you were coming along in your elemental magic. And Poppy says that while you'll never be a Healer, you'll certainly know how to stop the worst damage from spreading and how to do some quick field healing. So, let me be the first to ask you to call me by my first name when we are alone, Hermione. I am Albus."

Hermione blinked. Somehow, among all the other factors that had fast-forwarded the last years of her childhood, this was one thing that had never occurred to her. Calling her elders and her professors by their first name?

"Albus," she tried out. The headmaster's eyes twinkled in acknowledgment.

"Now, Hermione, I believe we were discussing something important?"

"Oh, right." She grimaced, and reinforced her mental shields. "Um…Professor Snape accused me of some untrue things and I overreacted I suppose."

Professor Dumbledore- _Albus-_ was persistent though, and before she knew it, Hermione had haltingly told the whole story, in bits and pieces. When she'd finished, he sighed.

"I apologize on Severus' behalf, Hermione. Severus is a man who often cannot look past something to see behind, and he uses his words as his best defense. And Mister Malfoy is his godson, therefore making it even harder for him to deal with the unfamiliar emotions. Severus is not used to handling feelings well, I'm afraid."

"He didn't even give me a chance to explain! He just barreled over me, jumped straight to the conclusion that I was either an idiot or malicious, and never even stopped to think! I know he's an intelligent man, if he'd just _thought _about it he would have realized that I mentioned Skye on purpose, because the Draco Malfoy who's wallowing in despair and self-pity right now needs something to jolt him awake and make him find himself! That Draco Malfoy who was crying in the girl's bathroom and lying pathetically in the hospital bed is a weak bully and coward who _has _the potential to become a courageous and great man if he would own up to his own mistakes, stop blaming himself for the things he _didn't _do, and start questioning what he himself wants out of life, and not what a stupid tyrant or his parents wants! That's _not _the Draco that I knew in the other world, and I'll be damned if I don't try my best to remind _this _one of his heart and his free will!"

Hermione subsided and blushed slightly. "Sorry."

"No, no, you're well within your rights to be frustrated. I have certainly used an expletive or two in my passionate youth. And I find it very good of you to try and guide our Mister Malfoy, Hermione."

She slumped down. "Professor Snape doesn't think so."

"Professor Snape is oftentimes blinded more than he cares to admit. He'll come around."

"I don't know about that. After his tirade, I just ran. I would have attacked him with my bare hands if I'd stayed any longer."

"Oh, don't worry about Severus. After an extremely strong Hangover Cure, he'll be his usual snarly self tomorrow morning and you'll be able to straighten things out during the lesson I've rescheduled for you tomorrow evening."

Hermione thought of several less than clean words then, although her expression only wavered a little. _Why you sly, conniving bastard! You've manipulated me right into meeting with Professor Snape tomorrow! _

"Oh, and Poppy Pomfrey says that after this week, you'll be done with all that you really need of the essentials of healing, and after that you'll begin lessons with my good friend Mong, who will guide you through the steps of properly acclimating to your Vacuumency skills without them taking over. Perhaps you remember him, he was initiated at the same time as you?"

Yes, she remembered. Li Mong Xing, the short frail Chinese man who exuded a controlled power and didn't power to cover it up with an act like Profe- like Albus. _Thank Merlin, I won't have to deal with these mental walls all the time and the uncertainty that they aren't strong enough. _"Yes, I remember him. Is he finished with his training?"

"Yes, he is. I think we'll schedule your lessons on Monday nights at midnight, at the Library of Dreams. You shouldn't have to move around much, so the comfort of that room should be a good setting, along with its privacy. Irma Pince is on the research team of the Order, so you'll not be disturbed by any teacher not in the Order yet who may take a hankering to late-night reading. And I'm sure you'll be glad to get your free period back once your healing lessons are over."

"Yes, definitely. Thank you, Albus." She said it sincerely, and knew that he had caught the rest of the unspoken message. _Thank you for calming me down and talking to me. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for treating me like an equal. _

"Now, I believe that Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are about to start looking for you. Perhaps you should reassure them as to you continued wellbeing." Pro- _Albus _smiled at her cheerily, and Hermione nodded reluctantly and steeled herself to get up from the too-comfortable sofa. When she finally made it up, she felt like a puddle of melted bones and cartilage and skin. _Oh boy, I've definitely overdone it. I'm not going to be walking normally for the next week! _She winced, and slowly tottered over to the door after the man, who opened the door for her before—_What? _His wink, along with his body and the surroundings, dissolved around her and then suddenly solidified again—into the clear, sharp surroundings just outside of Gryffindor Tower. She was standing right in front of the portrait entrance! _Wait, how..._Albus' voice echoed in her ear and she nearly jumped despite her weariness.

"I find that the fastest way to travel around the castle is if I simply ask politely. Hogwarts is very accommodating to the people it likes, and it seems very partial to you, you know." His chuckle drifted on the air next to her ear before abruptly vanishing._ Hm, I wonder if I can learn to do that? The whooshing from place to place, I mean. It would be so convenient. _It brought into mind what the house-elves had been telling her about some time ago, which she hadn't given much thought on since then. The idea of a sentient Hogwarts somehow _liking _her and was worth an experiment._ Is this how the house-elves travel, perhaps? By asking Hogwarts? But then how do they travel outside, and how about the personal house-elves in other places other than Hogwarts? _Distracted by this new train of thought, Hermione muttered the password and entered to find Harry and Ron huddled in the corner with their heads over a suspicious-looking tattered piece of paper.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The boys jumped at her voice, and turned around. "Hermione! We were just going to go look for you! Where have you been?"

_How does the headmaster seem to know everything? "_I was in the Room of Requirement."

"But isn't it your project day? We even braved the dungeons and Professor Snape's classroom to look for you when you didn't come back at the usual time. We were afraid he'd bitten you or something," Ron exclaimed.

"I'm flattered, boys, that you think I need rescuing. How many times do I have to tell you that Professor Snape _isn't _a vampire? Today was my 'work-on-thesis day', but I, um, got into a little altercation with Professor Snape and decided to work off some potentially harmful feelings in the RoR."

"_You _got into a little altercation with Snape and lived to tell the tale? How little?"

She wasn't inclined to correct their disrespect of a professor at the moment. Not when said professor had called her essentially a coward or a bully, or both. "Yelling at me, face-turning-purple little. Sort of the kind of little when Harry and him get into it on your bad days. I think he was so mad he forgot to take off any points or give me detention, he just screamed at me. And then I ran out on him."

Harry and Ron looked at her with wide-eyed awe.

"What?"

"You're- you're still _alive._" Ron poked her in the arm as if to check that she really was alive and not an Inferi.

"Yeah. You made Snape so mad he forgot to take points off or give detention. You're our _hero._" Harry half-bowed in his seat with a flourish. "How may your two humble servants serve you? You deserve to be carried everywhere you go on a litter, and fed the best chocolate pudding and ice cream."

"That would be bad for my teeth," Hermione said primly. After a pause where the two boys goggled at her unexpected answer, all three of them burst into giggles. Hermione felt glad that she had such great and funny friends to temporarily take away the painful sting and rush of emotions and _betrayal _she'd felt in the face of Professor Snape's tirade. _This is good. I haven't had enough time to just laugh with Harry and Ron and plan pranks and joke around. _

"Well, if that's _all _you can come up with as a reward for my miraculous deed, I suppose I will _allow _you two to carry me up to my room. She imperiously crossed her arms and waited.

"Have you forgotten that the stairs to the girl's dormitory won't let us go up?"

"Oh, I've found a solution to that." _At least I hope I have. It would be embarrassing to be dumped on my ass in the middle of the stairs if the staircase evicts Harry and Ron from the premises. _

Skeptically, Harry and Ron formed a chair with their arms and she sat imperiously in between them on their linked arms. They hoisted her up and moved towards the staircase. When they reached the bottom, she halted them for a minute and closed her eyes. _Um…Hogwarts, would you please let Harry and Ron up the stairs just this once, so they can carry me to my room? I really did overdo it in the Room of Requirement, I don't think I'd be able to do anything but crawl up the flight of steps if they don't carry me…_She felt slightly silly, but the next minute there was a not-quite-a-sound that nevertheless seemed to be a _presence _that definitely felt amused. She hoped that it was a good sign. "Okay boys, onward march!"

They tentatively put their foot on the first step. Nothing happened. Slowly, climbing as if there was an ambush just waiting to happen, they navigated the stairs all the way up to the girl's dorm. _It worked! Thank you Hogwarts, you're a darling! _She thought exuberantly, and in the back of her mind the presence glowed and blushed. _Can a building blush, _Hermione wondered to herself.

She motioned them to enter the room, and they set off with renewed confidence. "Hermione, you're brilliant! Wait till I tell Dean and Seamus about this, we're the first boys the set foot in the girl's side of the dorms ever since they put the repelling charm there!"

She preened gestured towards one of the beds across the round room. "Don't you _dare _gossip about it or tell what you see here, Potter. That goes for you too, Ronald Weasley." She smacked both of them on the head lightly as they deposited her on the bed. Thankfully, none of her roommates were present—they were probably all in the Ravenclaw girl's dormitory, she'd heard about a girl's night that was being hosted there. No one had seen the boys' expedition to the forbidden girl's side.

They glanced curiously around the room. She had claimed the bed furthest from the door to the left. Her section had few frivolities like Lavender's, but did have many Muggle posters of her favorite bands and movie stars, as well as pictures of her family. She let them look around for a little before shooing them out.

"I expect you to go straight out to the common room or to your own room. No spying," she said sternly when Ron began to show too much interest in the cabinet by Lavender's bed and Harry began to reach over to pick up a picture-frame from her bedside. They complained and grumbled, but eventually left after making sure she was alright. "_I'm okay, Harry. I just overtaxed myself beating the crap out of Professor Snape shaped dummies in the Room of Requirement." _It was early still, but it only took seconds after they had departed for Hermione's head to hit the pillow in sound sleep.

**--end--**

**A.N.:** _I hope you liked this chapter! I'm struggling with figuring out what to put into the chapters and what to leave out, because I have so much stuff I want to explore more. I also tried to make the girl's dormitory as cannon as I could, according to descriptions of the boy's dormitory. But I may have taken artistic license without realizing it, so just work with me okay?_

_Also, next week is finals week for me—hectic city. I'm also going on a 18 hour plane ride across the world back home (finally! I'm so psyched!) so all in all I probably won't be able to update for a while. So this chapter is slightly longer than the previous one, in hopes that it will tide you over till then…_

_Please review! They make me deliriously happy. Who needs drugs when we can have reviews? :)_


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: "Give to Caesar what is due to Caesar and give to God what is due to God." Or, in this case, give Rowling what is due to Rowling, and me what is due to me. Uh, not that I'm comparing myself to God or anything, just- okay whatever. HP is not mine, but the plot of this story is. There. :)

**--begin—begin—**

Albus waited several hours before he ventured down to the Potions classroom. After he had judged that enough time had passed for the dark man to at least have taken off the edge of his anger and come to his senses enough to take a Sober-Up Potion, he soberly walked in, and discovered that he had been right about Severus having taken the potion at least. Severus was feverishly brewing, with several different bubbling cauldrons going at the same time. The man didn't look up when Albus entered, but continued to stir one of the cauldrons rhythmically, automatically. Albus knew better than to disturb the Potions Master when he was in the midst of brewing—the last time he'd tried was some eighteen years ago, and Severus had been working on a sound-sensitive potion that had blown up spectacularly at his cheerful greeting and landed both of them in St. Mungos for several days. No, he wouldn't take the chance. Albus sat down near the wall and observed Severus' smooth movements instead.

Severus only made him wait half an hour this time. Finally, three of the potions were decanted and bottled, the other two left bubbling on low heat. Severus sighed wearily and turned to the Headmaster.

"What is it, Albus? Have you come to reprimand me for taking Miss Granger to task? Tell me to be easier on her? She is going to be a spy upon completion of her lessons, at _your _prerogative I might add. She needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut and develop a thicker hide to insults if she wants to live."

"No, Severus, that's not quite what I had come down here to talk to you about." Albus felt dangerously like imitating Severus' habit of pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a threatening stress-headache. He covered up the impulse by digging around in his robes and coming up with a bar of chocolate and popping a piece into his mouth. Severus refused the offered piece, so Albus stuffed the rest back into a handy pocket in his robes and cleared his throat.

"Severus, I did hear Hermione's retelling of what occurred during your lesson today, and while I do wish you wouldn't lambaste the girl, I will not fault you for it. She is unwilling to hear any other opinion but her own at the moment, but she is overly tired from all the extra work and pretense, and I'm sure after a good night's sleep she'll be more amenable to rational thought tomorrow. And speaking of exhaustion—she is not the only one here who has been working without pause for rest. Severus, you need to slow down. You've taken the task of primary instructor to a trainee-member on top of the brewing for the hospital wing, the spying, and teaching your students. Don't try to hide it—I know you've been using the time-turner just to get extra work accomplished."

Severus, who had sat down at his desk, looked up sharply. "I'm fine, Albus. I know how far I can go without overreaching."

"I know that, but I'm honestly worried about you. You look like the dead during meal times and staff meetings, and your Slytherins are noticing."

Albus watched Severus as he stiffened still further, and sighed. "Severus, what I'm saying is that you really need to take a break, even more than Hermione does. She has her friends to make her laugh, even if she must continue to deceive them. You are almost never among your intellectual peers, either among the teachers or the Order, and when you are—they are less than trustworthy. It doesn't make for a restful life."

Severus laughed bitterly. "Yes, I suppose that spending time with Bella and Rabastan discussing the best ways to dismember a human body while still keeping the person alive and aware is not exactly restful, Albus, even if it is intellectually stimulating in a macabre way. What would you have me do? This is the life that I created myself, by taking the Dark Mark. I cannot simply remove the tattoo as if it were nothing more than regular ink. I have chosen this life, Albus, and I will not shirk it."

"You have been making reparations for one stupid mistake in your youth for the better part of two decades, Severus. I know you cannot just leave, but I expect you to take care of yourself enough to survive through this war and live a truly free life after. That means taking the time to _sleep _and rest, Severus. That's a command, from your employer. Poppy doesn't need an entire six months supply of Pepper-up and Dreamless Sleep enough to sustain an army, despite how much I know you like being prepared for anything. Nor do your students need frequent long essays which take ages to read and grade, and Hermione is a smart girl—you don't need to sketch everything, she is perfectly capable of learning from the books you've been supplying. In fact, just for next week both of you can take a break from lessons. That way she can concentrate on her friends and simply being a student, and you can catch up on sleep. You reported the last meeting that Voldemort was going to be in Russia for at least a month for an unknown reason and that all Death Eater activity would be suspended for that time period, so you won't have to worry about being summoned."

Severus opened his mouth as if to retort, but thought better of it and closed his mouth, warily watching Albus instead, as if waiting for the catch. Albus suddenly felt old as he observed his employee, spy, and friend displayed a blank façade and waited for the stinger or nasty requirement to fulfill. _Life has been harsh on you Severus, and it's partially my fault. I'm sorry, my boy, for failing you as a child and even now, as an adult, I continue to fail you and still you work tirelessly for the Order. I cannot think of anyone who has given up more than you. _

Finally, Severus blinked, and looked away from Albus. "I see you have already decided what I should do, and that there is no use protesting. Very well, I shall do as you wish."

_And that is all I will be getting from you today, I think. _Albus rose, covering his guilt and grief with an extra-twinkly smile. _Sometimes I think that this is the only thing I am good at—smiling and twinkling like there isn't a war going on, people dying needlessly, children becoming warriors before they truly have a chance to be young. Sending those I love out into battles again and again, despite the unvarnished fact that each time they go back out, the chances that they will come back to me unscathed diminishes exponentially. Pretending that the world is full of rainbows and hope—yes, that there always is hope. My mother used to tell me, as long as there is breath, there is hope. I have clung to her words for a century, and I cannot allow myself to waver from them. I dare not. _

And so, Albus buried his fears and regrets, and instead did what he did best—cheerily bid Severus a good day, and exited with a smile firmly in place. Then promptly turned around and went back in.

"Sorry to bother you again, Severus, but I'd forgotten to tell you that you will be having one last lesson this week with Hermione, tomorrow at the regular time. I thought perhaps you two should come to an understanding of each other."

He made to depart again, but Severus called after him, "You've been calling Miss Granger 'Hermione' the entire time we spoke. Why is that?"

"She is close to finishing her training, and the Order does not use titles, you know that very well Severus."

"And I suppose that you have already told her of your mandated _apologizing _session?"

"She knows she will be expected at your door for an honest discussion, yes, Severus."

**--break—break--**

Severus stared at the jovial old man as he casually left for the second time. _Meddling, mischief-making, manipulative old fool! _Then again, the same Albus who even now seemed to live with his head in the clouds was the same Albus who had advised the Order in strategy and outmaneuvered the Dark Lord numerous times, faced down more than one dark wizard and come out the better, and even killed his own ex-lover, Grindelwald, for the greater good. _A nasty mess, that. Perhaps less than it might have been, if Albus hadn't been so discreet in the first place, even as a teenager. It was Albus himself that told me, or I still wouldn't know about the truth of the relationship between the two wizards. _Yes, Severus would do well to remember that the man who had just vacated his premises and was no doubt whistling and wandering back to his office and dispensing lemon drops and candies left and right to the students in the hallways was the same man who had been the man who had listened to a young Death Eater's desperate story without first calling the Aurors or killing him outright, and then offered him a way to absolve himself and assuage the guilt that still lined the marrow of his bones like poison.

No, Severus wasn't a fool. He knew that there were few he could call a true friend, and that despite Albus' machinations and tendency to be Gryffindorishly arrogant and all-knowing at times, the man had a core as pure as the phoenix that followed him. Albus might not understand or agree with Severus on many things, but there are few friendships that can boast of such similarities between souls.

That didn't stop him from cursing Albus with all the creativity he had learnt from his old Potions Master as a young apprentice though, and even with some Muggle epithets from his deceased and un-mourned father. _If Draco does not snap out of the funk he's in by tomorrow evening, Miss Granger will have a lot to explain. _

The potions still unfinished were those that needed to sit overnight before adding the last few ingredients and bottling. Severus cast a Containment bubble over each of the cauldrons, and decided that just because he'd already been drunk once today didn't mean he couldn't have a single glass before bed—not enough to become inebriated, but he'd never quite dared to drink much when the Dark Lord might call him at any minute. _With him in Russia and the usual planning and activities and meetings temporarily suspended, I can at least relax a little. _What a laugh—he never relaxed. Relaxing could very well mean discovery and death. But he could, at least, defy his life of rigid rules and suspicion enough with a glass of the fine vintage red wine he'd obtained in France. Muggles outshone the Magical world in this aspect, at least.

**-break--break--**

She wasn't scared. Not in the least. Of course not. _Then why are you stalling? _Hermione glared at no one in particular. She couldn't very well glare at herself. The voice in her head continued maliciously, _You're stalling because you know that you didn't think things through before you blurted out Skye's name in front of Draco—you know the mature and good Draco of the other world sure enough, but you didn't stop to think whether or not what would have done good to that Draco might not do as well with the young and grey and undecided Draco. Therefore, you know that despite Professor Snape's completely uncalled for accusations, he was right at least in his anger if not his judgment of your character. So, you're stalling because you're scared. Of him. And of admitting that you were wrong. You haven't been so wrong since…since forever. _

"Shut up!" Hermione threw her pillow across the room in frustration. A muffled and indignant _yowl _answered her. _Great. Now I have to pick up the pillow, and apologize profusely to Crookshanks and explain to him why his mistress is tossing projectiles about and yelling at air. At least there's no one here to witness me going crazy, they're all in the common room. _Just then, as she retrieved the offending object and tried to soothe her hissing cat, Parvati stuck her head into the room.

"Hermione? Is everything okay? We heard you yelling from downstairs."

_Oh yes, everything is just peachy. I'm a handful of lessons away from being a full fighting Order member, I've been faking my life for almost the entire year and deceiving even my best friends, I went to an alternate universe and killed one of said best friends while making friends with an enemy of _this _world, and I'm scared of admitting that I screwed up a little because Professor Snape will never let me hear the end of it, _if _he lets me out of this meeting alive. Why do you ask if something's wrong?_

"I'm fine, Parvati. Just a little annoyed with how my project's going."

"Oh, that's right, your thesis for graduation. I don't understand why you wanted to start that a _year _early!"

"It gives me more time to research and really write an in depth analysis of the subject I chose. Besides, it's fun! Did you know that-"

Parvati didn't even let her begin, but hastily backed away. "Hermione, I'll never understand anything of what you're reading up on, so I won't even try. If you're sure you're okay, I'm going to go back down and finish helping Lavender with her Charms essay. See you later, okay?"

Watching the girl disappear, Hermione sighed. _Apparently helping Lavender with her homework is more interesting than listen to the intricacies of how Arithmancy is, on a statistical basis, much more dependable a read on the possible future than Divination, or hearing about how the only branch of magic that actually originated from Europe continent was the practice of the wand to channel the magic and the use of Latin spells to give it a controlled form, and that the rest of magic as we know it really came from places like China, Egypt, India, and Nigeria. But then, I suppose it's a good thing she didn't stay to listen, because if I don't leave within the minute, I will be late and give Professor Snape more fodder to chew me out on. _

Dreading every step, Hermione left the safety of the Gryffindor dormitory to face the music. Warily she knocked, and walked in when she heard the curt, "Enter!" Professor Snape was no where to be seen at first glance, but she noticed that there was a young boy—perhaps a third year—tackling a stack of dirty cauldrons. _Hm, a Ravenclaw—that's unusual, usually Professor Snape only gives detention to Gryffindors, and on occasion, Hufflepuffs. Whatever the Ravenclaw did must have really provoked him. _

When the scrawny boy looked up at her curiously, cheeks red with the effort of cleaning the Muggle way, Hermione smiled at him. "Why are you here?"

The boy looked nervously towards the storage room, where Hermione guessed Professor Snape must be, but replied in a loud whisper, "I figured out how to make a cell phone work for brief periods of time in Hogwarts, but my mum called me in the middle of Potions class just after I'd fixed it to work for a while. I was planning to call her during lunch, see, but after that last owl home she must have been too excited at contacting me the normal way to wait for me to call her. And the ring tone was rather obnoxious…"

Hermione tried to hold back a laugh, and half-succeeded. "What was the ring tone?"

"Britney Spears." The boy flushed a deep tomato red. "It was my big sister's phone, and I never got the chance to change the tune before coming here and all, and I clean forgot about the awful taste my sister had in music…"

That did it. Hermione couldn't hold her amusement anymore, and burst out laughing. After a moment, the boy joined her. "I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger. Sixth year."

"You're the one always hanging around Harry Potter, aren't you? I'm Lionel Jordan, third year. Pleased to meet you."

"And I can see why the Hat placed you in Ravenclaw, Lionel, even I haven't been able to get my Muggle devices to work in Hogwarts or in the Magical world. How did you manage it?"

"Well see, it was just a matter of figuring out just how a cell phone connects with another, you see. Scotland is divided up into 'cells', or sections for which a communications tower operates all the calls and frequencies in that area, and the real reason that cell phones don't work here is because the closest tower doesn't reach over all of the Magical world, since Muggles don't know about this part of England. Also, the frequency of magic interferes with the frequency of the cell phone's connectivity. To get around the first problem, I had to figure out a way to get signal here, and for the second problem, I had to make the phone operate on a different level that wasn't affected by the magic…" Lionel trailed off, and gulped.

Half-turning, Hermione could see why. Professor Snape had just exited the store room, and was glaring at the boy. Without a word, Lionel began scrubbing harder. Although the reluctance had vanished when she'd begun conversing with the boy about cell phones, the apprehension reappeared with full gusto the minute Professor Snape swept in. Hermione forced herself to show no reaction. Not only would it be humiliating, but no doubt he'd berate her for acting un-spy-like and showing a weakness.

"Miss Granger. Perhaps you would be as kind as to stop distracting Mister Jordan from his task. You will go to the library and begin your work there, and I will check on your progress as soon as Mister Jordan is quite finished with his detention."

Lionel threw her a curious glance, but continued his cleaning and kept his mouth shut. Hermione gathered all her dignity, and in a pleasant voice, answered, "Very well Professor Snape." She then turned to Lionel. "We'll have to finish this conversation some other time. I'm _very _interested in how you managed to accomplish such a difficult thing."

Looking gratified, the Ravenclaw dared to give her a cheeky smile that reminded her of someone, and even a quick nod before another fierce glare from Professor Snape made him drop his head to his work again. Hermione walked out, her head held high, and didn't look back as she made her way to the library. Despite both her nervousness and her renewed anger, she had caught the rest of the unsaid message, and instead of going to one of the tables in the library, Hermione waved at Madam Pince and made straight for the Restricted Section after checking that no one was observing her.

In the Library of Dreams, Hermione didn't have to wait too long before Professor Snape abruptly entered. _I suppose that Professor Snape's presence would have been enough to hasten Lionel's scrubbing, so he could get out of detention faster. _

Heart beating faster, Hermione looked up at the man she considered teacher, mentor, and even friend now, although she didn't dare tell him _that. _"Uh…"

He waited patiently.

"Um. Professor Snape. There was- it was- oh Merlin take it! I'm sorry, okay? I made a bad judgment call with Draco, and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking things completely through and that was my fault, but dash it all, you didn't have to accuse me of things you _know _I'm not!"

Professor Snape's eyebrow went up higher and higher with every word she spoke, and if the man had ever been unreadable to her, it was now. There was a long pause after her outburst, and Hermione actually felt a drop of sweat trickle down her back. _I didn't know people actually sweat when they're in emotionally stressful situations. _She waited. _He doesn't bloody need Legilimency to be able to make me feel like he's seeing right through me. I hate that feeling! _

"I see." _That's it? That's all he's going to say to that?_

"It is not me you should apologize to, but Mister Malfoy for your thoughtlessness. However, I accept that you made a mistake and in the future, I will be less hasty in judgment." _Is he actually saying he was in the wrong? Someone mark this date down, Professor Snape's actually admitting that he was wrong too- sort of, anyway._

"Shut your mouth, that is a very unattractive pose for a young lady. Now, I believe the lesson we never got to go over yesterday was on how to cover your trail when you've been spying. Shall we begin?"

She closed her mouth, seated herself on the sofa opposite to Professor Snape's as he sat down and looked at her expectantly. _He called me a young lady. Not a girl. And he called me attractive! Well, sort of implied it anyway. Oh shush, Hermione, you're reading too much into it! This is _Professor Snape, _not some blundering sixth year boy. Stop it! _She shook all deviant thoughts out of her head, and retorted, "Isn't that sexist? I bet it would look just as bad on a boy as on me."

The slight tilt of his head told Hermione she'd won a point, and broken the awkwardness. _I have a feeling this will be a fun lesson, as far as lessons go. _

**--end—end--**

**A.N.:** I'm sorry it's taken a while for the update, guys. Life conspired against me. The stuff about how a cell phone works is sort of right, I _hope, _but I don't really understand it myself—I looked it up, and tried to pare it down to just how a cell works, but if I made a mistake, I'm sorry. Oh, and no offense meant to any Britney Spears fans, she was the first singer I could think of that is pretty much known around the world and has quite a few provocative songs, thus making it doubly absurd for it to be the ring tone of a boy, and going off during Snape's class. :) 

Also, to everyone who has supported me, thank you so much! All your reviews, alerts, favorites, and so on are really encouraging. And thanks especially to Heather Jewell, who was kind enough to recommend me on WIKTT. You're all fantastic!


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: The only things I own are the OCs and the plot. I stole the rest from JKR.

**--begin--**

Draco was bored. He even almost sympathized with Potter. _Almost. _He _hated _doing nothing but twiddle his thumbs in the hospital wing, and Potter had landed here numerous times over the years.

He felt guilty as well. He shouldn't be thinking longingly about sneaking out to go flying, or wondering whether Pansy or Millicent had won their latest bet—the two girls had something of an ongoing friendly rivalry going on, and they would bet on _anything. _Including what color hair Blaise Zambini would abhor more, pink or red. He wished he could be in the Slytherin common room when that bet took place, and watch Blaise's reactions, and Draco felt even more guilty for that. Because he knew he shouldn't be thinking about such trivial things, or even thinking about enjoying life in any way. Not when his parents could be dead come summer, unless he himself did the impossible, not to mention unthinkable. Not when he had a decreasing amount of time left to do it in before the Dark Lord punished his family yet again. Not when he'd almost been killed by Potter, and would have, at that point, welcomed death as an easy way out. Not when he knew he had already committed enough crimes to warrant the Dementor's Kiss if he was caught. Not when, no matter where he turned, what he did, he was doomed.

No, he shouldn't be thinking about escaping the hospital wing to go flying at a time like this. Especially not when another family had been wiped out because of _his _family.

He could still hear the echo of Granger's voice, discussing Skye Corwin casually. _Does she know about how Corwin landed up in a permanent room at St. Mungos? She can't have, or she wouldn't have talked about her openly in front of me. All my fault, my fault that I mentioned that the Corwin bloodline had bred a true Ravenclaw again. My fault that Father wanted to be linked to the Corwin bloodline, and made out a marriage contract despite the fact that I'm not even of age yet, and neither is she. My fault that her family reacted badly, given that Skye never once looked in my direction except for in disgust whenever I picked fights with Potter. My fault that Father decided on retribution for spurning the Malfoy name…_

But the patch of sky he could see was luring, and he couldn't even concentrate on wallowing in guilt and fear and self-pity like he'd done for most of the year except for the times when he was flying. He wanted _out, _he wanted to be on a broom, any broom, even an old slow school broom, in the air and free.

But he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve the freedom and the joy and the-

"_Oh, snap out of it!" _

Draco jumped a foot in the air and grabbed for the wand on his bedside table, getting his arms and legs tangled in the confining blankets in the process and almost falling off the bed. Finally, he struggled free and snatched up his wand possessively, whipping his head to search for whoever had spoken to him. And then nearly screamed.

Hovering around the end of his bed, arms crossed peevishly and staring straight at him was an apparition of Skye Corwin.

To his credit, Draco later patted himself on the back for not fainting or shrieking shamelessly. Instead, he began hyperventilating.

"Oh dear, did I startle you? You know, the Muggles regulate hyperventilating by breathing into a paper bag. You might want to do something similar, you look quite pale."

Gasping for breath, Draco made no motion but to scoot back in his bed until his spine bumped up against the headboard.

"Very well, suit yourself. You can pass out for all I care, if you refuse to take my advice on the paper bag thing." The ghost—spirit—thing of Skye Corwin sat a little grumpily on the edge of Draco's bed.

Draco looked wildly around. There was no one in the hospital wing, not even Madam Pomfrey, since she had left to fetch a new batch of healing potions from Professor Snape. He was alone with _it. _

"Are- are you a boggart?"

"Am I a _boggart? _Do I _look _like one to you? Actually, don't answer that, that's a silly question since boggarts can take any shape or form. But seriously, I didn't think I'd be someone anyone feared, let alone _you _Draco Malfoy." She grinned cheekily at him.

"Then- what _are _you? A ghost? An inferi? A nightmare sent to haunt me?"

"I'm a little offended. I didn't think I looked that awful." The ghost-who-looked-like-Skye Corwin sniffed indignantly, then shrugged. "I actually don't know _what _I am anymore, but I can tell you _who _I am. I'm Skye, Skye Corwin. And pleased to meet you, since you're the only one who can see me thus far."

"But you're supposed to be in a coma! At St. Mungos!"

"Is that why my body won't move? Funny. I never thought people in comas got separated from their body. I don't know what happened, really. All I remember is a lot of shouting and green lights, and then for a while I was stuck in this really annoying mind-numbing fog where I'd _sometimes _be able to hear or see someone, but not quite. Very frustrating, you know. But then yesterday, for whatever reason, I finally managed to concentrate hard enough on a voice, and it led me out of the fog and into the room where my body is right now. But no one can see or hear me, and I can't move anything. I saw my aunt leaving when I woke up, but she didn't hear me either. Then I kept hearing some guy do the self-pity thing, in my head, and I followed it to Hogwarts and found you. And that's all."

Draco blinked.

"Oh, do close your mouth. It's a highly unattractive pose." Feeling reprimanded, Draco closed his jaws with a snap.

"So, any thoughts on why I can hear you yammering on about it being your fault and you not deserving this and that, and how to put me back in my body and wake me up?"

She looked at him expectantly, and Draco stared at her. "Corwin, why would you even want to talk to me?"

"Why wouldn't I? Besides, you're the only one who can see me."

Draco looked at her, bright and smiling and see through at the bottom of his bed, and felt his throat close up. _I can't tell her. How do I tell her that her parents are dead on my account, and they've practically given up hope that she will wake up from her coma, that it's been almost a year she spent in the fog? How can I tell her it was _my _family that did it for hers? My fault…_

She frowned and shook her head in irritation. "You're doing it again. The self-pitying thing."

"You can hear my thoughts?" _Please, I hope not. _

"Not really. It's more like a murmur, like I get the feelings and general idea of what you're thinking of and only when it's a strong emotion. Like right now, you're blaming yourself for something but I don't know what. You've been doing that on and off all day today and yesterday. I didn't know you were such an angst-ridden boy, Malfoy." That smirk again, inviting him to laugh with her. It didn't look right on a Ravenclaw, somehow.

When he didn't smile, she sighed. "Okay, what is it? You'll feel better sharing, I promise."

"Corwin." Draco searched for a way to begin. "Your parents…what do you remember before the fog?"

"Well, as I said, a lot of screams and green light. I suppose we were attacked, and that's why I'm in a coma."

"Nothing else?"

"Not really…well, I do remember white faces, several of them—" Her eyes widened. "Death Eaters," she breathed, and for the first time Draco saw Corwin as she must have been during the attack, fierce and scared and angry.

"Yes."

"But why? Why my family? What happened to my parents? Are they-" she swallowed hard.

"They're- I'm sorry, Corwin. They're dead."

Her eyes filled. _Can ghosts cry? Or whatever she is, since I don't think she's dead yet, not if her body is still in St. Mungos. _Draco plowed on relentlessly, trying hard not to look at the transparent tears silently overflow and spill down a cheek. "You were taken by surprise by the Auror who was supposed to be guarding you—he was a sleeper agent for the Death Eaters, and he took down the wards, locked you all into one of the bedrooms, and let them in. Your parents managed to seriously wound one of them, but they killed them with Avada and one of them decided to use you as a testing rat with an obscure spell from Russia, and they left you for dead. You weren't though, and you've been in a coma ever since, at St. Mungos."

"But _why? _Why us, why my family? We didn't do a damn thing, not one-"

"Nothing except for defy my father. Do you remember why you were under Auror guard in the first place, never mind that the Auror was a turncoat?"

The figure at the end of the bed froze, and then slowly lifted her head to stare straight at Draco. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away, and he felt cold and frozen inside, like the iced-over pond his mother had taken him to before, as a young boy, before his father stopped those excursions as being below a Malfoy heir.

"Your father. The marriage contract. It was unexpected. Your owl came at the beginning of Winter Hols, and we were having dinner and talking about going to Germany to visit my parents' good friends, for the summer. Aunt Danielle was having dinner with us, I remember. And then the thrice-curse owl came, like a bad-omened spirit, and it was like all the breath had been stolen from the room. Aunt Danielle started swearing, and Mum was so worried, and Daddy started pacing like he always does when he has a problem at work, and then we were being followed by an Auror all the time, and he kept leering at me, and at Mum, whenever Daddy wasn't around. And then there was green light, and Mum and Dad were screaming at me to climb out the window and escape, but I couldn't leave them, couldn't leave them with those men with their death-masks and black cloaks and the Auror laughing and laughing and killing them…"

The sing-song storytelling voice trailed off, and if the translucent girl had looked like a manifestation of his fears earlier, this half-mad apparition with her black hair wild and loose around her shoulders wearing the sage-green garb of St. Mungos patients was truly the stuff of his nightmares, her gaze accusatory, anguished, vengeful.

"You knew. You knew what would happen to me, and you let it happen, and they told you what happened afterwards. You _liked _it didn't you, because my family didn't want to be connected to the Malfoy name and blood. You liked having the upper hand, knowing that my entire family would die around me, that the man who was supposed to protect us betrayed us and gave us into the hands of murderers and monsters too cowardly to show their own face to those they would slaughter like pigs. They killed us like pigs, _worse _than pigs because we were left to bloat and stink the house we lived in, a meaningless death! Meaningless, everything is empty! I hate you, I hate you, you fucking monster!" With a screech, the girl dove at him, reaching for his eyes, clawing frantically, madly. Her fingers passed through him despite her renewed efforts, and with a choked sob, she finally pulled away and fled, vanishing entirely halfway to the door of the infirmary.

—**break—**

The peculiar feeling weighed on Hermione's mind, an almost ticklish presence. In confusion, Hermione tried to figure out where she'd felt it before, and what it was. It wasn't a Legilimens, she wasn't looking into anyone's eyes and it didn't feel like an entirely _human _presence anyway. What was it? She looked around, and decided that everyone was sufficiently preoccupied with other conversations and their lunch. Closing her eyes, Hermione went into a half-meditative state, not far enough to not notice if someone spoke to her but enough to calm her heartbeat and breath. Then she turned to the foreign presence in the corner of her mind, and mentally dropped her jaw.

Hogwarts—she could _see _what was going on around her, without opening her eyes, and the building was glowing faintly!

_Um…is that you? _She asked the building tentatively. She hadn't really tried to talk to Hogwarts since she'd asked it to let the boys up the stairs the one time, and a week later she'd almost forgotten about the little fact of its sentience.

The glow flickered, as if nodding. _Oh. Wow. I'm flattered that you'd initiate contact with me. Is there something I can do for you?_

It seemed as if Hogwarts spoke in images and feelings, rather than actual words. She received a sense of discord, as if she were detached from the very cells and blood in her body—as if they were separate entities not working together, although they once had, and the disharmony between the white blood cells and red blood cells was excruciating. She was being torn apart from the inside! Then the panic, pain, and illusion faded, and Hermione was back in control of her body, and her blood was flowing calmly in her arteries and veins, the cells not fighting each other like she'd felt for one instant. _Fighting…are we the cells in you, Hogwarts? The people inhabiting Hogwarts would be the cells that aren't working together, and it's tearing your entity apart?_

Another assertive flicker of the glow. _Slytherins and Gryffindors have been at each other's throats for forever. Why is it suddenly painful now?_

Another swarm of feelings—a sense of the joy of competition in sports and in academics, then a mischievous spark in pranks, and then abruptly switched for another set of sensations darker in nature. Maliciousness, a vicious vindictive urge to destroy the opponent, the desire to manipulate and overtake and crush and _rule—_

_Okay, okay. I get the difference. So it used to be that the competition was for fun, and everyone still worked together in the ways that mattered. Now, we've descended into a state of warring houses, and you want me to do something? Why not the Headmaster- Albus? Surely the real disharmony started earlier than now. _

Images this time, glimpses of a beautiful face with hideous black hole hidden in his eyes—_Tom Riddle—_of a jeering crowd of straight, muscled, golden-and-red boys hexing a thinner boy with worn ragged robes bearing the Slytherin crest, of a face-off of a group of students, the hallway they battled in lit by the spells and hexes tossed at each other and making more prominent the furious and cruel lines of their faces, a flash of a blond boy with blood spilling onto bathroom tiles from a long deep slash, a girl with curly brown hair crying as her teeth grew, and then a series of flashes of faces—herself, Albus Dumbledore, an unknown girl, Professor Snape, a dizzying array of house-elves. When her inner vision stopped flashing, the presence was gone and someone was shaking her shoulder none too gently.

"Yes," she snapped.

Ron looked a little taken aback. "I thought you'd fallen asleep sitting up or something. Lunch is over."

Hermione sent him an apologetic smile, noting that everyone was streaming out to go to class again. "Sorry, I was thinking about my project," she told him.

_And that's the failsafe way to get him to stop bugging me about spacing out during lunch, _she thought in satisfaction as Ron hastily began yammering about the next quidditch game that they were looking forward to and Harry joined in.

Later, when she tucked in bed in the dark and the other girls were breathing peacefully and regularly, she turned the images and accompanying thoughts Hogwarts had projected into her mind. _I saw a sequence of instances of bullying and malice in Hogwarts, starting with Tom Riddle—it must have been around that time when the rot began, and all the following were instances of it, concluding with the ones I know about that happened between us and the Slytherins, particularly Draco. The second series of images must have been the handful of people who can talk to Hogwarts, or who bothered or knew that Hogwarts was sentient—perhaps only the ones available to Hogwarts at the time the Houses began to tear each other apart, since I would have thought the Founders would know their own school was semi-living. The Headmaster has been trying for years, unsuccessfully, or at least that's the sense I got of it. _

Who else had been able to talk to Hogwarts, or was willing to? The unknown girl, with the sense of tragedy around her portrait as if she'd encountered a great grief at a young age and had never recovered. The house-elves, like the industrial bees unappreciated by humans yet the untiring source of sweet honey, but certainly not able to make enough of a difference. Professor Snape—perhaps the most complicated feelings surrounding his image, as if there had been a great battle within, between light and dark, and when the dust had settled there had been an understanding between Hogwarts and man that he had certain limitations, having pledged to two masters, and could not serve a third as well.

And herself. To Hogwarts, she was young still, intelligent, and willing to do almost anything to see the brightness and the freedom of the sun undimmed by ugly spells and men and women who would impose their will over all.

_So, it falls to me to somehow fix this divide between the students of Hogwarts, or Hogwarts as a sentient entity will be ripped apart and the building will become simply a building, unguarded, no more the fortress of magic it is right now. Not now, maybe not for another decade or so, but eventually it will decline and disintegrate. _

Just what she needed. Something else to fix, along with that nuisance Voldemort and his pesky Death Eaters, and the little problem of Draco Malfoy, who'd looked like death the entire week and barely spoken, Skye Corwin, who was still unresponsive and in a coma, and the million other little things that seemed to have descended out of nowhere this year to gift her with their presence. _Fan-bloody-tastic. _

Hermione decided that when the war was over, if she was still alive, she was going to take an extra-long vacation somewhere far away, perhaps Hawaii or the Bahamas, or Bali.

**--end--**

A.N.: Hope this chapter was satisfactory! I forgot to mention that last chapter, the quote "As long as there is breath, there is hope" is from somewhere but I can't for the life of me remember where I read it. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Diclaimer: Um. I claim nothing except for plot, OCs, and writing. The rest is the rightful property of JKR, despite all my attempts to deny it, sigh. **

**--begin—**

The week had been—_restful, _Severus decided. Perhaps he had been working a little too much. But Merlin help him, he was antsy as hell and ready to get back to the hectic schedule of before. Even with the occasional _Crucios _and the lack of sleep, the twenty potions brewing at the same time and the essays that would have had gotten a better grade if they'd just not been turned in at all. And he missed the lessons he'd had with Miss Granger. It had been years since he'd last conversed with other intellectuals, with scholars as bent on research and knowledge as he. _Two summers before Potter arrived, I went to a Potions Conference in Munich, and that was the last, except for the odd discussion with Miverva or Albus or Filius. _Miss Granger was not yet at the high intensity an adult might be at, but she was the closest thing to, and her questions and concentration on discovery, on learning something new, stimulated his own mind somehow.

And he was going stir-crazy, as he had been since about mid-week, not having anything to do but a little grading, some scowling in class and the hallways, and the occasional deduction of points from Gryffindor. If he hadn't been so restless, he wouldn't be thinking about how much it meant to him to be able to guide a bright young inquisitive mind to learning something well, even if it was Miss Granger and the skills he was teaching weren't exactly the skills a child should have to know. _Am I a masochist, to miss the nonstop gogogo? _Severus wondered, as he did something he never did—sat at his desk and stared at the space where normally a stack of papers waited to be liberally anointed with red ink. _Perhaps it is a good thing that I do not expect to live through the war. If I cannot manage a breather the length of seven days in the middle of a war in which I am heavily involved, how could I possibly stand peacetime? Even the years before Potter arrived to demolish Hogwarts from the inside out, I did not lack for a busy schedule. We knew the Dark Lord would once again return—I spent that time honing my image, practicing the rough set of survival skills, learning how to adapt and function in any situation. Planning, always planning for when the day would come when the lines in the dirt were drawn clearly once more, in blood and bodies and screams. _

_The truth is, I do not know how to live in a time of peace—I don't know when I forgot how to, but it must have been sometime after I became a student at Hogwarts. _Severus stifled a groan, and decided that all the extra time he had would be better served patrolling the silent corridors for students out after curfew. He slipped out, scanning the darker shadows in corners and hidey-holes, and checked the kitchens for miscreants who might have been led by their stomachs. There were no rule-breakers tonight, it seemed. It was a Sunday night, and everyone seemed to have gone to bed quietly.

Coming away from the kitchens with a cup of tea—pressed quite forcefully into his hands by the house-elf Minny with a fierce _you-had-better-drink-it-all _look accompanying it, Severus found himself climbing up to the Astronomy tower. He rarely went up there, unless he suspected some foolish students had gone up to canoodle. Then, he'd been too gleefully hauling their skins down for punishment to even glance at the view. Now, with no students to embarrass and deduct points from and no distractions, Severus simply stood there are stared.

First at the sky—there millions upon millions of glittering speckles on this exceptionally clear night, and even knowing that stars are technically clouds of gas, dust, and incredible heat, Severus couldn't help but smother his cynical side at the awe in that endless field of glowing dots. It was sometimes unfathomable to Severus that people like Bellatrix Black-Lestrange and Sirius Black could be named after such distant and beautiful creations.

Dropping his gaze from heaven to earth, Severus examined the dark bulky shadows and shapes of the land stretching before him. That darker spreading patch was the Forbidden Forest, and the much-smaller splotch of black nearer by was the lake. Further in the distance, identified by a few odd points of light, Hogsmeade village.

Compared to the glorious night sky he'd just been silent witness to, Severus thought that the plain dull earth appeared shapeless and unbeautiful, like the frumpy old maiden aunt the family drags out every year at Christmastime and then hides away again for the rest of the year in the attic, or a cottage far away from the public eye. But—but.

_This is the world we inhabit, be it for the greater good or the greater evil. There is no point in hiding _this _spinster-aunt, not when you know she's the one who baby-sits the kids, tells the best bedtime stories, and knows the entire family history. This is one old lady who won't go to her attic room quietly when the visitors come knocking. _

It was the lack of work—it had to be. Severus frowned abruptly at the empty space before him, and at the forbidding black masses in the landscape below him. All the resting had gone to his head if he was now thinking in obscure metaphors that he himself didn't understand the meaning of, and mooning at the sky like a lovesick teenager or a centaur. _Time to begin the work again. _Severus dismissed the lingering sense of melancholy as he descended into the bowels of Hogwarts Castle and began gleefully planning a five foot essay on the potions that could only be brewed at a certain hour of the day, phase of the moon, or time of the year and their general uses as compared to non-time-discriminatory potions.

**--break--**

Ron groaned and banged his head against the table loudly several times. Several aisles away, Madam Pince _shhhd _disapprovingly. Harry rubbed his own head. "Mate, I don't think impersonating a house-elf will get the essay done, and you're going to make Madam Pince throw us out of here soon."

His only response was another muffled groan. "Look, come on. Hermione already gave us the list of books we'd need for the essay, and she's even told us which sections to look in. We just have to combine all the information and we should be able to get the blasted five feet finished before dinner, hey?"

A muttered oath answered him, and Ron lifted his head and tore at his hair in frustration. "I don't know what the bloody hell Snape was thinking when he assigned four feet on some obscure potions! Did you _see _his face, Harry? He was smirking, I swear it's the closest I've ever seen him with anything resembling a smile on his face. It was damned creepy, mate, and he knows that no one except for Hermione will be able to finish the essay in the time he gave us to write it!"

"Well-" Harry couldn't contradict that, but the fifteen-odd books that Hermione had listed, and the scrolls with large writing covering about a foot and a half sat on the table and mocked him, and he was _not _going to let an extra-long essay assignment from his least favorite teacher ruin his day. Despite the fact that said teacher had been acting oddly the entire past week and it looked like he'd be just as odd this week as well. _First he suddenly stops prickling at me and Ron and Hermione and trying to jab us into a response, and he doesn't give any essays or homework at all, just a couple readings and the practical work in class. Then this week first thing he's back to being a complete arsehole, and the entire class is given an impossible assignment. And I've heard the grumbles from other classes in other years too, so it isn't just our year. Even his Slytherins are throwing hissy-fits about the amount of work they have to do. And then to top it off, he's definitely very happy about something, and not just during class though that's bad enough—Colin was babbling about how he passed Snape in the hall this morning and Snape was _whistling! _Snape cheerful is just something I do not want to see ever. I don't want to know what made him so unSnapelike. _

Ron must have been thinking along the same lines, because the next words out of his mouth was, "Hey, you think Snape got laid?"

"_Ron!" _

"_SHH!" _Madam Pince poked her face around the corner and stared fiercely at them.

"Sorry, Madam Pince. We'll be softer, we promise." She gave them another good glare, and disappeared again. Harry turned back to Ron. "Are you out of your mind, Ron?" he hissed.

"Well, you know what they say, about shagging inducing some sort of high on people after the act."

"Endorphins, Ron. That's what they're called, and they're hormones that make you feel relaxed and happy."

"You sound like Hermione."

"That's because I copied that right off of her. Well not quite, she said something to the effect of stimulating the pleasure receptors in the neuro-something or other."

"You talked to Hermione about _sex?" _Ron looked as if he couldn't decide between being aghast or impressed.

"No!" Harry remembered where he was, and lowered his voice. "No, Ron. We were talking about physical exercise, actually—quidditch. I was talking about how she didn't understand how great it feels to be in the air and on the field with the adrenaline rushes, and she said that any sort of physical exercise flying included, releases those endorphins which is why after a good practice or a long tiring game, when we ought to be wobbling in exhaustion, we get a rush of happiness."

Ron scratched his arm and absently turned a page on one of the thick books in front of him. "How does that relate to you knowing about endorphins and the act?"

"She sorta mentioned it in passing—said that endorphins are also released during 'the act,' and also when we're eating good food, and a million other times as well."

Ron grinned. "Comparing it to a good meal sure makes doing it sound appealing."

"I dare you to tell that to Lavender the next time you're snogging her. Or better still, Hermione the next time we're eating."

"Are you trying to get me killed by the female population, Harry?"

Harry shook his head innocently. "Of course not, why would I sacrifice you to that fickle crowd?"

"Liar."

"I'm hurt you don't believe me."

"A liar twice, then."

Their essays, turned in to Professor Snape, were barely four feet long and Harry and Ron found themselves scrubbing cauldrons under the watchful eye of a snide Snape that week.

**--break--**

Hermione rubbed her head wearily. Hogwarts had been sending her thought-images at random times during the week—glimpses of faces long past and actions long forgotten, as well as current happenings. _I never knew a building could be so annoying. _It was as if once Hogwarts had found a suitable candidate for fixing its situation, it wouldn't stop hounding her. She'd already been assaulted with an image of the various years of fights with the Slytherins when she'd passed Draco in the hallway. The worst were the most recent visions that had her scurrying to locate the conflict. A flash of a mixed group of older students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin jeering at a younger Hufflepuff student had her bursting into one of the lesser-used hallways and hexing several seventh-years to stop them from taunting the young girl. Yet another image had her breaking up a shouting match between several Gryffindors before it reached the point of hexes.

A corner of blue in the corner of her mind—_oh no, not again. Hogwarts, enough is enough, I can't single-handedly fix every conflict in school!—_

_Several students pushing back a boy in Ravenclaw robes, pointing wands. _Where? _Dungeons, near the Slytherin Dormitories. _It was a good thing that classes were out for the day and she wouldn't be late like she'd been the last time. Hermione took off in a sprint.

_And also a good thing I've trained and done conditioning, or I'd never be able to run full speed from Gryffindor Dorms to Slytherin's and get there in time, _and _still have breath to stop them. _Hermione skidded to a stop, her wand out warily, and walked the last few steps to where, to her disgust, the older group of students that had been her own bane of existence during the earlier months before the actual fight between them had taken place were jeering at a young Ravenclaw boy—_the boy from detention, _she had time to realize.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she spoke, and watched as the bullies whipped around and one sent an _Expelliamus _towards her while the others instinctively sent up Protegos. _Hm, good reflexes—way too good for students, even if they are seventh years. Either they've been practicing on their own time, or they get training from an outside source. _She'd been ready though, and she deflected the spell with little trouble. The Ravenclaw boy—Lionel—grinned, despite the unfortunate hair around his head that hissed and moved as if it had a life of its own. "Hello Lionel. These scumbags giving you any trouble?" Hermione stepped further into the hallway, footsteps echoing.

The one girl whom Hermione particularly detested sneered down her nose. "Ah, it's the frigid Mudblood bitch."

"Cain. Did you enjoy having chicken pox? I'll bet that you were none to happy to enjoy the Muggle disease, I seem to recall it took you extremely long to recover."

Hermione smirked at that memory, one of her favorites, and the sweet remembrance of being able to yank a handful of hair from the haughty bullying brunette's head.

The other girl's eyes narrowed in anger. "You filthy Mudblood!"

"Yes, I believe we've already established that, actually. Can't you think up another insult, that one gets rather old and boring. No?" Hermione strode confidently into the midst of the crowd, yanking Lionel up and backing away to make sure her back was against one of the walls. "Were you going to say something?" She cocked her head to the side, standing at ease, wand by her side. One look at her eyes though, and anyone who had any social skills at all would think twice about thinking her vulnerable.

Cain—Evangeline Cain, if Hermione recalled correctly—seemed to be the leader of this group, and after a tense moment, she wordlessly motioned to the others to retreat. "Nice talking to you as always, Cain!" Hermione called after them. "Perhaps next time we can do this in a place that doesn't echo as much as the dungeons do?"

Cain looked back, her eyes hateful. "It isn't over yet, filth. He'll be particularly interested in Crucio'ing that smart mouth shut. There's nothing worse than a Mudblood who thinks she's clever." They disappeared into the shadows, and Hermione blinked thoughtfully after them.

"That was totally cool! How'dya do that? They totally were afraid of you, ran like dogs with their tails down after a licking!" Hermione looked, bemused, at the boy beside her who'd seemed to forget his hissing hair, furry hands, and bruises in his excitement at what he'd just seen.

"Are you okay, Lionel?"

"Yeah, just a couple of bruises and some unusual hexes that weren't even properly executed. They tried the Medusa curse, the tall boy did, but his stroke angle was too slanted, it should have been almost straight, and he pronounced the Latin all wrong so my hair isn't snakes, it just acts like snakes."

"I see. And the furry hands?" Hermione guided Lionel up the stairs and towards the hospital wing.

"Failed Animagus revealing spell, it isn't even a proper hex or jinx or curse. It's the spell you use to learn what form your Animagus would take, but it's supposed to be only in your mind, a vision sort of. I would be a monkey. But the girl said the ending wrong, and gave me only monkey hands instead."

_Trust a Ravenclaw to be that fiddly about mistakes, even a second year. _Hermione rapped on Madam Pomfrey's door, and the Mediwitch bustled out, tutted at the sight of Lionel, and had him ensconced in a bed in two shakes.

"There were several other non-lasting hexes—a tripping jinx, a cramping hex, and _Levicorpus. _I think they were just practicing though, and they were going to do a memory charm after they were done with me."

"Practicing? For what?" Hermione questioned as Madam Pomfrey began testing each failed hex and jotting things down.

"I dunno. They were talking about touching up on basic hexes and jinxes because they were the foundation for the higher level stuff they had to learn this summer, I think."

Lionel shrugged, then batted a particularly explorative piece of hair away from his face. "It's a good thing I didn't grow my hair out as long as I was going to, or I'd be in real trouble," he joked. "My brother's going to have laughing fits over this."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, my older brother. Maybe you know him, Lee Jordan?"

"Oh!" Hermione realized the resemblance when she stared at Lionel, but it was not very pronounced. "You're Lee's little brother?"

"Yeah, that's me." Lionel smiled cheekily.

"I didn't know he had one." Hermione was intrigued, but at that moment Madam Pomfrey began questioning both her and Lionel on what exactly had happened.

"You're saying some older students ganged up on Mister Jordan here for target practice?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Lionel seemed to be in awe of the bustling witch, as she efficiently subdued his chin-length active hair temporarily.

"Do you recall their names, or Houses?"

"Mostly Slytherins, Ma'am. I think one of them is called Pucey. And the girl with the really long name, um—"

"Evangeline Cain, seventh year Slytherin, Madame Pomfrey. She seemed to be the leader of the group. There was another girl, but I think she's a Ravenclaw seventh year and I don't remember her name." Hermione piped up, and Madame Pomfrey frowned.

"That many against one second year?"

Hermione shrugged. "Lionel, did you do anything to piss them off?"

Ignoring the disapproving look Madame Pomfrey gave her, she looked at Lionel and after a minute's concentration, his face brightened. "Well other than the fact that my brother's a Gryff, it's probably because some of the other second year Slyths wanted to look at my cell phone and hear my new ring tone, and the older Slyths didn't seem too keen on their House mates taking an interest in Muggle devices."

Hermione recalled the cell phone incident with a smothered grin. _Ah, Britney Spears in Potions Class. I should bring that up sometime during spying lessons when Professor Snape is in a good mood and see how he reacts. _"So, you think the Slyths attacked you for that?"

"I guess so, can't think of anything else. But that wasn't all, Hermione. There were five there, and I remember thinking, sometime in between the _Levicorpus _and the Medusa curse, that _all _the Houses were represented." The young boy looked soberly up at the two witches hovering around his bedside.

"_All? _Are you sure?" Madame Pomfrey sounded startled, and Hermione blinked before silently berating herself. _I should have seen this coming—after all, I _knew _that it wasn't just Slytherins who were doing the bullying, and Hogwarts _was _getting on my case a lot this week. Maybe it's time to take this gang down, now that I can actually pin it on them. _

"If there were five, then that means there was Cain as the leader, Pucey was backing her, the Ravenclaw girl, that means the last two must be from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Do you remember them at all, Lionel?" Hermione waited, and Lionel scrunched up his face.

"The Gryff was a boy. Nasty one, him. Big brute of a guy, slammed me into the wall. He was the one who suggested a Memory charm so that they could have more freedom with what they did and revealed. He was even more into it than anyone else except Cain. The Hufflepuff…well, whoever it was seemed to be more of a lookout because he never took part in the game. I never even got a look, except for first impressions, and right before they left—the guy was in the shadows the whole time, but he was short and stocky and had light hair. The Ravenclaw girl didn't speak at all, even to hex me—she did it wandlessly, and she kept her face covered all the time. She's the one that scared me the most, to be honest, because she seemed intent on making me suffer. She was the one who botched the Medusa curse." Now Lionel looked worried for the first time. "I don't know much about the curse, but I heard that it's undoable, that's why Medusa never changed her hair back, because she couldn't find out a way to fix it. Will my hair always be this way?" As if in response to him, the locks, compliantly cowed until now, began to rise and hiss rebelliously again.

Madame Pomfrey gave the boy a glare, and both he and his hair wilted. "Oh, child, I didn't mean to glare at you! I was glaring at your hair," she exclaimed when Lionel drooped visibly.

Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to laugh. Luckily, Lionel seemed to be instantly cheerful again, and Hermione was able to get herself under control before having to explain to the other two just how funny Madame Pomfrey had sounded, apologizing for glaring at a student's hair. _Oh dear, I do love Hogwarts no matter what else happens. You can always find a joke or something to make you laugh. _

An echo of her thought seemed to rebound and bathe her in a split second of harmony and _rightness, _and Hermione nearly sucked in a breath in surprise. _Is that it? Is that all it takes, Hogwarts? To find the joy and laughter and notice it, and encourage it, and that's what's going to solve all your falling-apart-thing? _

Not quite, she could sense that. There was a long ways to go to repair decades-old quarrels. But it was a beginning, the right kind of beginning. Hermione left Madame Pomfrey chatting comfortably with her intrigued patient about just how she'd go about finding a way to counteract the original curse or morph it, before changing the appropriate spells to fit his unique situation, but that they would certainly have him back to normal in no time at all.

**--end—**

_A.N.: Not my favorite chapter. I had to write through the writer's block I've been suffering the past week, so I'm sorry if this chapter didn't quite live up to the previous ones. I'll try to do better next time! _

_A lovely observant reader, Persevero, pointed out that Hogwarts is in Scotland, and I made the mistake, in chapter 17, of saying England. I've fixed it—apologies if I caused any confusion!_

_Many others have mentioned the possible origins for the quote "As long as there is breath, there is hope"—among them, Star Trek, a Latin proverb, and Sri T. Krishnamacharya, Guru of Yoga. I think, though I'm not sure, that I stole this quote from a children's book about the Holocaust that I read as a kid—the trouble of course being that I read so many that I don't remember which one. Oh well. You all know that I lay no claim to having come up with it, that's all that matters. _

_One last thing—if you haven't heard yet, Robert Knox, the actor who plays a Ravenclaw student (Marcus Belby) was knifed in a fight recently, and died. Please spare a moment to think about the boy—he was only 18. _


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: Do I really need one of these every chapter? Refer to the previous nineteen chapters if you must…**

_"Crucio." _

Draco watches helplessly as the girl starts spitting blood onto the ground. He can't do anything, even when she arches her back in soundless agony—having been silenced by a previous spell. She's bitten her tongue hard enough to draw blood, and the circle of hooded figures stretching out around her fidget and murmur. Not enough to draw attention—but enough for Draco to understand, just barely old enough to grasp that this is not the usual circumstance of failing the Dark Lord and being punished for it. This is different, somehow, some way, to his older brethren. Even Aunt Bella is beginning to look uneasy.

Inside the barrier of cloaked men and women, the five silenced students had their turn, one by one, under the Dark Lord's wand. Until Evangeline Cain, everything was business as usual. But she's writhing now, and she's starting to choke on her own dark blood, which looks almost black in the darkness of the night and the forest, and somehow this is different. Something is wrong.

The Dark Lord finally lifts his wand and nods once at the man next to him, who drags each trembling body and dumps them just outside the circle. Then the red eyes look up to scan the standing circle, a parody of the protective circle Merlin invented, and begins the meeting like he has every other. The awful silence breaks into low conversations as each man called forth by his master reports something or other, but the unease doesn't lift and Draco knows that he is not old enough yet to comprehend the hasty looks he catches between his father and mother, or the slightly widened eyes of the Carrows across from him, or the almost imperceptible inhalation of Nott Senior.

And then it is his turn, and Draco tries to clear his mind of the ringing quiet that seems to tighten around his head as he answers, as he tells his lord that there has been no progress on his special project because he was attacked by Potter and spent several days in the hospital wing. He wants revenge, of course. Yes, he can beat Potter, but he was taken by surprise. No, it won't happen again. Thank you for the trust you've given to the Malfoys.

The usual plethora of words—he doesn't know whether they are lies or truths or half-truths—tumble from his numb lips, and finally he is allowed to leave with the pitiable stumbling group and with Uncle Severus, allowed to stumble into his bed in the Slytherin dorms, and allowed to let the roaring oblivion swallow him whole.

**--break--**

Severus went up to Albus' office, and threw himself into a chair without any fanfare. "Albus."

"Severus, how did it go?"

"Something significant happened tonight."

"What happened, dear boy?" Albus immediately sat up.

Severus rubbed his head. "He punished the young ones today for failing to maintain a low profile—it was expected, after Miss Granger caught them making target practice of the Ravenclaw boy and brought it to your attention. But he made a major mistake. He spilt the blood of one of them tonight."

"Ah." Albus leaned back and steepled his fingers, his eyes never leaving Severus'.

Severus nodded tightly. "Evangeline Cain, seventh year Slytherin. She comes from the oldest pureblood family currently invested in the Dark Lord, her older brother went to Durmstrang several years ago and is also part of the Death Eaters, as is her father and mother both. She was _Crucio'd _until she bit her own tongue almost completely in half, and the blood vessels in her body began to unravel and rupture one by one. I got her to Poppy just in time to stop the internal bleeding and stabilize her. Albus, her family is even purer than the Malfoys. They haven't thrown a squib in seven generations, and they haven't married anyone who hasn't been a pureblood for at least a generation in over _three centuries. _They're as pure as pure gets, except for the very top Italian nobility families."

Albus slowly placed his hands on the table. "And when the youngest Cain—a pretty girl, not even out of school yet, was tortured magically until she spilt blood, for no reason other than being caught bullying a second year and having to serve detention for a very long time—"

"Exactly. Every single pureblood in the Death Eaters, including those who weren't there tonight, will know firsthand that they aren't safe. The Dark Lord spilt very pure blood tonight, and that means anyone—"

"Not just the half-bloods in the Death Eaters, _everyone, _even the purest-blooded children—"

"Will we get anyone this way, do you think?" Albus looked at his spy, trusted friend, and professor, and watched as the man jumped up and began pacing up and down the room.

"If I am very careful, I may be able to find some who are disillusioned with the Dark Lord. Every pair of eyes and ears counts, and I could use some help since the Dark Lord has taken to entrusting his followers with either solo projects or small-group projects but not telling the others what task he has assigned the others. It makes it harder to find out his overall scheme. Evangeline Cain was only seventeen, from an untouchable family, and well-liked among the general Death Eaters. I think many may be rethinking their decisions to back the Dark Lord."

"Excellent. Do what you can, but be careful."

Severus took his leave shortly after, still running lists of possible spy recruits among the Death Eaters through his head. _Perhaps—perhaps even Miss Cain and her friends might be willing to listen to reason. It has to be done gently though. They might run to their parents or to the Dark Lord to curry favor if I reveal too much. But after this ordeal, they may yet see how destructive being a Death Eater really is._

The group of five had been inducted into the ranks near the beginning of the year. All of them were seventeen, and they had someone to vouch for them. Along with Draco, the only sixth year given the _honor _of becoming the Dark Lord's servants and punching bags, they had joined the Death Eaters and been given tasks. He had a fairly good idea of what Cain's group of five had been tasked with. He had, after all, been keeping a close eye on them along with every other teacher, painting, and suit of armor. They were supposed to both scout for possible recruits, especially in the sixth years, as well as cause dissent and inner conflict in Hogwarts as discreetly as possible.

Unfortunately, their success with the latter throughout the year had caused them to be a little less subtle, and Miss Granger had caught them and reported them—not good for their standing with the Dark Lord. Severus himself had been notified by a suit of armor, who had told one of the paintings nearby, who had in turn relayed it to his portrait entrance. Severus had arrived just as the group was leaving, and he'd watched in relative interest as Miss Granger shepherded the boy up to Poppy. He'd seen no need to interfere—it would force him to be involved first degree, and that meant he'd have to let Cain and the others off the hook. No, better to let Miss Granger report it to the headmaster, who would then have the proper authority to dole out punishments without allowing Severus the 'chance' to bury the incident.

**--break--**

"What you have only started exploring, Miss Granger, is the beginnings of what you call _Vacuumency _and we call _moksha, _or nirvana. Tell me, Miss Granger, of your Western vision of heaven or the afterlife?"

Master Li, as he had introduced himself as to Hermione, was a short man from Yunnan province in China whose small stature—he was shorter than she by several inches!—seemed nevertheless crackling with potent power. _Like the potential energy you learn about in Muggle science class, I suppose. _He had been the third supplicant to be accepted into the Order of the Phoenix, and unlike both Hermione and the other trainee Chris Harper, already completed with the necessary training and inducted as an active member of the Order already. She had been supposed to meet him for her first lesson last week, but he'd been delayed by bureaucratic delays in the community of magical China and had only made it back to Scotland yesterday.

The question he posed to her, seemingly out of nowhere and unrelated to her problem with Eastern mind magic, had her frowning. "Um, I suppose the predominant view of heaven, if you're not completely atheist, is that if you're good you'll go to a place where there is no sorrow, no fear, and everyone is happy forever. If you're bad, you go to hell, which is a fiery pit where souls are tortured forever. The basic Christian ideology is that one must believe and commit to Jesus Christ as the Messiah who died for all humanity's sins to be allowed into an eternity spent with God. Those who don't believe will be tortured by the knowledge that they are far away from God, because they did not accept his gift while alive—or something along those lines anyway. Why?"

"I must ask you to pretend you have never heard of this western theology of the afterlife, despite having most likely grown up with it ingrained into your very childhood. That is the first step. Make no mistake, I do not mean insult to your religions or beliefs. Heaven can appear as so many different things to rational creatures of thought. But you have undertaken a highly selective branch of magic that is, in it's origin, completely based on the ideas of Asian mysticism, which is so fundamentally different from the Western ideology that it is simply not possible for you to pursue the mind magic you seek to control successfully without first sealing away the influences of your childhood and seeking to completely comprehend the Asian way of thought. The Dao, or Way, if you will."

"That makes sense." _It does, doesn't it? I first started down this path blindly by putting myself in the shoes of a sort-of disciple to the long-dead scholars of the East, only I screwed it up by not fully throwing myself into the role. So, now I have this mess of Vacuumency on my hands, and I have to fix it—by really _becoming _that disciple. _Hermione sighed, then fastened a determined look to her face. She was going to _do _this, whether it killed her or not. She couldn't afford to lose control over herself in that way ever again. "Okay, how do I begin?"

Master Li looked at her in amusement. "Well, why don't you start by telling me exactly what happens when you go into your Vacuumens-state. Severus has already briefed me on your journey and subsequent achievement of the warped stage of moksha you seem to have accessed."

She blushed, but ignored the heat in her cheeks hoping that the Chinese cultural mindset of 'saving face,' or maintaining the façade of a companion's dignity, would prevent Master Li from commenting on her flush the way the Weasley twins or Harry or Ron certainly would have. "Well, the first time I successfully performed Vacuumency, I had done it on purpose after practicing meditation for some time prior. I just entered that state of calm, and then I tried just enhancing the input from my senses while separating it and everything else in my mind from the part of the brain that deals with emotion. And it felt so natural, like slipping into a stream to be carried effortlessly by the current instead of having to think about everything. I managed to do this several times in meditation practice, going from light meditation into what I called the Stream of Consciousness, where everything was random and disconnected, and then the final breakthrough came when I used those techniques to block out Professor Snape, and nothing really went wrong then—I think, anyway. Then after that one perfect experience, it's like everything came crashing down on me and I couldn't hold onto the reins on my own mind."

"Ah." Master Li furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I believe after this 'perfect demonstration,' the next time you performed your Vacuumency, it was involuntary?"

"Yes."

"What happened in between the first and the second time, then? And what provoked your involuntary reaction?"

"Nothing happened, not that I can think of—" she stopped. "Well, maybe not completely true. I found out just what had happened to the last person we knew of who had successfully gone down the same route as I had, and whose book had been my main source of information and guide. She lost control of her Vacuumency and never recovered the use of her emotions. I was so upset, it was like I had skidded on some slippery moss on the bank of the Stream of Consciousness, and fallen in and then I didn't care that I was much deeper than I'd ever ventured in before."

His almond eyes were intently staring off into the empty space to the left of her head, but he seemed to realize that she had stopped, and returned his attention to her face. "Well, Miss Granger, I believe that might be it, what transitioned you from a sublevel heading upwards to pure moksha to the twisted version you now invoke in. And twisted it must be, for man without emotion is not human at all, and it is only one tiny shuffle from emotionless-shell to soulless life—like your Dementors. In fact, I can tell you right now that every time you enter a state of Vacuumens, your presence probably feels similar to being in a Dementor's presence, because the _absence _of your emotion creates a negative space in which something must enter to fill the void. That is the theory behind a Dementor's powers, if you were interested—part of my most recent studies. That is how we think they work, because they are simply a large void of happy memories, of joy and love and good emotion, that the emptiness where it should be attracts all other good emotion to it because the pressure to fill it is so strong. Similarly, your absence of emotion would mimic a Dementor to a lower level, since emotion is so closely tied to everything that makes us who we are, and how we feel ourselves."

"Why a Dementor? The negative space concept makes sense—a vacuum must be filled. But why isn't a human who's been Kissed feel the same way or act the same way as Dementors then, without their souls?" Hermione tried to ignore the crawling sensation on the back of her neck. _I'm like a Dementor when I'm in Vacuumens-state? Dear Merlin, this is worse than I thought. Damn it all Hermione, what were you thinking, attempting something you hadn't researched completely?_

"A worthy question. That is because I believe that a Dementor, unlike a simple black hole for souls, is capable of some cleverness. They take orders, for example, to a certain point. They understand us. And though I have never proven it, I believe that when a Dementor sucks a soul out of a victim, it doesn't remove it completely. It only removes the most joyful part of it, the beautiful part, and leaves the ugly that comes with all human beings. They then cauterize the wound where the soul was ruptured and torn, and only a tiny stump of a soul is left—just enough to neutralize the human And it is my suspicion that when Dementors decide to take the entire soul and not bother with leaving a tiny piece, then the person becomes a Dementor as well. And that, my dear, is how Dementors—I think—are born." Master Li broke the storytelling-like atmosphere by suddenly straightening in his seat.

"But we digress. As I have mentioned, I believe the first times you entered your 'Stream of Consciousness,' you were in the shallows, so to speak. You were confident in yourself, and you knew enough to stick close to the bank so that the current wouldn't pull you under or push you further than you wanted to go. But then you found out about this person who failed in the path you were traveling, and I cannot explain it in any other terms except this: you lost faith, and subsequently you strayed off the Way."

Hermione stored all thoughts on Dementors and souls in a corner of her mind, and focused on the task at hand. She could think about those things later—right now she had something to relearn, and she wasn't going to let anyone down by slacking off now.

**--break--**

"Hermione!"

She jumped, and dropped her quill. "What? Where's the fire?"

"It's over there, where it should be, in the fireplace," answered Ron cheekily.

"Ron!" She looked at him reproachfully, picking her pencil up and settling the notebook on her knee into a better position than falling off her lap.

Harry, next to Ron, smiled. "Well it did get your attention didn't it?" For an answer, she threw the eraser she found on the table at him. He plucked it out of the air before it hit his eye. "Why are you using a Muggle notebook and pencil and eraser, Hermione? And just what are you doing? We've been trying to get your attention for _ages _now."

"Yeah, I'm starving. Harry's volunteered the service of one Invisibility cloak for the purpose of raiding the Kitchens. You up for it?"

"I'm using the Muggle things because it's more convenient. I can brainstorm and sketch out a rough outline, even a rough draft, before I actually write my essay on the parchment. It saves me time and wasted parchment, and I have tons of these blank notebooks anyway. And Ron, when are you not hungry, that's a better question to ask. The Kitchens, then?"

"The Kitchens." Harry held up the flowing pile of material, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Before she left, Hermione hurriedly closed her notebook and shoved it under the cushion. _There. The charms I put on the notebook will prevent anyone from reading that, so it should be safe. Can't have any old Gryff wandering in and reading a complex comparison of D'Alle's theories on mind magic versus the actual text and beliefs of the East. Or the notes on Master Li's thesis on Dementors, for that matter. What a brilliant man, Master Li! I hope he plans on staying around for a while, I could sure pick his brain._

"Come on, Hermione!"

"I'm coming!" She scrambled under the rippling cloak.

In the kitchen, Dobby hurried over immediately. "The great Harry Potter is here! What is Harry Potter wishing of house-elves?"

"Hey Dobby." Harry scratched his head and tried not to look embarrassed at Dobby's constant and very tangible adoration. "Uh, maybe just something to eat would be great. Me and my friends are a little hungry."

"My friends and I, Harry."

"Yes, Mother." Hermione hit Harry on the shoulder, and Dobby watched in fascination, his head swiveling back and forth between the two.

"Can you get some of that lovely chocolate pie we were having for dessert at dinner tonight, Dobby?" Ron interjected. "Come on guys, cut it out. I'm famished!"

The two groaned, but sat down as well. Dobby cheerfully popped out for a moment, and came back laden with the pie Ron had requested. "Is the famous and good Harry Potter and his friends needing anything else?"

"Ah, no thank you Dobby," Harry smiled down at the elf. "We'll just take this upstairs, and maybe we'll visit again soon okay?"

A tugging on Hermione's sleeve as she and the boys bundled up the spoils in napkins made her look down in confusion. Someone familiar was staring up at her. "Miss Hermy?"

"Oh, Minny!" Hermione exclaimed, before she realized that the boys didn't know of her odd friendship with the house-elf. She decided to ignore that fact for now, and hoped the elf was smart enough not to say anything incriminating in front of them. She would hate to have her cover blown by a house-elf on her side. _Great, now I'm even thinking like a spy—like Professor Snape! Since when did my life become a 'cover'?_

"Minny must tell Miss Hermy to remember before Christmas in the kitchen. Miss Hermy must do as she promised. There is many whisperings, is important for listening. Miss Hermy must _remember." _Minny's solemn tone alarmed Hermione, but she hid it and instead nodded.

"All right Minny, thanks for the reminder. I'll definitely do that, and I'll come down for a chat with you soon, okay?" She ducked under the shelter of the Invisibility Cloak and poked at Harry and Ron to get them to stop throwing curious glances her way and get moving.

They managed to arrive back to the Gryff common room without being detected, and then Ron burst out, "What did that house-elf talking to you want? She did some house-elf magic and we couldn't hear what she said, or what you said back! I didn't know they could do that!"

_Whew. At least they didn't hear what Minny said. Last thing I need to explain is that I was roped into helping Professor Snape spy on the students who might be connected to the Death Eaters by concerned house-elves! What's got the house-elves in a twitch that they're listening to, I wonder. _Aloud, she said, "It wasn't really any of your business. I'm keeping a secret for the elves, that's all." And despite their protestations, Hermione firmly refused to stay on the topic after that.

**--break--**

Excerpt from Sahara D'Alle's War and Peace: A Woman's Magick

_Once true oneness with the Way of magick has been accomplished, the first stage is set and complete. My devoted reader, you have reached a level in which you will feel as if you can simply slip, as if from one room to the next through an open and unwarded door, from light meditation of Krishna's teachings to the higher state of peacefulness. And in the next room, there is no desire for earthly things to drag us down—no! Dear disciple, you have achieved the rudimentary status of an ascetic-priest of Krishna. You do not need water, or food, or air, or people. You need only have your mind joined and merged to the trueness of all things, from which all began and all shall one day end in—a single point of unity. There is no despair, anger, war, injustice, or pain to jar the solitude and silence of an orderly mind in harmony with the universe. _

Excerpt from Hermione's essay for Master Li after her first lesson

…_thus, while D'Alle interprets nirvana as the highest state of the mind, having shed the emotion as the rope that ties a human down to the earth and the people around him or her, neither her inspiration Krishna, nor the great sage-kings or scholars of China, or the ascetics, priests, and Boddhisattvas and Buddhas of the Asia province has ever specifically stated this particular interpretation of the peculiar mind magics many disciples and students of Eastern philosophies is the correct translation. Indeed, in looking at sections of the works by some of these philosophers (Tao te Ching, the Analects, and the Bhagavad-Gita for example), I myself consider D'Alle's interpretation faulty. Nirvana, or moksha, is not meant to be complete separation from what makes one human, but rather an embracing of it, a refinement of it, to distill a person to his or her purest essence. And while Krishna calls on Arjuna to cast away doubt, cast away fear, and cast away all desires (Bhagavad-Gita), this shunning of desires—thought by D'Alle to be emotion—might quite possibly be desire itself, and not the ensuing emotions that accompany desire._

_Desire for a particular outcome, or against a result, is what Krishna strongly discourages in the case of Arjuna. Yet one can feel no desire, and still experience emotions—as long as one remains in control of what provokes these emotions. In Arjuna's case, desire provokes emotion and so D'Alle's solution was to cut it away, to amputate it like a grangrene-limb. What if it is possible to cut away not the emotion, but solely the desire? Would it then be the purest form of nirvana that so many disparate Asian religions and philosophies all share in common, a state of being in which one is completely at peace with oneself and does not war within the soul? Is this then the solution to the perfect Vacuumency, the perfect shield for a human mind; to have no urges to spur on emotion, and thus no uncontrolled emotion to grasp onto and follow to the memories and knowledge of the person?_

_Note: Not having had time to do more than peruse the works I have referenced, I might have missed something crucial by mistake Master Li. Please tell me if I have drawn the wrong conclusions, or made an error somewhere. I appreciate all your help, and will definitely spend some time reading Confucius and Lao Tzu as you have recommended._

_P.S. I hope you don't mind the liberty I take, but I cannot help but pose this question to you regarding your intensive studies with Dementors and how they work. What, then, is the phenomena of a person's Patronus, and how is it possible for a Dementor to flee an amalgam of happy thoughts and feelings instead of sucking that in and completely defeating the Patronus?_

**A.N.: I tried out a new style of writing right at the beginning, the present tense and all with Draco—it just felt like it had to be in that style for that scene. Tell me what you think! I had loads of fun with this chapter, so I hope you liked it.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. Now, if JKR decided to gift me with the copyright and subsequent money and fame of the HP universe for an un-birthday present, I wouldn't be averse to that…**

"You're utterly pathetic."

Draco lurched up out of his bed with a gasp, hand automatically searching for the wand under his pillow. With the comforting wood pressed tightly to his palm, he looked for the source of the voice. _There. _Glowing gently translucent, Skye Corwin sat sprawled on a chair several feet from the end of the bed. "Corwin," he said flatly.

"Malfoy."

There was silence for a long second, and then Draco couldn't stand it anymore. "Well? Are you here to yell at me again? Or insult me, or tell me how evil I am? Maybe even try and see if a ghost can kill?"

A heartbeat passed. "No. No, I'm not."

He stared at her, unable to process her abrupt statement. The flickering girl fell silent for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then went on. "I wanted to, you know. Kill you, I mean—I wanted you to feel every bit of pain that I'm feeling. I want you to experience the blinding loss, like you've just lost everything that you ever remotely cared about and you're _helpless, _tied down, fucking unable to move like one of those nightmares where you're paralyzed and no one hears your screams…" she trailed off, and then shook her head, swallowing. "Anyway, I wanted you to _hurt. _I really did. So I went away for a while. Went to visit my body at St. Mungos—it's really weird to see yourself lying in a hospital bed by the way—took a trip into the country to see my- my parents' graves. They always said they wanted to be buried in the countryside, by a loch. Aunt Danielle remembered, and had them buried out where Dad proposed to Mum on a hiking holiday. Spent a while there, thinking about things. A lot of things."

He didn't dare breathe, watching the introspective ghost as she lost herself musing about her memories. Two beds away, Blaise shifted and mumbled something indecipherable. _Oh Merlin, I hope the others don't wake up. Last thing I need is for someone to see me apparently talking to empty air. _

"I could feel you, you know." Corwin's voice broke through his last thought, and he looked at her, startled.

"What?"

"I could feel you. I don't know why you're the only person who can see me, and I don't know why, but I can feel your especially strong emotions and once in a while, the gist of an extremely passionate or violent thought. You had a lot of bad moments this past week, didn't you? I practically fainted at one point, you were in such a funk."

"And what, pray tell, did you feel?" he hissed at her, as the realization sank in. _Shit. I had forgotten that for some reason, she can sense what I'm feeling. _

"Oh, the usual. A bit of suicidal depression, some hints of extreme guilt for things not in your control, desperation, fear, and disgust rampant, and the odd bout of fury at the entire world. You know, the things a normal sixth year would feel." Corwin's voice, at that moment, rivaled Professor Snape's tone in sarcasm, and Draco had a sudden insane urge to lunge at her and throttle her into quiet. _Go away. Just go the hell away, Corwin! I don't care about you or your stupid family and their stupid deaths and your stupid stories about what you did. It's not my bloody fault! _But he knew, despite his fury, that it wasn't true. Because it _was _his fault that Corwin was even in this position for him to be angry at, and the center of the maelstrom of guilt he felt—_Malfoys aren't supposed to feel guilty!—_simply crossed her legs and looked calmly back at him, through him.

"Go away, Corwin. I said I was sorry about what happened to you already. Now leave me alone." He lay back down, fully intending to go back to sleep and ignore the mess and rubble of his life, but suddenly she was there in his face and glaring at him.

"Listen to me and listen well, Malfoy. I'll only say it once. What I came to conclusions about out in the middle of nowhere, staring at the gravestones with the names of my parents on them, is that _you are not to blame for what happened to me. _You weren't the one who planned the attack, or the one who carried it out. You aren't the bastard that turned and betrayed us, and you weren't Tom-bloody-Riddle who made it so that this kind of thing can actually happen in our world. In short, Draco, you got the short end of the stick just by being your father's son, just like I got the short end by being of a desirable bloodline and age and gender. So quit pitying yourself and feeling guilty, because it wasn't your fault, and I forgive you. You understand?"

It was her eyes that did him in. Barely two inches from his face, he had no choice but to look her in the eye, and they held a vortex of emotions he'd never expected. Wrath, disgust, sadness—he expected those, but there was so much more! Concern, truth, hard determination, a kind of experience that told of innocence lost, and a warm spark that seemed to be forged entirely of pure _life…_He struggled for breath, sitting up disoriented and befuddled. "Ah…" his mind reminded him he had to answer something she'd asked him. "Yes. Understood clearly, Ma'am."

"Good. Now, you're going to help me get my spirit back into my body."

"W- what?" _Just like that? She's forgiven me for her parents' death and her own coma just like that? Is she deranged? _Draco couldn't wrap his mind around this, around the sudden lifting of the weight he'd carried since the instant his father had casually mentioned that they'd taught the Corwins the meaning of defying the Malfoys. But Corwin was looking back at him expectantly, clearly having moved on without another thought about his innumerable crimes against her, and something in his innermost self _sang _as his body slowly caught up with the fact that he had been absolved. _Forgiven. _Draco shook off the last of the daze he was in and realized what Corwin had just said. "Wait, why me? I have no bloody clue why you're a ghost and not dead yet."

"Spirit, not ghost, idiot. And you're helping me whether you like it or not, because you're the only one who can see me. So get up now! Let's go looking for information, shall we?" Her mood abruptly cheerful, Corwin smacked her hands together twice, and then crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

"_Up? Now? _It's still night time!"

"It's dark, but it'll be light soon. It's four-thirty in the morning. You'll have plenty of time for a nap later just before breakfast, right now you're going to come with me to the library to begin the research. Consider it justice for a sleepless night when you met with your precious Dark Lord, since I didn't get any even after you slept—you had awful dreams all night. Not that I sleep much anyway, but it made for an unpleasant night. Come on!"

_I had to pick a bouncy girl with a penchant for being just like Granger with the library, didn't I? Merlin save me. _He groaned, heaving himself out of bed as quietly as he could. When the blanket fell from his body, he belatedly realized that Corwin was _in his room. _"Uh, Corwin, turn around would you?" He tried not to blush, and apparently ghosts or spirits or whatever she was could also do so, because as she turned hastily, he caught a brief glimpse of a silvery cheek glowing brighter than the rest of her body.

When he'd finished dressing, he cleared his throat—softly, so as not to wake Blaise, the lightest sleeper in the room.

She smiled at him, blush gone. "Oh, by the way would you mind calling me Skye? I'm afraid I could never get used to the habit Hogwarts seems to have of calling each other by last name, it just feels weird and I never really respond to my last name anyway. Just Skye, okay?"

"All right. Skye." He tested it out. It had a ring to it. "It's an unusual name."

"Yeah, my Mum always says—said—that she wanted me to be the only one at school with my name. Her name was Charlotte, you see, and there was always at least one other Charlotte in her school, or that she knew, and she hated having such a common name." Skye looked misty-eyed for a moment, then shook it off.

"She sounds like a fun woman," Draco ventured.

"She was." Skye took a breath, released it slowly. "She was."

"I'm sorry."

"You already said."

"I'm still sorry."

"I know."

In silence, Draco snuck out of the Slytherin dormitory, heading towards the library while Skye floated beside him. When they reached the dark doors, a whispered spell unlocked them and in between one instant and the next, they had slipped through and made for the Restricted Section. _Time to go to work. Okay, let's look for medical books on the subject of patients with dark curses. _

An hour and a half later of fruitless searching, Skye paused. "We need to get you back. Madame Pince will be in here to open the library in a while."

"How do you know?"

"Ravenclaw, remember? Just because no one ever gets detention doesn't mean we don't break curfew, we're just smarter about it."

Draco laughed, for the first time in weeks. "Trust a Ravenclaw to be fiddly enough to memorize the librarian's schedule."

They made it back in good time, with all the others still asleep, and Draco slipped back into his bed for a short nap before he truly had to get up. As he closed his eyes, he heard Skye's voice from the door. "Draco. I just wanted to tell you something, so we're clear. I'm _going _to get myself back into my body, and start living again. And I'm _going _to take my revenge on all those who thought they could mess with the Corwins. The turncoat Auror, especially. But I'm not going to spare your father, Draco, if I have a chance at him. Do you understand me?"

He kept silent as the best option. He didn't know what to think anymore. He truly despised his father's actions, and sometimes he even thought he hated the man. But Lucius Malfoy was _his father, _and despite the negative, Draco couldn't deny that a part of him was still the little boy who'd idolized his strong and glorious father. He had _good _memories of the man too.

Skye hadn't left. She finally whispered, "Just think about what side you're on Draco. Not what your family expects of you. I felt what you did when you met Voldemort. I don't know exactly what happened there, but do you want to feel like that for the rest of your life?" Her voice echoed in the perpetually dark room with its location in the dungeons preventing natural light from entering their bedrooms. He stayed still for a long time, and when he finally rolled over to look at the door, Skye was gone.

**---break---**

"Sir, what is happening?" Hermione furrowed her brow—she'd come down to the dungeons for her usual lessons in stealth and such, only to open the door and come face to face with Professor Snape about to walk out. _Oh gosh, just missed walking right into him! Where's he going in such a hurry, I wonder. _

"Ah, Miss Granger. Early tonight, aren't you?" Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione actively fought the blush. That had been one of the first things he'd attacked when it had come down to how to blend in. _Any personal habits can give a one away at the most crucial point. Biting your lip like you seem to do when you are nervous, Miss Granger, might tell someone observing you that something isn't right and you bear closer watching, which you _do not need. _Blushing, in particular, might be considered _cute _for a girl enamored with her swain, but hardly helps when it might give away important information or signal that you know something you shouldn't. Control the urge, Miss Granger. Control, control, control—that's all Professor Snape was about in these lessons. _

"Only a minute. Where are you going?" Less than a year ago, Hermione would have considered anyone worthy of a mental institution if they had told her that she would one day be able to question Professor Snape casually, like she was now. _Shows how much I knew then. _

And instead of snarling and taking points off for impertinence like he would have several months ago, Professor Snape instead answered her, like he would have any other colleague. _Colleague. I like that. I can definitely live with being Professor Snape's equal—perhaps not in age, and there's still the formalities of student and teacher, but I'll be done with the training part of the Order, and then we'll truly be equals in that sense. _

"I was just going to a certain room I believe we'll need tonight for our lesson. Follow me, please." But rather than sweeping off ahead, Professor Snape courteously paced beside her, barely half a foot in front to direct. And before long, Hermione had a suspicion of where they were headed. When they reached the particular stretch of blank wall and Professor Snape started pacing back and forth with a concentrated look on his face, she knew.

"Why do we need the Room of Requirement?" she enquired.

The door popped into existence. "Exam time, Miss Granger." Professor Snape turned around and smiled, a rare gleam of—dare she think—mischief?—in his eye. _Is that—is he _enjoying _this? _"When you enter this room, you will find yourself in a particular place of my imaginings. Your objective is to move undetected through this place, retrieve an object, and make it out of there without anyone suspecting you and without leaving any trace behind. There will be people to interact with, multiple rooms, and some obstacles. You have fifteen minutes grace when you walk inside to devise your strategy, and then the clock starts ticking. You have an hour. Here is the description of the object you must retrieve." He opened the door and mockingly bowed.

She stared at him, her mouth dry with fear. "_Test? Now?" _

"Of course. If you pass this, I can declare you passable as a spy. Don't let down the Headmaster, Miss Granger. He is the one who thought you might be ready now. I certainly consider you barely acceptable."

_Ouch. _Hermione shook off the lethargy in a flare of anger. She was _good _at this, at blending in, and he knew it! She took on look at his smug face, and narrowed her eyes. _I _will _do this. I will pass this test and prove him wrong! _She snatched the scroll of parchment from his hand and entered the room, her head held high. Behind, the door clicked shut ominously. Although she could not see, she might have been slightly confused to see her professor let one hand linger on the smooth wall before bowing slightly to it and walking away, a small but genuine smile on his face.

**--break--**

She tried not to hyperventilate as she slowly eased her body through the tiny window. _Just a little bit more, come on Hermione! _Her body ached with the effort of hovering half in, half out of the window as she moved with the careful stealth of a thief, or a Tai Chi Master. She couldn't afford a single slip up right now. She was down to her last two minutes, and if the two dummy-people the Room of Requirement had created and who were standing just outside the door caught her in this position, the gig would be up and Hermione was so close to completing her exam successfully. _Easy there, don't mess up, don't mess up…_

_There! _Her entire body was out, and she only need get herself down the three meter height to the ground. The door she'd entered by was currently awash with a multitude of milling ministry workers (or the imitation ones the Room had provided for her test, anyway) and though Hermione might have been able to talk her way out of the door without raising suspicion, she couldn't do it in the four minutes she'd had when she'd finally made it back from the innermost office. Thus, a window facing out the same side as the door had been her next choice, and the ladies room had been conveniently empty. _Of course now if it had been the real thing, they would be miffed to be locked out of their own bathroom I suppose. But I should shut the window before I get down, or they'll definitely suspect a thief. _Muscles trembling with the effort of holding still, Hermione thanked her lucky stars that there was a small ledge outside the bathroom window to perch on as she carefully shut the window, wiped down any prints she might have left, and then jumped, landing softly on the ground.

A second later, Professor Snape appeared around the corner, his face schooled to blankness, holding a timepiece. "Just in time, Miss Granger, although I did expect you at the door and not out a window."

She refrained from talking, and instead fished inside her cloak to the makeshift pouch she'd stored the object in. "Might this be yours, Professor Snape?" She kept her face neutral, held out the lacy red bra.

His face would fuel a hysterical fit of laughter once she was safely inside her room. A mixture of disbelief, horror, and shock flickered across his face, and to her surprise, Professor Snape actually _blushed. _

_Ha! Not so controlled now, are you Professor? I can still shock you out of your boring self-controlled state. _It gave her a sudden thrill that she, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor and bane of Professor Snape's existence (other than Harry and Ron of course) could break his cool in this way. Hermione refused to explore the niggling unvoiced hiss at the back of her head that pointed at how much she enjoyed worming her way into the crack in Professor Snape's armor around himself, a shield not even penetrable during their infrequent heated discussions on something or other.

"Miss Granger! That is completely inappropriate and- put that away at once!"

She tilted her head and waved the bra (thankfully not hers) around. "But this is what you sent me in for, isn't it Professor?"

"I certainly did not!" He must have realized that his raised voice might bring Filch or a ghost or a wandering student out of curfew, and he lowered it. "I specifically said, fetch the most incriminating piece of information we can use against the Minister for blackmail!"

She paused. "Exactly."

"I fail to see how a woman's undergarment would…oh." His eyes widened for an instant before the beginnings of a smirk began to pull at the corners of his firm mouth. _Firm mouth? Wait, stop staring at Professor Snape's mouth Hermione! Bad girl! He's a teacher, not some boy toy at the beach you can ogle!_

"You mean…"

"Yes, it would seem that our Minister is not exactly the paragon of virtues, Professor Snape. I found this…article of clothing pushed under his desk, and I'm certain that it does not belong to him."

Satisfied that she'd shocked Professor Snape enough, she tucked the bra back into her cloak and began walking to the Gryffindor dorms. He followed her, dumbstruck.

"Then whose…"

"His secretary. A buxom blonde who apparently also services the head of the Auror department, and is also married to another man. It should create enough scandal if you ever needed blackmail, if it had been real."

"I must confess, when I asked the Room to provide a test for you, I did not expect this."

"Neither did I," Hermione replied wryly. "Let me tell you, I spent much longer than I should have, convincing myself that the Room and you weren't completely insane, and that I was supposed really supposed to steal a bra from the Minister of Magic's office. I'm just glad that this wasn't the real thing—I _really _wouldn't have wanted to think that Fudge was indulging himself during lunch break or something. That's something I really don't want to imagine." She grimaced, and caught Professor doing the same.

"Please, Miss Granger. It's late, you've undoubtedly passed with flying colors—I won't know for sure until I go back and check the Room of Requirement for anything out of place or suspicious—and I simply do not wish to imagine the Minister in a compromising position—literally. Kindly refrain from blathering on about it, so that I can will that image from my mind."

"Sure, Professor Snape. This is my stop though. Do let me know what my score is, I'd like to know how well I did." She grinned up at him, brave with a burst of euphoria that had flooded her at his high compliment.

"Good night then, Miss Granger. I'll let you know."

She slipped into the dormitory, taking one quick glance behind her to watch Professor Snape turn with a swirl of cloth and disappear. _Well, that went well. I'm exhausted, but—he said that he was sure I'd passed! Professor Snape said I would pass with flying colors! _Nothing could dull her happiness at the moment, as she climbed the stairs, snuck into the room, and swiftly changed for bed. _He complimented me. He thinks I'm good at spying and stealth, the thing that _he _is best at. Professor Snape thinks I did well! _

**--break--**

"I understand that you passed your stealth test and only had six points deducted?" Master Li smiled.

"Yes, I did. I lost two points for spending too much time dawdling in the Minister's office, one for dropping a hair by mistake when I was walking down the hallway—I forgot to completely brush my hair and pick out the shed strands before going for lesson—and three for nearly walking into a group of Ministry officials at the door on my way back."

"Nevertheless, a wonderful score. You did well. Albus tells me often of how proud he is of you, and how he knew that you'd do well. The Order was impressed."

"That means a lot to me, Master Li—that Albus is proud of me, I mean." Hermione refrained from commenting on how unlikely it was for the Order to really be happy for her high score—they were still uneasy, those who had seen her pull out her best friend's severed head during the initiation ceremony and hadn't been privy to her full story. Even Master Li didn't know the full story, but he never mentioned it and it was as if he'd never seen her hold Harry Potter's head in her hands. For that, she was grateful—he was normally direct to the point of painful.

"You had a question, yes? On Dementors and Patronuses?" he prompted, and she brightened.

"Yes I did. If your theory on Dementors holds true, how do you account for how a Patronus, which is created from a person's happiest memory, scares off Dementors?"

"Ah, yes. That is a question that posed quite a problem with me when I first began to suspect of a Dementor's nature of negative space devouring joyful emotion to fill it's soulless empty vacuum. I researched long for an answer, and it was actually Albus who suggested a possible solution to my dilemma."

Hermione listened closely. Master Li smiled at her focused expression. "A Patronus is not just your happiest memory, Miss Granger. A Patronus is a spiritual manifestation of your happiness, distilled down to its purest essence, and a Dementor cannot devour it. It is the one thing that is, perhaps, _too much _for the empty space of the Dementor. It is like a manifestation or reflection of the caster's soul in a form that a Dementor cannot touch, without the negatives, faults, and doubts that make up a human being. Because they cannot touch a Patronus, they are scared of it, and thus they flee from it."

"I've always heard that a Patronus reflects the deepest realization of the heart, and that's why a Patronus can change if you fall in love."

"That is true. Or, when you undergo a large change in yourself, your Patronus may change. Most witches and wizards only master their Patronus in their late twenties or early thirties, and many are already in love and married by then, so few notice the changes. But if you cast a Patronus now, as a school-girl with no big losses and loves to have affected your life. Perhaps in ten years, if you fall in love, your soul changes slightly to reflect your inner self joined to another soul."

"Hm." Hermione furrowed her brow. "That's kind of cool, I think."

"Yes, it is. However, _we _have a lesson on mastering our minds ahead of us, and I think we had better get to work. Please begin your meditation, Miss Granger."

**A.N.: Hard chapter to write. Ugh. Hope you guys liked it. And you guys might be happy to learn that from this point on, I am no longer quite as blind to the future of my story as you are. I'd been unable to get a clear vision of the story except for what came to me as I wrote each chapter and posted as I wrote. Now, I have the very very rough outline of how the story should be shaping (Although I might wander off-track, as I am wont to do). But I do have a future for our characters, which I didn't have before. :)**

**Oh, on a note not related so much to this story- One of my previous stories, "Number the Stars," was nominated and is in the running for the best DHr Hurt/Comfort category in the New Library Awards, which concludes on July 14. I would absolutely love it if you read that story—it's only four short chapters—and vote for me over at **_**community./tnlawards/. (Just add the usual w w w to the front of that address.) **_**Thanks!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:**** No, I'm not earning anything off of this. No, it doesn't belong to me. Yes, you can leave a review instead of monetary donations. :)**

"_Did you hear what happened to Cain?"_

_"No way. _He _did what?"_

_"I don't know, Millie. I really don't know. My parents are trying to persuade him that I'm too fragile and stupid to be worthy of joining—they don't want me in danger, on either side of the fence. That incident with Evangeline scared them a lot."_

_"I haven't seen Draco so quiet and withdrawn. They say he has a special task too, and if he doesn't pull it off, he might end up worse off. Cain was more pureblooded than the Malfoys, for heaven's sake!"_

_"I can't believe it…almost makes me wish I'd let the Hat put me in Hufflepuff instead, the pressure'd be a little less to join then."_

_"I've never seen Mum and Dad so scared."_

_"Mate, I'm seriously thinking about leaving Europe before my seventeenth. My Mum would help me, after Cain she decided that I wasn't going into _that. _If Potter's not done the deed by February next year, I'm gone. She's got a cousin in America…"_

Hermione, true to her promise to the house-elves, had been putting her newly acclaimed stealth skills to use and eavesdropping on conversations around Hogwarts, particularly the Slytherins. She didn't know what was going on completely, but of one thing she was sure—_something _revolving around Voldemort and Evangeline Cain had the Slytherins, especially the purebloods, on tenterhooks. She'd already picked out five different students—four Slytherins and a Ravenclaw—who wanted to flee the Island altogether before their seventeenth birthday to avoid becoming a Death Eater, and many others muttering and a whole lot of nervousness.

_The wonders of the library—no one thinks that I can listen just as well while I have my face buried in a book. Honestly, I didn't even need all those stealth and spying lessons, all I had to do was sit and pretend to read and flip a page once in a while, and move my eyes back and forth across the page._

Restlessly, Hermione automatically took notes in History of Magic as she pondered her position. _I have to admit it—I really miss those lessons in stealth with Professor Snape. Now I don't really have anything to do with him anymore, and I miss talking to him. He has the most brilliant mind, and I've missed having someone around to debate with like with Dad. Harry and Ron aren't exactly up for discussing the things I like, and even Master Li doesn't so much discuss as tell—it's mostly one way, and we never talk for long because he gets down to the lesson material and refuses to stray from it once he starts. _

But now she had a reason to seek him out again—surely he should know what had happened with Evangeline Cain, who still stalked haughtily through school as if her name wasn't being whispered in conjunction with _You-Know-Who _all around her. And surely Professor Snape should be told how much the event, whatever it was, was affecting the students. _I'll sneak out tonight and tell him. _That put her in a better mood, and Hermione found that she was even able to make it through the rest of classes, all of which had, to her dismay, become rather dull and too easy for her in light of her intensive training for the Order.

She found it ridiculously easy to slip out undetected. Of course, she had an unfair advantage—the very consciousness of Hogwarts. _Hogwarts? Can you tell me if it's safe to make it to the dungeons without being caught?_

_Empty corridors, and a flash of Filch and his cat sitting in front of a blazing fire_. Safe, then. She smiled. _Thanks._ Making her way down to the dungeons, Hermione encountered no one true to Hogwart's words; or rather, thoughts. She knocked.

When she didn't receive an answer, she frowned and decided to go in. The door opened easily—his wards still recognized her, and allowed her access to the small private office where they'd had lessons, except for the rare time in the Library of Dreams. "Professor Snape?"

In between one heartbeat and the next, Hermione found herself pinned against the wall, a hand wrapped around her throat as she choked in an airless gasp, and the other jabbing the tip of a dangerously elegant wand into the flesh directly above her heart. Two unfathomably dark eyes held her just as trapped as the fluttering butterflies she'd watched her Muggle cousin pin to a cardboard years ago for a science project, and her own demise in that instant was a very possible option indeed. She'd believe those cruel sharp eyes to be capable of anything, up to and including murder.

And just as fast, the man threatening her very life had yanked away in horror, and his mouth was saying something that Hermione couldn't follow, and she realized with a numb sort of shock that she knew the man. It was Professor Snape.

_Oh ye gods. _Hermione slid bonelessly to the floor wheezing, but her mind refused to listen to her more sensible body, and it was with bemusement that Hermione realized that she should congratulate Professor Snape on a job well done indeed. For, despite her physical body's demand to simply faint dead away to avoid overloading her mind, the instructions that Professor Snape had pounded over and over into her head had become a second nature, had taken over her responses. _Compartmentalize. Adapt. Your reactions in the crucial moments of life may determine whether you live or die, or whether someone you know survives or perishes. _Okay, so it might not be quite that dire—she wasn't at Voldemort's foot, surrounded by Death Eaters. But this man, this _danger _to her life, was her friend. The same man who had nearly strangled her, had several weeks ago, forced her to eat a late dinner during a break in their lesson because he'd _noticed _that she'd been absent for dinner, having got caught up in an impromptu meditation/work out session by herself in the Room of Requirement. This man, who had dug his wand so painfully into her skin that she was sure that the bruises would go all the way through to her back, was the same person who had continually been a solid and comforting presence since the beginning of the year, and had never wavered in his treatment of her even after her Christmas shock.

_And this is the man that, not ten days ago, was joking along with me about a red bra. No matter how dangerous he is, Professor Snape is not my enemy. He has an acerbic wit he rarely shows but that I have been privileged to see, the mind of a genius, the stamina of ten men, and the determination of twenty. And he is my friend, and I know he'd never willingly hurt me. Enough melodrama, Hermione. You have a friend to reassure. Feel later. Do now. _

"Professor Snape?" _Oh Merlin, my throat hurts like hell. _Efficiently, if a little wobbly on her feet, Hermione pushed herself away from the wall and approached the man, who had backed away to the far side of the office, fallen silent, and was currently staring at an indistinct spot that only he could see, to the right of her. "Professor Snape. Are you alright?" Her voice was hoarse and softer than she'd intended, a byproduct of almost being strangled, but it was improving and she felt less like gulping down air as she had been.

She could feel the tension rolling off him as he answered carefully, enunciating each syllable. "Miss Granger, I apologize for harming you and causing you unnecessary fear. I hope you are not hurt badly—I will fetch some bruise balm for your injuries."

She didn't like the toneless way he spoke, and frowned, moving forward again, fighting down the urge that screamed, _Danger! Run! _She could break down later. Now, a man she considered—with some surprise—her friend, was, if she wasn't mistaken, feeling extremely guilty for overreacting and almost killing her. "Professor. Professor Snape, is everything okay?" She finally came close enough to him as he took a jar of pale ointment down from a cupboard, and hesitantly laid her hand on his arm.

He froze for a minute, and then continued to unscrew the jar before he turned around. "I am fine, Miss Granger. Let me tend to your injuries, if I may?"

Acquiescing, Hermione tilted her head back minutely instead of taking the jar he held out. He was slightly taken aback, but dipped his fingers into the cream and slowly glided two digits covered in healing balm over the forming bruises around her neck. The urge to run had faded with Hermione's successful compartmentalizing, but now her ribs protested the hammering of her heart in an altogether different way, and Hermione wasn't sure what she was feeling, or if she liked it at all. She suppressed a shiver as the cool cream coated her sensitive skin, and a chill ran down her spine. _Overheated body from the adrenaline, cold ointment on the skin, that would give anyone butterflies and cold fingers down the spine. Stop dramatizing it. _The lean fingers at her throat paused, and the retracted gently, and in an odd strained tone, Professor Snape said, "Perhaps you should take the jar and apply it to the areas I have not gotten, later. Reapply the balm after you take a bath, and as needed until the bruises are gone—it should be completely healed by tomorrow." He stepped back quickly, almost a little jerkily. _I've never really seen Professor Snape not graceful before. Not even first year, when he had that bite from Fluffy. Wait, he's giving me the entire jar? Surely once is enough to—oh. _Hermione was _very _glad that Professor Snape was good at teaching, and she was good at learning, otherwise she'd never have been able to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks in a very visible manner. _The other part that still hurts would be where his wand dug into me, of course—and he can't exactly ask me to show him my chest area. Although his fingers are probably a lot more suited to rubbing in the balm, I certainly wouldn't mind if—_her thoughts came to a screeching halt. _Focus, Hermione, you idiot. Just because his fingers are great doesn't mean you need to strip in front of him. The man is your _Professor, _for Merlin's sake! I must be much more shaken up than I thought, and not as good as compartmentalizing as I'd hoped, for my mind to wander like that. _

"Thank you, Sir," Hermione murmured clearly, and her voice was noticeably stronger and less rough. Her throat felt less like the abused body part it was, and more like its old self, and she focused on the situation in front of her rather than listen to her own rambling thoughts.

"It's the least I can do. I am sorry for scaring you, earlier."

"Only a little. No wonder you told me to work on my reflexes when you were still dueling with me! You were a blur just now, it was brilliant. I didn't even have the chance to react, or reach for my wand, or dive out of the way." She tried to keep her voice light, and in the end, some of the very real awe seeped in, and for a moment she lost herself in admiration of his almost inhuman reflexes and attack.

He stared at her incredulously. "Miss Granger, I just attacked you. A student. My student, twice over in fact, once as a Hogwarts professor and one as your mentor and sponsor in the Order. I was at fault, and I violated your trust by injuring you. I could have _killed _you, and only the fact that you have been studying under me and are part of the Order keeps you from directly reporting this to the Board, who would have me out of this place in a snap, with or without Albus' say in the matter. And in his matter, he may not have supported me at all, despite my uses."

"If you're trying to convince me to report you, you're doing a singularly bad job. You're far to key in the Order and at Hogwarts for this to get out at all, and I take no offence in being attacked if you thought you were in danger. I only regret that we live in a time when such reflexes are needed. Don't worry, Professor Snape. My only question is: do you think I could be taught to react like that? Or at least be able to counter it? I'd really be in trouble if someone else truly on the other side has the same reflexes as you do." Hermione watched Professor Snape as he blinked. His face showed nothing much—too bad, she'd enjoyed provoking him into losing his control over his expression, but the man was too much a consummate spy to not have it under control immediately by now.

He also seemed to be searching for something to say. Finally, he sighed, and when he spoke it was almost with his brand of exasperation that she'd gotten used to in the weeks of their lessons together. "Miss Granger, you truly are a Gryffindor inside out. Take the balm and go, unless you needed me for anything else?"

"Oh, thanks. Um- I just needed to tell you that there's been a lot of whispering going on among the students, especially your House. Something about Vo- about the Dark Lord, and Evangeline Cain. Whatever happened, it had repercussions that may be good for us. Four Slytherins and a Ravenclaw are planning to flee the continent before they turn seventeen, to avoid being Marked. At least a dozen others are actively searching for a way to stay neutral without angering the Dark Lord, and half of your House, a good many from Ravenclaw, and some from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor even are all looking very worried and looking at Cain a lot, and I don't think it's just because she's pretty or powerful."

She paused expectantly, and looked at him. He stared back coolly, and she finally sighed. "Fine. You always beat me at this game. Here, these are the names of those who have declared their intent to run." She held out a piece of parchment, which he took and scanned. One eyebrow shot up, but his face betrayed no other emotion as he read through the names and then tossed it onto his desk, incinerating it with a motion of his wand.

"I will mention it to Albus."

"You'll try and help them, won't you?"

"I will do nothing of the sort."

"Sorry, my mistake. You'll get the names to Albus so that _he _can help them out."

"I will affirm nothing. You're calling the Headmaster by his first name?" He sat down again, and removed a basin of swirling silver from the top of his desk, gently placing it into a drawer. _A pensieve? No wonder he was so startled that he nearly killed me—he was lost in old memories, quite literally! And they can't be pleasant ones either, considering his history. _She didn't mention it however, as she watched his place a hand on top of the lock of the drawer and watched the entire thing melt into the grain of the wood, becoming a solid looking part of the furniture with no evidence to suggest it was really a compartment.

"Yes—he told me to, in private and around the Order of course." Unstated was her implicit _and you're an Order member that I trust fully. _He grimaced.

"Just like him to assume your success. You could easily have failed my exam, or any of the others. You may yet fail to master a skill, and continue to be a trainee forever."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Professor."

"You're most certainly welcome, Miss Granger. Now if that's all, I have some horrendously written essays to grade tonight, and _you _have a three foot essay on the differences between animal ingredients and plant ingredients to write, and it is much past curfew. Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

"Alright, alright. I just thought you'd appreciate getting more people out from under the Dark Lord's nonexistent nose, but evidently you're in a bad mood tonight. I'll leave you to your massacre of the papers." She walked out, then stuck her head back in. "_And _I've already finished your essay. It was much easier than some of the others you've assigned. You're getting soft on us, Professor." She darted out again and heard his hiss behind her.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek!" And then she was out, navigating Hogwarts on her way back to a well-earned rest, a grin on her lips. She narrowly missed Filch, but Hogwarts warned her in time, and she was soon safely in bed, and had decided that she wasn't going to fall apart from the shock of almost being choked to death by Professor Snape, and her last semi-conscious thoughts as she drifted off were of warm rough fingers on her collarbone and around her neck, and she wasn't sure if they meant to tighten suddenly in a stranglehold, or caress, but the electric shocks down her back kept her paralyzed.

**--break--**

Severus rubbed his face wearily. He'd really have to fix his wards to alert him to Miss Granger's presence. He couldn't very well keep her out as he did the other students and most of his colleagues. She was his especial responsibility, and as her mentor, he was duty-bound to be accessible for any emergency, day or night. Already that was an impossibility, considering that he was sometimes in a place where she'd obviously never be welcome—he didn't think the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord would appreciate his mentoring of a Muggleborn girl, and certainly not the best friend of Harry Potter.

Gods! He'd very nearly killed her, had certainly frightened and injured her and it was a miracle she'd been able to even admire his swift deadliness and joke with him normally. He'd had a dark curse on his lips, for Merlin's sake! It was only by dint of her eyes that he'd managed not to curse her, or strangle her to death.

And she'd _thanked _him for the balm. Had trusted him so far as to allow him to slather the cream onto her throat, when not ten minutes ago he'd wrapped those same fingers around the slender neck and squeezed ruthlessly. _Was she insane? _Probably, Severus thought ruefully. After all, she was a Gryffindor, no matter how well he trained her in Slytherin tactics. Although he'd observed that at least one of the things he'd taught her had held in a stressful situation—Hermione had snapped back like a spring, compartmentalized, dealt with the situation, and kept going without losing her head. He was inordinately proud of her—

_Damn it, I did it again. _He'd called her _Hermione. _No matter that it was in the privacy of his mind, he'd been slipping over the past few weeks and absentmindedly referring to Miss Granger by her first name mentally. It was unacceptable. He was a Master Occlumens; he'd kept out the merciless Dark Lord numerous times without giving it away that he was hiding something, and he had no doubt he'd be able to hold out against Albus the same way if he was so inclined to do so. No one but Potter had ever broken into his mind without his permission since his youth, and Potter's had been by accident and sheer force of the boy's power with passionate emotion behind it. He could and _would _be able to control his mind enough to monitor such discrepancies, no matter how highly he thought of the young woman or how much he enjoyed her company.

Satisfied with his ability to keep one name from slipping past his defenses, Severus' mind moved onto other topics as he closed and locked the office, taking a stack of essays to his quarters to grade in the more comfortable atmosphere of his room. _Albus' arm isn't doing any better. I've contained the spread of the curse, but I'm afraid that there is nothing I can do to reverse the damage, and the containment _will _break soon, and then Albus' decline will be even faster. Such are the consequences of the potion I used. No magic is without price. _The potion acted like a breakwater, preventing the curse from affecting the rest of Albus' magic and body, but it was only temporary. Eventually, like an earthquake, it would build up enough force to simply shatter the containments, and the resulting happenings would be a rapid decay of the body and the magic along with it. Albus would die.

_But I won't let him. I'll think of something, find something to prevent this. If necessary, I'll invoke a rite of Death or Blood Sacrifice, and die in his place. The world needs him too much, and there are other spies to take my place with a little bit of work. I'm replaceable. Even Miss Granger, if she played her cards right, would be able to enter the Death Eaters and take my place. She's certainly been my protégée, born to be a spy like Potter was born to be the acclaimed hero of the day. _It hurt him more than he wanted to admit, thinking that there might be a chance that she would have to suffer what he did now as the Dark Lord's lackey if he died, but he thrust that thought firmly away. _We all make sacrifices during a war. We all suffer, some more than others. Life is not fair, and children cannot stay children for long. Although Potter certainly seems to be doing a good job of that. _He felt a spark of too-familiar irritation at that arrogant boy who seemed to refuse to grow up, even with the lives of the entire Wizarding World resting on his shoulders. _Although he has not caused any major trouble this year. Yet. _Black's death seemed to have a sobering effect on the boy, enough at least to force the boy to be less insolent, even though it was a struggle every Potions class. _Looking at the way he was trying to provoke Draco last class, Black's death may have quelled him but it certainly hasn't transformed him into the adult we need to lead the people to victory and not defeat. _

Severus gave up on the essays. They could wait for tomorrow. They were atrocious, and his thoughts all seemed determined to be gloomy tonight. Albus' hand, Potter's similarity to his father—_and his green eyes, eyes that stare accusingly back at me for not protecting my only friend every time he looks at me—_and earlier, his pensieve memory of the night he became a Death Eater.

He watched it every so often, not because he had a taste for pain or humiliation. Severus would pull out his pensieve—now even more warded than ever, since Potter's inadvertent dip into memory lane—and watch his younger self make the biggest mistake of his life. It wouldn't do to forget what he'd chosen, what he'd been. What he _was. _And what he fought against, for he could see all too clearly the future of his world if the Dark Lord came to reign in his induction. _Torture, darkness, and death. Fear will pervade everything. No one will be safe, not even the purest of families. And blood, always the blood, running out of nameless Muggles' mouths as their eyes finally went blank in death. He'd participated then. He'd _Crucio'd _the nondescript man until he couldn't scream anymore, had kept him alive and aware with an extremely dark and difficult-to-make potion as he meticulously pulled out and unraveled the man's innards, castrated him, and then finally strangled him with his own intestines. When the man had finally died, he'd not looked even remotely like a human, and the Dark Lord had been thoroughly impressed with his newest and youngest Death Eater's cold-blooded inventiveness and skill. He'd solidified his position, earned himself the approval and attention of his Master, and placed himself firmly in the _do-not-mess-with _category. No other Death Eater would dare go against him, not after that display of power and ruthlessness. He'd cemented a permanent spot as a high-ranking Death Eater despite his unfortunate heritage as a half-blood, and no one—except mad Bella—ever questioned his right in belonging to the elite group, or his dedication to the darkest of magics. _

And he'd doomed himself straight to hell in the process. He'd thrown up after he was safely home, warded, and unobserved. And then he'd wept hysterically the entire night before convincing himself that it was for the greater good that he'd tortured and killed the Muggle, that it would be the only instance and would never be demanded of him again now he was part of the group and had ensured himself security despite his blood status. And he'd left his conscience back there, and been a perfect Death Eater until Lily had been threatened, and he'd imagined her in the Muggle's place, mouth open and shrieking, intestines spilling carelessly to mix with the mud on the ground, a loop wrapped carelessly around the ivory throat.

He'd killed more people since then, and he'd nearly killed Miss Granger as well, Hermione who was so much like Lily, and yet completely different. Severus felt immensely guilty to realize that he actually _preferred _Hermione, who took no offence if he was rude or downright vile to her but brushed it off unlike the extremely sensitive Lily, who could hold grudges until the end of the world, and had. Hermione was as much of a workaholic as he was, whilst Lily had only worked enough to earn top grades, but never wanted to explore further. Hermione was alarmingly easy to talk to, as if the age difference never existed, while Lily and he had argued often and sometimes seemed unable to find a middle ground to debate about without one of them becoming offended. Hermione had an eye for the subtle and didn't like the spotlight, avoiding the greater population if she could. Lily had thrived in attention, loved being in the center of chaos and people. Hermione—

Hermione's name was _Miss Granger. _

"What kind of Master Occlumens can't even control the tenor of his own mind," he wondered aloud, furious with himself.

The silence of his room answered him, and Severus groaned at his foolishness—_talking to myself, I must be going crazy—_and went to bed, chasing every single thought out of his head and slamming his mental door on it in order to attain some semblance of sleep.

**A.N.:**** I really really hope that scene between Hermione and Severus was realistic enough. And—I know you guys have been so extremely patient with this relationship, and I love you guys for it. There's just so many obstacles between our two that I need to gradually slip them into it so they don't realize what's happening, or protest it too much. But you've all been lovely about the slow pace, so I thought I'd give a little foretaste of the tension to come. It will, I promise! Only a hint of it here, though. They're too obtuse to do more than that at this point, Severus and Hermione both.**

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Everything is mine, except for the parts that aren't. (Like the entire HP universe…)**

They hadn't found anything at all, and Skye was fast losing hope. Draco was worried for the spirit. She brooded a lot, and she'd even missed their appointment after dinner at the library to look through more books. It just wasn't like her, and Draco thought that the girl must have been so despairing of finding a solution that she'd simply given up. That was why he was sitting on his bed while the rest of his roommates were tearing their hair out over the Charms exam taking place tomorrow. He concentrated hard on needing to see Skye, and after ten minutes, his fierce focus paid off as the girl in question appeared at the doorway, looking cross.

"What do you want?" she snapped, cross her arms waspishly.

"Excuse me for _breathing, _apparently, Corwin," he snapped back. "Your presence was _expected _two hours ago at the library, and you never showed. What happened, you finally give up like the coward you are?"

"You- you arrogant little _shit!" _She marched over and punched him, and he had the oddest feeling of déjà vu. _Ugh, flashbacks of being mauled by Granger of all people. _Luckily, this time the punch wasn't exactly as effective as Granger's had been, since Skye's simply went right through his face.

"Damn it!"

He smirked, leaned back lazily. "Come off it, Skye. You know you can't touch me. You've tried it several times already."

"That doesn't mean it won't happen some day," she groused, settling herself on the end of his bed.

"Well the only way you're going to be able to finally get your hands on me is if we find a way to put you back into your body. So next time, I'd appreciate the help in the library researching. You enlisted me to help you, you know, the least you could do is show up." He scrutinized her.

Her face crumpled. "I know, Draco. I'm sorry I didn't come when I said I would. It's just…" trailing off, she swiped angrily at translucent tear. Draco made a motion to wipe her cheek, before realizing that he couldn't touch her. She smiled ruefully, and placed her hand a scant hair away from his outstretched one. "I want to be able to give you a hug when you've had a nightmare about Lord Voldy. I want to be seen and acknowledged by more than one person. I want to tell my Aunt Danielle that she shouldn't blame herself for my parents' deaths and my coma. I want to taste food, fall asleep, and get wet in the rain. I want to ask Hermione Granger why she visits me and seems to be familiar with me, despite the fact that I can only remember talking to her twice in my life. I want to be alive again, Draco, and it feels like with each passing day I'll never be able to. I'll be trapped like this until my body finally gives out, and who knows what will happen to me, and I can't even read a book for research properly, I have to do some weird spirit-thing and have a breeze lift the book and turn the pages. I'm missing my own life, Draco."

"Hey, hey, you can't think like that. We'll find a way to get you back, I promise. It's only been a short while since we started actively working on a solution, and the Hogwarts library, even the Restricted Section, is the only place we've looked—there's still Malfoy Manor, and the bookshop at Diagon Alley or the one in Knockturn Alley. Don't give up yet, Skye." He placed his other hand on top of the hand she had placed against his, ignoring the fact that he was essentially clasping thin air. "You'll live yet. I'll even let you punch me _once, _as long as you promise to heal me right after and only do it in private."

She giggled wetly, and brushed away the rest of her tears. "Thanks, Draco. I knew I could count on you. I'll hold you to that promise, just you wait."

He pretended to quail. "Spare me!"

"Not a chance, you prat."

He sighed dramatically. "Alas, my days are numbered." Relieved that the crisis was over—Skye was _much _easier to console than his mother—Draco eyed the girl he'd come to think of as a friend in a very brief amount of time.

"What?"

"How'd you know I was going to ask you something?"

"You're very obvious if one knows you well, Draco Malfoy, and I've had nothing but time to get to know you well. Plus that handy thing with knowing just how you're feeling if it's a strong emotion kinda helps to acquaint me with your tells."

"Oh. Well, you said something about Granger visiting you."

"Oh, yes." Skye tapped her finger to her lip. _It's painted bright blue, _he noted for the umpteenth time. He'd not gotten to courage to ask why her fingernails were painted blue. He knew that some girls did that, for some queer reason of adornment. He wondered whether she could change the color of her nails as a spirit. She hadn't been able to change her clothes: she was stuck wearing pale-colored robes without any distinguishing patterns or prints, and she said that she didn't own a pair of robes like them, nor were they what she was wearing when the Death Eaters had come.

"Well?"

"Hermione Granger came to visit my body several weeks ago. I was still confused then about what I was, and whose emotions I was feeling, and why my body was in St. Mungos. Time passes differently as a spirit—I lost track of how long I was in my body's private hospital room until she came in, and sat and talked to me like she knew me, telling me about what was happening at school and how much everyone missed me. I got curious then about what was happening and how she knew me when I hadn't spoken more than a couple words to her in the entire time we've been in Hogwarts, and I followed her outside where I saw my Aunt Danielle thank her for visiting _again. _Which means she's been visiting me several times at least, and I don't know why. A little while after that was the first time I traced my connection to Hogwarts and you, sulking in the hospital ward."

Draco scratched the side of his jaw. "That's right, I remember that. She actually mentioned it in front of me to Pomfrey, asking permission to go to St. Mungos to visit you." _It's what reminded me of what I'd done, and your critical condition on account of me, _he thought but didn't say and hastily erased that thought in case it was one of the ones that Skye could sense.

"Did she say why she was visiting me?"

"No, not really. Not that I remember, anyway. Are you sure you didn't know her from before?"

"I'm sure," Skye declared firmly.

"Well I don't know then. And I can't exactly walk up to her and just ask, either. If you haven't noticed, Granger and I aren't exactly best buds or anything."

"Yes, I believe sometime during my uneventful Hogwarts schooling, I'd caught the rivalry between you and the Gryffindor trio. It was as good as a Muggle soap opera, almost as good as the bets on what kind of trouble Harry Potter would find this school year."

"You had bets on what Potter would get his hands into each year?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Ravenclaws bet on anything. It's the one time we're less than carefully calculative and intelligent, and take risks."

"Hm, I think I should take advantage of that."

"Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy, or you'll be sorry."

"How? You can't exactly beat me up or anything," he pointed out.

"That doesn't mean I can't be your personal poltergeist. I'm sure people will begin wondering just how loopy you are if you start arguing with an invisible person." She held a straight expression, and he looked at her with disbelief.

"You shudda been in Slytherin, Skye. You're diabolical enough to fit right in."

"The Hat decided that I was just too smart for Slytherin."

Laughing, Draco finally lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I fold. I concede that you're much better at the word-game than I am. Can we stop making jokes at my expense now?"

"But of course, you only had to ask!" she teased, and then became serious again. Draco had gotten used to Skye's tendency to rapidly vacillate from emotion to emotion, and he waited patiently for her to inform him of what had caused her mood shift this time. She finally spoke again. "Draco, I hate to ask you this, and I know it's really none of my business, but—what are you going to do? With your life, I mean. I know you're already part of the Death Eaters, you were the exception to the rule of only inducting members after their seventeenth birthday. And you have a task you need to carry out by the end of the school year, I know that much—you think a lot about the end of the year with dread. But is it really what you want to do, to follow Voldemort and do whatever he wants?"

He had been caught off-guard, and as she stared at him with a curious intensity, he felt frozen for a second. Taking a moment to recollect himself, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I—to tell you the truth, Skye, I really don't know. At the beginning of the year, I knew where I stood mostly. I was the Dark Lord's, no questions asked. But I don't know if I can do what he asked of me, I don't know if I'm strong enough and I'm frankly scared to death just thinking about it."

He paused, and his eyebrows drew together as he thought about how to say what he was feeling. Skye continued to study him, and he went on, feeling as if what he was going to say right now would either make or break their friendship for good: Skye was a valuable friend, one he'd come to enjoy as a witty, intelligent, funny, and loyal person. He didn't want to lose her company, or hurt her more than she'd already been hurt.

"Skye, the one thing my family instilled in me, even before the pureblood supremacy, was the importance of loyalty to the Malfoy family. Malfoys put family first, even before any Dark Lord or Ministry of Magic. We're a clan that has made so many enemies in our past that the only ones we can trust are our own. That's the reason I really joined the Death Eaters. My family thought that it would be in the family's best interest to be on the winning side, and considered the Dark Lord the winning side. My mother had some reservations—she thinks that Potter stands a chance against the Dark Lord, but my father is convinced that the Dark Lord will triumph, and he's been granted many privileges by the Dark Lord in return for the Malfoy family's allegiance.

Contrary to rumors, I actually don't care for politics, posturing, torture, or any of the things Father enjoys. I'm not even seventeen yet, and what I wish I could concentrate on instead of the politics of this stupid war are simple things, like passing the Charms test tomorrow or persuading my parents to let me decide for myself what I want to do in the future. They were horrified when I told them I had a talent for music, that I actually enjoyed the mandatory music lessons I took as a kid and wanted to be a singer for some time. I don't now, not really, but the point is, I want to have a _choice, _like most other kids my age do."

He held his breath, and dared to look at Skye. She was looking back at him with a calculating kind of contemplation. When she said nothing, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pillow. "I guess what I'm trying to say, Skye, is that no matter what monsters my parents might be, and I know that that's what you think of them as—as people who will order and carry out the slaughters of others like your family for the slightest reason—they're still important to me, and I love them. But at the same time, I don't think I agree with them on what's good for our family anymore, and I don't know if I can do what they want me to do for the sake of the Malfoys. I owe them my loyalty, and I know it, but I also owe it to the Malfoy family to do what is best for them as a whole. And what I think is best for them is not the same as what they think."

More silence, and finally he leaned forward. "Please say something, Skye."

She shook her head quietly, frowning as she tapped her finger to her bottom lip in a gesture that was fast becoming familiar to Draco as a gesture of intense thinking. He held his peace, anxiously examining her as she thought.

"Draco, what is the task that he requires of you?"

The words stuck in his throat. _He wasn't supposed to tell anyone. More importantly, he didn't want to see the revulsion and betrayal on Skye's face if he told her what he'd actually considered doing, was still mulling over. _But this was Skye, who'd forgiven him despite his hand in her parents' deaths, and he swallowed hard and when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "The Dark Lord, he told me that I had the space of the school year to find a way to kill the Headmaster."

Skye's eyes darkened dangerously, but she didn't show any other sign that he had just told her he was planning to murder the Headmaster, and he was a little flummoxed.

"And were you planning to do so?"

"I'd made a lot of plans throughout the year, but I never had the guts to actually do anything. I thought maybe if I just let the Death Eaters in, they'd be satisfied…" He trailed off at her derisive snort, and smiled weakly. "Okay, I guess that it was a futile thought, but I didn't have anything better."

"What if…" again, a finger applied to the mouth. "What if, you had a choice? If you had a choice which side you wanted to fight on? Obviously you're in the heat of things either way: just being your father's son ensures that. But as it stands right now, you're being ordered to do things, and you have no _choice. _After all, you said that you weren't convinced their way was the best for the family…_" _

"Don't you think I don't know that? But I can't just up and declare myself all light and goodness, Skye. I've—gods above, I've already helped killed someone. It was the induction ceremony; all of us participated, tortured her. A Muggle woman, I didn't even know her name. It was easier, killing someone I didn't know. But I was sick, right after, and the older ones laughed at me for not being able to stomach murder. I don't think I can do it again, and not to someone I _know. _As it is, I feel like I'll never get the stench of death out of my hands. But I'm in it now, whether I want to or not. The other side would never take me, and my father would personally kill me for turning on the Malfoys, because that's how he would see it."

Skye had gagged when he'd mentioned the Muggle he and the seventh year inductees had killed, and he felt a pang of pain. _Now she's turn away in disgust. She'll know that I'm a monster, just like my father. _But she was wearing a determined, mulish face now, and she scooted up the bed.

"Draco, you regret the murder, I can see it. You have nightmares, and I'm not affected by Muffling spells, you know. I can hear you sometimes. I already knew about the Muggle—you dreamt about it the first night I came back to forgive you, and you were begging the woman forgiveness. I _know _you Draco, and I know that you're not like your father at all. And if I can forgive you, so can the others. Go to someone, Draco. You shouldn't have to do this alone, not at your age."

_Oh Merlin. The nightmares. She heard me. _Draco was caught between intense embarrassment, anger, and relief. _She continued to forgive me, to be my friend, even though she knew. She knew all this time, and she never said. _

"You're just as bad as Granger, you know. Know-it-all." He said it without acid, and she grinned.

"You know you love me, Draco."

"Keep right on dreaming, Corwin."

"No, but seriously. You need to talk to someone."

"Well, whom do you suggest?" he challenged. "I can't exactly walk up to Dumbledore and tell him that I've been plotting his murder for the past year, and I just decided that I didn't want to and I need his help. The one person I _would _talk to for any advice is my godfather, and he's loyal to the Dark Lord beyond questioning. I don't want to know whether his love for me trumps his loyalty or not. Potter would just as soon have me in Azkaban as anything."

"I didn't know you had a godfather, Draco," Skye murmured.

"Yeah. Professor Snape—I call him Uncle Severus at home."

"Your godfather is _Professor Snape?"_

"Yeah. You have a problem with it?" He hadn't remembered that Professor Snape was not highly liked by non-Slytherins, and he suddenly felt a spike of apprehension. He wanted Skye to like Uncle Severus, damn it!

"No, not really. I never had a problem with him like some of the others; I think he didn't mind most Ravenclaws. I just never thought—wait. You said he was the one you trusted for advice?" Her long storm-grey eyes sharpened. She was onto something.

"Yes. I go to him for most things, instead of Father or Mother. He always tells me the truth, and he has always laid out my options for me without much bias unlike when my parents order me to do something. He favors me in class, but he's chewed me out several times in private throughout the years. But I can't go to him with this! He's a Death Eater, a pretty high-ranking one too. As high as Father."

But Skye had jumped up excitedly, and was already at the door. "Come on, it's not curfew yet. We can make it down to his office in time."

"But he's—"

"Look, Draco, just trust me okay? Please?" He stared at her. She sighed. "As a spirit no one can see, and as a spirit that doesn't need sleep, I get to see things I have no business seeing. It's not mine to tell, but please believe me when I promise that it's safe to tell Professor Snape your dilemma."

After a long moment, Draco climbed out of his bed and walked towards the door. "You had better be right, Skye. This is my life we're gambling with, not a couple Knuts in some stupid Ravenclaw bet."

"You won't regret it. Don't worry, just come on!" She led the way out in the direction of Professor Snape's office, and he followed reluctantly. He arrived all too soon, and stared at the door.

"Skye?"

"I have faith in you, Draco. You'll be okay, and Professor Snape will help you, I know it. Go on."

He swallowed, and raised his hand, rapping twice before he could rethink his sudden decision to out himself as less than a Dark Lord enthusiast.

"Enter!"

He entered. His godfather was frowning over a stack of something that looked suspiciously like the essays he'd assigned their Potions class several days ago, and whosever parchment that was would be receiving it back bleeding with more red ink than space. He hoped it wasn't his.

"Oh, Draco. What is it? Is everything alright?" Uncle Severus set down his quill and turned his attention to Draco, unaware of Skye right beside him.

"Actually, Uncle Severus, I was wondering if I could talk to you. In private, with your confidence. It's important. About several things, really." Draco wished his knees weren't visibly trembling, because his uncle's eyes sharpened and there was no way he couldn't notice how nervous Draco was. Draco just didn't have the right skills to be a superb spy like his godfather. He couldn't hide much, despite the numerous lessons in the craft of being Slytherin-secretive. He certainly wasn't up to the caliber of Uncle Severus.

"Of course, Draco. Please, take a seat." His uncle gave no hint that he had noticed how much Draco was sweating, and waved him into a comfortable seat in front of the organized desk. As he sat, Uncle Severus constructed several complex spells around the office that he recognized as the special wards to prevent eavesdroppers or entry. They would be safe from interruptions during their conversation. In fact, the only thing Draco had to worry about was his own godfather killing him or turning him over to the Dark Lord for punishment and eventual death as a traitor. Or, if loyalty to the Malfoys for being old friends superceded loyalty to the Dark Lord, he might be given straight over to his father to be dealt with privately and quickly.

Skye drifted by him and whispered, "I think if he takes your wish to defect well, you may tell him about me as well." He didn't respond, not even to tell her he wasn't even sure if he wanted to defect properly—he'd gotten used to not responding to Skye until they were alone after being the recipient of several curious glances as he spoke to no one at all.

Uncle Severus laid down his wand, and folded his hands on the desk. "Speak freely, Draco. What is it you wished to discuss with me?"

_This was it. Now or never. Merlin and Salazar protect me! _He took a deep breath. "Uncle Severus, what did you think of the Dark Lord's display regarding Evangeline Cain?"

His godfather blinked, and his dark eyes were unreadable. "What reason do you have for asking me, Draco?"

"Well, it's just—people talk, you know, and I've heard a lot of things being said. They say, they say that Cain's spilling blood is a bad omen. For us. He's never personally spilt a pureblood's blood that was sworn to him before. He never went past a certain point with the _Crucio, _never so blood was spilt. Only half bloods, and of course those that he sent out on missions who got themselves hurt or killed. What does it hold in store for us then, if he's escalating, if he turns on his power base?"

Skye grunted, and Draco tried not to flinch. He knew what she must be thinking. Something along the lines of, _stop procrastinating and going on and on about blood purity that you don't care much about anyway. _He ignored her acidic voice in his mind, and carefully focused on Uncle Severus.

"I see. If you are worried about the Malfoys' standing with the Dark Lord, you needn't worry. Your father has been highly ranked for years."

"But so was Cain's family."

"Cain failed in her task, and displeased the Dark Lord personally."

_This wasn't going so well. His godfather was really going to kill him. He'd never leave this room alive. _"What if—Uncle Severus, what if I fail in mine?"

There was moment's hush, and then his godfather cleared his throat and it was broken. "Draco, are you having trouble with your task? I may be able to help you, if you would tell me what it is. The Dark Lord does not look down on his followers for needing help, especially one as young as you, his youngest-Marked and favored."

_Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods…_he gulped, and the words he'd been trying to say came out in a tumble. "Uncle Severus, what if I _don't _want to carry out my task? If I don't think myself capable? Because I don't think I can Uncle, I really don't want to disappoint my family or you but I just don't think I can do this…"

He clutched the edge of his seat until his knuckles turned white. His godfather leaned forward, his eyes oddly intent and bright. "Draco, _what is the task?" _

He closed his eyes and mumbled, "I have to kill Professor Dumbledore. Before the end of the school year."

The unnatural silence seemed to stretch out forever, but Draco didn't dare open his eyes. _Uncle Severus is going to hex me sideways. I don't stand a chance against him. He'll kill me for sure, for admitting that I can't kill the Headmaster. Or else, maybe he'll do it himself, which would be just as bad I think. Oh gods, what have I gotten myself into? Why did I let Skye persuade me into doing this?_

"Draco, let me get this straight. Are you telling me that you do not think you can kill another person in cold blood like you did during your initiation, or are you telling me that you do not think you have the skills necessary to defeat and kill Albus Dumbledore?"

_Why is he dragging this out longer? He _knows _what I mean. _"I can't kill him, Professor Dumbledore I mean. I almost couldn't do the Muggle, and I never performed any of the Unforgivables. Just some inventive hexes, and it was Cain who finally did him in. I don't think I can do it again, not to someone I don't know, and especially not to someone I _do _know. Uncle Severus, I'm not sure I want to be a Death Eater anymore if it means killing people. I'm not sure it's the right thing, even if it's for the family." _There it was. The crux of the matter. _Draco kept his eyes tightly shut, expecting the business end of Uncle Severus' deadly wand to confront him any second now and not wanting to see it.

"Draco, look! You're not going to die, just open your eyes, silly boy!" That was Skye's voice, and Draco, startled, opened his eyes. A pair of glittering eyes faced him, but there was no wand trained on him. On the contrary, it lay carelessly on the desk untouched, and Uncle Severus was—of all things—_smiling. _Only a tiny one, barely noticeable to anyone not familiar to the man or examining his face meticulously.

"Uncle?"

"Draco, my boy, I have waited a long time—a long time indeed—for you to come to this conclusion. Calm down, I'm not angry with you at all. You've just proved that you have a mind of your own that doesn't belong to the Malfoy family through and through."

"Uh—_what?" _Draco was gaping at him now, sure that Uncle Severus had gone off his rockers.

"I know you, and I know you can't lie as well as you would have to, to convince me of your sincerity. Therefore, I must conclude that you are well and truly disillusioned with what the Dark Lord intends, and despite your training to always support what the Malfoy family supports, you have developed enough of a mind and backbone to actually think for yourself and decide what you want. And you want nothing to do with the Dark Lord's regime or rule really, do you?"

"N-not really, no. Uncle Severus, why aren't you mad? You're one of his most faithful followers. You're as high ranked as Father, and they still talk among the Death Eaters of your own deeds of devotion to the Dark Lord. You tortured a Muggle man for two hours before finally killing him, with arcane dark spells and potions no one had ever seen performed before and impressed the Dark Lord at your own initiation at seventeen. You brewed the potion that disabled half the Aurors during the First War, and even Aunt Bella and the Cains have a healthy respect for your skill and ability to perform cold-blooded anything needed to be done. You never let anything distract you. You delivered the first half of the prophecy to the Dark Lord when my own father failed to get the second half. Why aren't you more furious with me for not being able to do what you do?"

There was a pause as Draco stopped himself from babbling on more and digging himself deeper, and Uncle Severus betrayed no emotion other than to sit back and scrutinize his godson for several excruciatingly long minutes. Finally, he rose abruptly.

"Draco, regardless of what I believe in or have done or will do for my Master, I will not judge you for thinking for yourself, or deciding what you are and are not capable of. I have come to care for you as my own, and you know that. I would prefer that you be able to choose your future and what you would become, rather than follow the example of certain peers of ours and act the mindless sheep to be directed. I am a Slytherin first, Draco, and that means I value your mind and your intellect, the same marks that have driven you to decide that you cannot support our Lord, even if your family loyalty is pledged to him. You have proven yourself to be the kind of Slytherin I am most proud of—the thinking kind—and as such, I will help you now with the dilemma you find yourself in, if will place your trust in me once more?" The last was an actual question, and Draco, caught between intense relief and utter shock at being told by the Dark Lord's highest ranked spy and one of his most faithful that it was okay to turn away from the path of a Death Eater, nodded numbly.

"Of course, Uncle Severus."

"You must be sure, absolutely certain, that you want to turn away from the path you have been set on since birth, one that the family expects of you. Once you do, you will not be able to renege or return. Your family may or may not disown you, depending on how much they think you have betrayed your blood. I must ask again: are you certain of yourself? Will you trust me?"

Draco sucked in a lungful of air, realizing that he hadn't breathed in a while. "Yes. Yes I am, Uncle Severus. I don't want to do this anymore. I _can't._ I will trust you—you haven't killed me when you had the chance to."

For the first time since he'd entered and begun the long, painful conversation with his godfather, Draco glanced up at the face that had been his confidant since childhood and detected a glimmer of pride and something more, something that made his throat tighten in an embarrassing way.

"Then come, Draco," Uncle Severus said, and took down the wards, striding out. Draco followed hastily, and Skye scurried beside him.

"Professor Snape really walks fast, doesn't he," she hissed at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she stuck out her tongue. He couldn't be annoyed at her, not tonight. She had been the one who'd convinced him to approach Uncle Severus, which had been the right decision after all. He didn't think his godfather was going to kill him or turn him over to his family or the Dark Lord. Despite the fact that Uncle Severus could have very well be lying and Draco was not fooled into thinking he could catch Uncle Severus in a lie (the man was too infuriatingly good at deceiving others!), Draco thought that his godfather wasn't the type to lie to him just to betray him later. Skye had been right, and his heart felt infinitely lighter as he practically ran after Uncle Severus, and so he didn't notice what direction they were going in until there were at the gargoyles and Uncle Severus was giving them the password.

And then he was being pushed into _Headmaster Dumbledore's office, _to come face to face with a merry pair of blue eyes in an aged face he knew all too well.

_Oh shit. _

**A.N.: A longer chapter for y'all, in the hopes that you don't lynch me when I tell you that I'm going out of town very soon, and will probably not be able to update for at least two weeks. I've already got some of the next chapter written, but I won't have time to finish it until I come back. Oh, and a question for you readers: would you prefer that I involve Harry, Ron, Ginny, or any of the other characters I really haven't written about, or stay focused entirely on Hermione, Sev, Draco, and Skye? Draco and Skye's roles will wax and wane throughout the fic. I'm just not sure whether I should make it even longer and add sections on the others as well. Tell me what you would prefer in a review, and who you would to focus on, and I'll factor it into my plans, m'kay? Thanks!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Property of JKR. **

He looked around wildly. Uncle Severus had an odd expression on his face that he couldn't interpret, and had stepped carefully just to the front and right hand side of Draco. _The traditional position for the official guardian of a child to be, as a matter of fact. It would be where Father should stand, if he were here. _Draco couldn't imagine why Uncle Severus had assumed that position, when he was supposed to be slightly further off to the right, and he didn't put it past Uncle Severus to have placed himself in direct authority over his godson as a father-role for a complex purpose. He just didn't know exactly why.

The Headmaster was smiling still, greeting them and ushering them into comfortable seats. There was no hint that he was going to do anything like send Draco to Azkaban, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. _What was Uncle Severus doing, taking me to the bloody Headmaster, when he's the one I'm supposed to kill? _

Skye—Skye was perhaps the most confusing of all, because instead of looking as panicked as Draco knew he did, she had already plopped herself down on a third chair a little further off, and was smiling as serenely as the Headmaster himself. He felt a twinge of doubt. _Maybe she planned this all along. Maybe being my friend was just for show, so that she could get back at my family for destroying hers. She could have easily tricked me and thought up a plan to out me. She is a Ravenclaw, after all. What was I thinking? I should have known that no one would want to be friends with me so easily, or forgive so quickly. It was all an act. _

Well, it was too late to bolt. He had been played like an idiot Hufflepuff. Draco straightened stiffly in his seat and steeled himself for the inevitable.

"Lemon drop, Mister Malfoy? Severus?"

"No thank you," murmured Uncle Severus. Draco just merely shook his head.

"Very well. I assume you had a good reason for this visit?"

Uncle Severus threw a glance at Draco, who kept silent. _You'll have to force it out of me. I may be a defunct Malfoy, but I did retain _some _of the training that goes into making an heir. _Seeing that Draco wasn't going to say anything, Uncle Severus spoke instead, his tone deliberately neutral.

"Headmaster. Albus, I believe Draco here come to some interesting decisions these past few days, and is now in a tentative position."

"Indeed?" The old man turned the full force of his piercing blue eyes on Draco. It was even worse than Uncle Severus. "And what conclusions have you come to recently, Mister Malfoy?"

He couldn't. He couldn't. It had been bad enough telling Uncle Severus, whom he had confided in before and whom he was at least familiar with. He just couldn't tell his family's hated enemy of his betrayal to his own family, for it was already betrayal, no matter whether he went further with it or not. He had thought it, and he had brought it to the attention of another. That made him enough of a traitor to his family for disownment, if his family found out.

As he struggled to breathe, he suddenly found himself looking, not quite at the Headmaster's all-knowing gaze, but at Skye's concerned ones. She wasn't quite solid enough to block the man from his view, but it was enough, and he knew that whatever reason Skye had for wanting him to talk to Dumbledore, it was not to send him to Azkaban or deliberately hurt him. How could he have ever thought that of her? Gratefully, he took several gulps of air, and realized that his godfather had his hand gently on his arm in support, and the Headmaster—as Skye moved away—had dimmed the potent power in his gaze. Now they were merely a little curious, and concerned. Not horribly knowing, as if the man could see every single bad thing he'd ever done in his life, right down to running away from his Nanny when he was seven and kicking Millie's pet kneazle when she came over to play when he was four.

"Uh…" he scrambled for words, and missed the significant glance passing between his godfather and the Headmaster. He was still searching for a way to explain himself when the Headmaster took pity on him.

"Let me see, is what you have come to tell me something along the lines of 'I'm a Death Eater but I don't want to be anymore?'"

_I thought I couldn't be any more shocked today. It seems the Fates have decided to throw me all the curveballs today. I could have _sworn _Professor Dumbledore just said…_

"_Sir?" _

The infuriating man stared back at him pleasantly, having regained the twinkle in his eye. Uncle Severus looked darkly amused, and Draco had a sudden fantastical thought—_perhaps he's actually loyal to Dumbledore like he acts, and he's actually spying on the Death Eaters! _But that was impossible. He'd _heard _of the things his godfather had done, and it had made the new initiates turn pale, even Cain. He'd never had a conscience when it came to Mudbloods and Muggles. Besides, _no one _tricked the Dark Lord and got away with it.

"I believe, Albus, that is exactly what Mister Malfoy is trying to say."

_Silence. _"I congratulate you on a decision that must have been extremely hard to come to, Draco."

"What? That's it? You're not going to throw me in Azkaban or anything? I just admitted that I'm an official Death Eater. I have the Dark Mark. You could have me arrested and sent to Azkaban right now just based on this!" Draco yanked his sleeve back, revealing the Mark in its ugly black glory. It flickered malevolently, and he shuddered. It had been excruciating to receive it.

"That is true, Mister Malfoy. Would you prefer to spend the rest of your years in Azkaban?"

"No. But it isn't anything less than I deserve, Sir. I've—I've _killed _someone already. And I'm supposed to do it again before the end of the year."

"Yes, Severus has told me of the requirements for initiation. He also said that you did not cast any illegal curses, nor did you cast the curse that killed the person. Indeed, the worst you did were several bordering-grey hexes, and you did not seem enthusiastic about it." Draco turned to Uncle Severus in confusion. The man stared back, and Draco couldn't read a thing in spy's face. _Spy. Shit. Will he report this to the Dark Lord? Dumbledore doesn't know that his teacher isn't loyal to him. What do I do? I can't betray Uncle Severus! _

The Headmaster interrupted his panicked thoughts. "Mister Malfoy, you have several options in front of you now. If you wish, I could have you arrested and sent to Azkaban. Alternately, you could declare your allegiance to the light and renounce your family and their beliefs, as well as your—Master." Professor Dumbledore spared a quick glance at Uncle Severus. "Or, your third option would be to appear to be as loyal as Severus here to Voldemort"—both Draco and Uncle Severus flinched at the name—"and instead pledge your allegiance to me, essentially becoming a spy, like Severus."

"Albus! No! I refuse to put _my godson _in that position. You have no right to—"

"Severus, it is his right to choose." There was no doubt that this was the man that the Dark Lord was afraid of, not when Dumbledore used that final tone and his presence crackled with the same power than he had when he'd pierced Draco with the penetrating blue glance earlier.

His Uncle Severus seemed to feel that way too, because he subsided, albeit with a scowl. Draco concentrated on his hands. "Sir, Professor Dumbledore, could I talk to you alone?"

"Of course, my boy." The glance the Headmaster threw Uncle Severus' way was just as much of an order as the Dark Lord's snapped commands were, if not more. Uncle Severus immediately rose and exited, wisely obeying the unspoken order. But not before placing a hand on Draco's shoulder momentarily—for support or a warning, Draco wasn't sure. He didn't know what to make of his godfather anymore.

"Very well. The office is already warded and safe for us to talk freely. The portraits are unable to listen as well, or speak of what they see. " Draco gave the pictures on the wall a startled glance. He hadn't known there was a spell to do that to portraits, but there must have been because most of the portraits were pointedly ignoring the conversation in a huff, and the few who were staring interestedly at the live people were mouthing to each other, but he couldn't actually hear what they were saying. "Yes, I find it a useful, if an archaic and picky spell, but the unfortunate side is that they can speak to each other and we cannot hear them, nor can we speak of what we have seen them do in their portraits during the spell's duration. I have found that it rather liberates some of them…" The Headmaster trailed off as one of the bald men in a pompous old-fashioned get-up began enthusiastically taking off his fancy clothes before stretching out in a chair in nothing but what must have been the undergarments centuries ago. Draco quickly averted his eyes.

"But back to the topic. What is it you wanted to tell me, Draco?"

"Sir, you can't trust Professor Snape," he blurted out. _Great, Draco. Wonderful way to begin the conversation. Only slightly better than beginning with, 'I have to kill you on the Dark Lord's orders.' _

The man didn't look perturbed at all. "Ah, you are going to tell me how Severus is truly a spy for Voldemort, and is deceiving me badly. Perhaps you will go into just how devoted your godfather is to the Dark. He has killed numerous Muggles and Muggleborn efficiently, he has invented at least a dozen or so potent potions that kill, maim, and torture for his Master, and he is highly regarded by his peers for his cool and ruthless mind. Am I right?"

Because it had been exactly what Draco had been about to say, he could only nod weakly. Further to his left, he heard a soft giggle—Skye. He flicked his eyes to her, where she looked back at him impudently, confidence in every iota of her stance. If his momentary side-glance at what was, to the Headmaster, empty air, had been noticed, Professor Dumbledore did not show it as he continued.

"Yes, you might have even described his own impressive initiation, where he impressed Voldemort so much in his creative, painful murder of a Muggle that he went from low-level half-blood follower to one of the highest positions in the circle, and no one objected because everyone had been thoroughly frightened by his display of power and cold-bloodedness?" The Headmaster smiled gently at Draco. "My dear boy, I have heard straight from Severus every reason both you and I can think of not to trust him. He was, in fact, the one who insisted on taking the Unbreakable Vow with me to swear his true loyalty to me. I cannot tell you his reasons for changing sides. That is his right. But I can tell you that I am confident that Severus is truly changed, and you needn't worry that he will turn you over to your family or Voldemort."

Draco was, once again, speechless. _Uncle Severus—all along, Dumbledore's? No, I can't believe it. But…the Unbreakable Vow. That's—it's—well, unbreakable. Literally. Uncle Severus would be dead right now if he were truly disloyal to Dumbledore. Wouldn't he? _"How?" he asked aloud. He wasn't sure just what he was asking, but he wanted answers to all the jumbled questions in his head.

"Ah, Severus is an exceptionally talented man as I'm sure you know already. He knows the risks, of course, but he continues to return and deceive everyone on a continual basis."

He fell back against the back of his chair, stunned. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Skye grinning smugly. _She knew! How did she find out? How did she know about this? _Draco's head swirled with a million questions, but he strangled the desire to burst out with all them. _Don't ask other questions. Those can come later. Right now, focus on the main thing. _At least one thing Uncle Severus and his father had taught him had paid off. Draco could—to a point—'compartmentalize', as they called it. "Professor, I have another concern. My task—I can't do it."

"Is that so?" There was no judgment in the voice, and Draco plunged straight ahead.

"I can't, because the Dark Lord ordered me to kill you."

--

Severus couldn't concentrate on his grading. He'd gone back to his office as ordered by Albus, but Draco hadn't left Albus yet, and it had been almost an hour already. What could be taking so long? Albus would call him by Floo as soon as Draco left, he knew. So what was happening in Albus' office?

Finally, his Floo flared green and a head appeared. "Severus? Are you there?" He jumped up immediately, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste.

"Albus? What happened? How is Draco? What did he decide?"

The irritating old man chuckled, and Severus felt a slice of anger go through him. _This was no laughing matter! This was his godson, and a crucial decision that could mean everything! Draco wasn't a pawn to be moved around and ultimately sacrificed to further Potter's chance of success! _Some of his anger must have shown on his face, for Albus stopped and adopted a serious expression. "Ah, Severus. I think everything went exceptionally well. Why don't you come through and we can discuss your godson?"

The head vanished, and Severus lost no time in stepping into his fireplace. He noticed, with derision, that Albus must still have the Secrecy-Fidelius charm variation up, as the portrait of the former headmaster Bruin Longbottom was in his skivvies again. "Honestly, Albus, I don't know how that brute and exibitionist can be related to Neville Longbottom," he remarked as he settled down.

Albus nodded ruefully. "I have very carefully tried to keep young Longbottom from realizing that his ancestor resides on these walls. I fear the day Bruin decides to take an interest in the outside world. Hopefully, Neville will be safely graduated by then."

Severus snorted. "The day Bruin Longbottom turns his interest outside his portrait is the day Neville Longbottom will brew a perfect potion and stand up to me. How can the boy hope to be taken seriously in the adult world if he cannot even face his professor?"

"You are rather formidable when you set your mind on it, Severus."

"I am not the worst thing that could happen to them in the world. I can only take points and give nasty detentions. They need to be prepared for reality."

"But they are yet children, Severus. Let them enjoy childhood for a little more."

"Time is running out for them to be just children. It is hard to stay innocent in a war. Already, you have begun Miss Granger on the accelerated road to adulthood. You cannot rightfully shelter the others because of their youth and innocence, when Miss Granger is the same age as them and, despite her cleverness, just as innocent—before.

Severus met Albus' slightly disapproving look with one that matched it. He was right, despite his own wish that for once, he was wrong, and Albus knew it. After a moment, Albus sighed and acquiesced. "You are right, of course Severus. We needed Miss Granger."

"We need every able body against the monster and in the war effort."

"Including Draco?" Severus stiffened. He'd stepped straight into Albus' trap. _Damn. Sly old man. _He couldn't find it in him to blame his friend for long, despite the way he'd just been out-witted and the unfairness of it all.

"I don't see you asking Potter or Weasley to grow up, despite the fact that they are the ones who most need to do so," he pointed out, evading the question.

"That is true. I have already begun to remedy it," Albus said. "You do not need to know how—but rest assured, I have talked to some members of the Order on this subject."

_And, old man, you won't drop the topic will you? Even though you want to protect your precious Potter from the war, even though you will excuse his childish behavior at the same time you demand active adult service from Hermione and Draco, even now you wish to push the subject. I think not. _

"Albus, I did not come here to quibble about the war with you. What occurred between you and my godson after I left?"

The blue eyes were reproachful and a little sad, but Severus steeled himself against the disappointment. _Not this time, Albus. _

"It was very satisfactory. Draco warned me about you, and I assured him of your loyalties to me. He then told me that he had to kill me before the end of the year, and I assured him that he would not have to. I then asked him what he truly wanted, and we came to an agreement."

"And that is?"

"He has already sworn a very specific Wand Oath to protect the secrets spilled tonight, especially of your true allegiance, and he has informed me that you have taught him the fine art of Occlumency satisfactorily. In a week, he will be initiated into the Order, as long as I can persuade the other members of the Order of course. That will make it safer, and he will take tutelage under you to become a mole among the ranks. And I assured him that we would come up with a way so he could avoid killing me."

Perhaps it was just that Severus had not seen this side of Albus in so long. Or perhaps it was because the last time he'd seen Albus like this, he'd been groveling on the floor, grateful beyond belief that the man offered him a chance at redemption for his hideous deeds. Severus wasn't sure what it was, but the cool, callous manner in his old friend and mentor took his breath away. It wasn't as if Albus was being deliberately cruel. _It's simply that he's thinking in the mindset of an army general now, who will move his troops around like pawns. Never mind that some of those pawns get sacrificed in the process. As long as the King and Queen are protected and you're one step closer to checkmate, the losses are only numbers. _

But Draco was not a number. Hermione was not a number. They were _people, _people with lives and emotions, and Severus was suddenly furious at the calm man sitting across from him.

"So, it is as I suspected," he said softly in the tone his Potions students all knew and dreaded well. The softer and calmer, the angrier their professor and the consequences would be brutal. "I thought you were supposed to be unbiased, the epitome of equality. After all, a Headmaster does not have a House, and the paragon of virtue you have presented yourself as, defeating Grindelwald and taking a stance against the Dark Lord, would consider all human life equal. Isn't that what you present as your case against Pureblood supremacy? I see I have misjudged you then, Albus, if you are able to convince a fifteen-year-old confused boy to take a role even adults have failed at and been killed for it, simply for the good of someone you like better. You have turned against even your own Gryffindors and Miss Granger is herself merely another weapon to be trained to support your precious Potter. If Weasley had more strengths, you would not hesitate to do the same with him. At the same time, you condone Potter's temper tantrums on the basis that he deserves to have a real _childhood. _

So, while some of your students are no longer considered children because they have the abilities you want, you shelter the only one who is required _by destiny _to defeat the Dark Lord. I thought you were concerned for all your students, Albus. Now I see that I have been sadly deluded. You are no better—no better than the Dark Lord in this regard, for the Dark Lord has made only one exception in inducting his Death Eaters at seventeen and no younger, and it was on the solemn understanding that Draco would not participate in anything until he came of age, except for the one task set to him, and that he would continue to achieve high scores in all his classes."

The last struck Albus hard, and Severus had a moment's mingled guilt and victory. "Severus…"

"Spare me. I have had enough. Do what you will, but I will do all in my power to protect Hermione and Draco from your machinations, Albus. Be warned." He strode from the office, not bothering to use the Floo. He spent a good portion of the night in the threstral stables, grooming the ugly and gentle creatures, trying not to think about anything at all. If anything good had come of his life, it had been that he was able to see the threstrals. _The silver lining of the cloud, I suppose. _

**A.N.: I'm back! And I've made an executive decision—What used to be two superlong chapters are now going to be broken up into three or four chapters. For those I told that chapter 25 would be action central, I'm sorry, that is now going to be pushed back to chapter 26 or 27. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter!**

**On another note, for those of you who read my other fic Number the Stars and went to the New Library Awards, I made runner up for best D/Hr Hurt/Comfort. Thank you so much!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: You think I'd still be a starving artist if owned the copyright for HP?**

Hermione jerked her head up in surprise as Hogwarts practically swamped her mind's eye with a myriad of images. Usually she felt a presence on the outer skirts of her thoughts, almost like a knock, before she invited the building in, but this time—

_Green. Green? An emblem, on a boy's robes, and a man with a white beard looking at him, power, pushing her down like a giant hand. Simultaneous hurt/healing, a distortion in the air beside the boy, almost human shaped—_

"Hermione?" She snapped out of the flood of flitting scenes and blinked rapidly to clear the rest of the film from her dazed eyes.

"Hm?"

"Hey! Hermione!"

"What is it?" she settled back into her own bones and glared at Harry. He looked concerned.

"You spaced out for a second there. It looked almost like you were somewhere else, seeing something. Are you okay?"

"Oh." _Drat you, Hogwarts. You can't just barge into my mind! _A tiny apologetic note sounded in the outskirts of her mind. "Yes, I'm fine Harry. I think I'm just a little tired." To give emphasis to her lie, Hermione rubbed her head. "Where's Ron anyway? I thought he needed my help with the Transfiguration homework."

At that, Harry grimaced and she noted with satisfaction that he'd forgotten about how unlike Hermione it was to zone out for no reason. "Uh—Hermione, I'm sure he was meaning to tell you, that is, I thought he'd have told you already or was planning to very soon—" whatever he was saying was cut off as two more people entered the common room, laughing loudly.

Ron immediately stopped when he saw them. Beside him, Lavender also stopped, a look of uncomfortable chagrin mingled with defiance on her face. Hermione blinked. After a long pause, Hermione said very slowly, "Hello Ronald, Lavender. What have you been up to?"

"Here and there," Ron shrugged. Hermione noticed that Lavender had begun to take her hand out of Ron's comfortable clasp, only for Ron's hand to tighten on her.

"Mm. You two have fun?"

"Yeah, quite." Ron seemed quite at ease, holding Lavender's hand and slowly moving his thumb back and forth over it. Everyone else seemed to be tensed. Hermione couldn't seem to think properly, but she wondered through the haze that had descended on her brain why the atmosphere of the room had thickened.

"I thought you needed help with the homework for Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah, well Lav here is actually pretty good at that subject, aren't you Lav?"

"Oh—yes, I suppose I am. Not as good as you, Hermione, but I managed to teach Ron here just what he's doing wrong." Lavender's laughter was just as strained as the atmosphere. That was odd. She was usually always bubbly, especially if she was around a boy. Hermione wondered vaguely what was wrong with her roommate. Shrugging mentally, she nodded.

"Great. At least you can manage to get him to do any work at all."

"Well, I was just going to show Lav my Chudley Cannons scrapbook. She's a fan too, wouldn't you know? Goodnight, guys." Ron guided the smaller girl towards the boy's side of the dormitory. _With his hand on the small of her back, like a real gentleman. When did Ron learn that? _

"Hermione?" Harry was staring anxiously at her.

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"You look—are you sure you're okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Ron and Lavender, it's just that you haven't been around so much this year, especially after Christmas. We barely see you except for the odd homework session and at meals. I kept telling Ron to tell you, but they've only been officially together for a couple days now, and you've been extraordinarily distracted or just not anywhere at all."

_Not anywhere important, anyway. Just the Room of Requirement, or in a training session with someone, or in the Library of Dreams pursuing something that was interesting. Just keeping secrets from you and Ron. Just trying to be what the Order needs me to be so that I can help you defeat Voldemort. Yes, I guess I _have _been distracted somewhat. _The mind-fog seemed to lift a little, and Hermione tasted a little bitterness, but no anger.

"It's all right, Harry. I understand." _All too well. I can't even blame either of them. I've just been so distant that I don't even know the details of my best friends' lives. _"Ron has a right to be with Lavender. It's not like I had a claim on him or anything. And I _have _been rather busy with my projects and everything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She smiled encouragingly at Harry, which seemed to reassure him a little. "Now, I think I've had enough of schoolwork tonight and I'm going to go to bed early for once. I'll see you in the morning, okay?" She began gathering her books and papers and quills, before a thought paused her hands. "Hey Harry, how's Ginny been? I've spent even less time with her than I do with you two recently."

To her bemusement, Harry blushed. A deep, Weasley-style red. "Harry! I didn't know you could look so much like a Weasley!"

"Oh shut it, Hermione."

"Ah, hit a sore spot there did I?"

Grumpily and still flushing, Harry stacked some of her books for her. "Ginny is fine. She's not seeing anyone at the moment, but she spends quite a lot of time with Luna Lovegood. She's finding Potions rather tough though, so maybe you could make some time to help her? Luna and I have been helping her with the other subjects, but you're better at Potions."

"Ah, and the first thing he mentions is that Ginny isn't seeing anyone, I see," Hermione teased. At Harry's glare, she laughed. "Oh Harry, just go and ask her out already."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"She's—well, she's Ron's sister."

"That hasn't stopped Dean, or Terry, or Michael, or a whole slew of boys from asking her out."

"I just can't, okay? She's just—she's _hot." _The last was said so plaintively that Hermione couldn't help but dissolve into giggles. The affronted look on Harry's face only made her laugh harder.

"_Harry, _that shouldn't deter you any. In fact, that should only make you try harder. Besides, haven't you heard the girls talk about _you?"_

"Wha- _me_?"

"Honestly, Harry. Just because I haven't been around much, doesn't mean I don't hear the latest gossip and girl talks. You have a quarter of the girls in Hogwarts drooling over your Quidditch skills, the way your hair never lies flat, whether or not you look hotter with your spectacles on or off, how you'd look without your robes on…"

"_Hermione!" _

"Well, it's true. The other quarter of girls are mostly talking about you as the Boy-who-lived and your fame and money, of course. Another quarter is devoted to Oliver Wood, despite his graduation from Hogwarts three years ago. And the rest are stubbornly fixated on Draco Malfoy."

"_Malfoy?" _Harry was speechless, and Hermione, much cheered by the way her friend opened and shut his mouth like a fish, gathered up all her things and stood.

"Well, that's the rumor anyway. Don't worry your masculine pride over it, you still have more guys swooning over you than he does. Not that I would know for a fact, unless an actual survey was conducted, but you do seem to inspire a girl's fantasies at a higher rate than Malfoy. So don't worry about Ginny being _hot, _because you're not too shabby for yourself. And that's me telling you, as a member of the female species, not me as your friend." Hermione winked at Harry and made for the stairs. She called over her shoulder, "Close your mouth Harry. It lets the flies in."

No one else was in the room yet. Most of them were probably in the Ravenclaw dormitory, relaxing and talking after having watched the chess tournament that was supposed to have taken place earlier between Ron and Su Li, the two self-proclaimed chess masters of their respective Houses. _That's where Ron and Lavender must have been. Ron and Lavender. _It was a dull hurt, really. Not even much of the blazing heat it might have been if Hermione hadn't known that she was the one at fault for the lost chances there. She'd been so bloody preoccupied, so certain that Ron would always be there, so focused on Order training and eavesdropping when she could among the students, that she'd completely lost her window of opportunity to take things anywhere with Ron. Not that she thought now was the time for any sort of romantic relationship, not with all the things she was juggling in her life at the moment. _And there's the crux of the problem, isn't it? Everything else is always more important. My priorities are just too different from Ron. Lavender doesn't have any compunctions about having a real relationship with Ron. She doesn't have to keep exhausting secrets from him. _Swiftly changing into her pajamas and slipping into bed, Hermione lay back and stared at the ceiling.

_Really, this is a good development. Being with Lavender seems to have brought out the chivalrous gentleman with Ron, from the way he was acting down there. She's someone he can take care of, like a maiden in distress that makes him the hero of the story. He's always liked that. He couldn't do that with me—I'd likely end up saving _him _instead. _Listing out the reasons Ron and she would never work out, the bitterness subsided a little. _He and Harry deserve to be happy, to have a normal relationship without the taint of war. If it isn't with me, then that's the way the cookie crumbles. _As she thought rationally about it, Hermione discovered something.

_I didn't even like Ron very much that way. I mean, I do a little, but not enough to get butterflies in my stomach or start stammering like other girls do. He was just the most convenient boy to like. He certainly didn't give me chills like Professor Snape did when he—_

Hermione quickly truncated that thought. That was _not _a good way to go. _Even if he _does _have very elegant, masculine hands. _But the sour taste in her mouth was not from Ron finding someone else not her, not really. It was mostly sorrow that she'd missed so much in her friend's life, and not only that, but that both he and Harry obviously were zeroing in on promising, real, relationships with beautiful women. She didn't kid herself. Ginny was still fixated on Harry, she knew, despite her distance from the red-haired girl this year. Half the girls at Hogwarts knew it, the only reason Harry hadn't been completely buried in the deluge of girls looking for something with him. Ginny was _not _someone that anyone wanted to go against if it could be helped, and if it meant that they must gaze adoringly from afar to not ignite the female Weasley's wrath, they would abide by the silent rule.

_Both of them lead such carefree lives, despite all that's happened to us, especially Harry. Despite all that we face in the future, they're living life to the fullest. And me? I'm still Hermione, the best friend and side-kick, working fulltime for the war effort. No time for foolish relationships or canoodling. _It was with a certain nostalgic weariness that Hermione realized that it had finally happened: she'd effectively become an adult in all but age. An adult, involved fully in the war. She had no time for childish fun anymore, no time to be just like any other witch her age giggling over the boys in the Quidditch team and sharing tips on how to take care of complexion and not appear washed out during the winter months of being cooped up with no sunshine. No time to just be a young teenage girl anymore, and it saddened Hermione enough to keep her up most of the night, listening as her roommates trickled in, whispering and giggling, rustling and settling down, their breath evening out after a while.

**--break--**

"So, you just happened to know that Uncle Severus was Dumbledore's spy all along?"

Skye blinked innocently, sprawled out on a sofa in their newest discovery, a room that appeared with whatever you needed if you walked by a blank wall in one of the hallways three times thinking about what you needed. It was, he suspected, the same one Potter's gang had been using, the year Umbritch had been here.

"Oh, don't give me that irritated look. It wasn't my secret to tell, and I didn't know at all until I became a spirit-ghost-thing. I just happened to be wandering on the grounds when he came in one night from a meeting. I followed him and he took off the costume and went straight to Professor Dumbledore's office and told him everything, and by the end of the night I was pretty convinced that he was really a spy." She hesitated. "He came by briefly, at the hospital reception, to ask how I was doing."

Draco blinked, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They stared at each other, and Draco finally heaved a sigh. "Okay, Skye. I believe you. It's just a lot of things to take in and absorb."

Skye smiled. "I know. It's cool though, isn't it? Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape will figure things out for you. Don't worry."

"I'm not a good spy, you know. Definitely not like Uncle Severus."

"No one is as good as Professor Snape! But you've had more training than most, having to grow up in your kind of environment. You'll do fine, Draco."

He doubted it, but it was nice to hope. It had been a long time since he'd felt such hope that maybe he wouldn't have to kill or be killed by the end of the year.

**--break--**

Albus stared at his hand, the blackened and useless numb lump of flesh it had become. It had been his mistake, his pride, his utter confidence in his knowledge and his skill that had caused the rot that even now, slowly crept like snake venom up his arm, reaching ever so determinedly for his heart. Once it had hold of his heart, he would die, he knew, and despite Poppy's reassurance and Severus' continued search for a cure, Albus knew that Tom had won this round of the lethal game he played with his former student. Death was inevitable, barring some miracle which he did not expect.

In some ways, the cursed hand and death sentence was like a breath of relief for him. He felt so _old, _so tired sometimes, as if it would be unbearable to simply take another breath. It was not his health—other than the slowly creeping curse, Albus was in fine health. But Albus had already fought through one war, killing his one-time best friend and lover. Even now, he could see the life, the beautiful wildness within Gelbert Grindelwald's eyes, fade and flicker out like a guttering candle, only sped up.

But the flicker of relief, of it being all over, usually only lasted for several seconds before a brilliant flash or trill of song reminded him of the things Albus would be hard put to give up from this life. The laughter of the students, his children. The color of the sky, washed and polished blue just after a storm. The easy banter between he and those he called friend. The trust in the eyes of those he loved, and a reciprocal love—

And therein lay the rub, didn't it? For this last was the cause for his current insomnia. Albus sighed a little at the coo from the phoenix in its roost by the fireplace of his bedroom. His familiar knew him too well, truly. _The hate, the despair and fury in Severus' eyes, as if I had betrayed him. No, not as if I had betrayed him, for I have done so. I have manipulated him, and everyone around him, into an intricate chess game with the ultimate goal of maneuvering Harry to the position of taking out the black king. Checkmate. And I have let nothing get in my way, not even my own feelings. Is it any wonder Severus is furious at me, and rightly so? He has been paying absolution for years for one mistake, and while he may not place a high value on his life, Draco is another matter. He loves the boy, and I have just neatly maneuvered his godson into a position of utmost danger, one in which Severus knows all too well and cannot bear to place on his child in all but blood and name. _

_Yes indeed, Severus is truly right. I have taken those I need, and forged them into the tool I need without care for their lives. _Albus knew, down to his old weary bones, that while Severus would eventually apologize and things would return to normal, his dark-haired Potions Master would not forget this. Nor did he blame the man. _Yet there is nothing to be done for this matter. _Albus was not fond of the helpless feeling that permeated his being, that ugly certainty within his mind that he would continue to manipulate, forge, and do what else needed to be done, despite the high cost to the individual people. He was one of the oldest and longest-standing members of the High Council of the Order of the Phoenix, and as such he was expected to lead, to see the bigger picture, to sacrifice the few for the victory of many. And he would do so, do so until the spreading curse or something else took his last breath. _At the cost of those put in harm's way, and at the cost of my own feelings, I _must _do as a leader in the High Council does. Is this how Severus feels, each time he must decide whether he can save another family without risking his cover? No wonder you accuse me of favoritism, as you watch your life and the lives of Hermione and Draco become weapons in my hand and Harry continues to enjoy the innocence of childhood. Severus, you are right—right in what I have avoided seeing. I shall begin training and preparing Harry for the task he must accomplish. His Occlumency is strong enough. _His heart ached at throwing the boy into the fray, into danger and into a war not meant for children, but his pragmatic mind sternly told him off for putting this off for so long. Albus made a note in his mind to get in contact with others who could help him prepare Harry. It would take more than just himself.

Albus hoped, staring blindly at the ceiling above him, that Severus would one day find it in his heart to forgive him his callous deployment of the pawns. And in the darkness of his room lit only by a dull glow of the banked fire and the brilliant feathers of Fawkes, he acknowledged his debt to the surly man. And he prayed to whatever deity was listening that Severus would find a happy and loved existence, despite his precarious position and troubled past. He deserved it. _Let him find a love pure and untainted by the brutality of war. Let him find one who cares for him as much as I do, one who will not be as willing as I to do what I must—what I must, to keep our world from becoming destroyed. _

**--break--**

As Albus Dumbledore had predicted, Severus had stiffly apologized after three tension-filled days. Albus apologized in his turn, and the outburst firmly placed in the "pretend as if it had never happened" category. As far as both men went, it was the best place for such unpleasant events to go to. They then turned to the more pressing topic of Draco Malfoy and the problems and solutions he presented.

"I trust his Occlumency skills. I tested him thoroughly when I'd finished teaching him. Lucius was adamant that his Heir have the capacity to protect his mind. He doesn't have a strong natural disposition for anything like this—Occlumency or stealth or spying—but the environment he's grown up in has necessitated his skills in them. He is adequate, much more so at this point than Potter. He simply isn't _gifted, _not like H-"

Severus paused, and nearly flushed. _Oh _Merlin_! He had nearly called Miss Granger _Hermione _in the Headmaster's presence!_

Albus smiled sagely. "Why Severus, I believe you're actually paying Hermione a high compliment!"

"She has a natural-born talent, that is all," he grumbled. Albus continued to twinkle in a most annoying manner, and Severus ignored the knowing gleam, and went on. "Nonetheless, I believe the best option would be for him to undergo the process of induction to the Order as soon as possible—but he is going to need preparation. He is getting even less notice than Miss Granger did."

"I have taken that into account, Severus." Albus absently rubbed his arm—the arm that retained the festering curse. "I have already received the grudging go-ahead from the High Council for the induction of Mister Malfoy."

_And I still wonder how you managed to get them to agree, _Severus thought privately.

"They are not convinced, but they have presented me with an agreement vote on certain conditions."

"What conditions?"

"Firstly, that someone other than you and I assess the boy's trustworthiness, and of course, his worthiness. Secondly, that he is closely monitored at all times. And thirdly, that he must convince them himself that he is worthy of induction to the Order, to take place before the trial." Albus opened his mouth to keep on going, but at the moment, a gleam announced the arrival of Fawkes, who dropped a small piece of parchment into Albus' hand stately before perching on his day-roost with a look of satisfaction. Albus briefly touched his finger to the parchment, which glowed intensely and then faded and unrolled. Severus controlled his urge to question Albus on what the missive on, although his curiosity only heightened when the man's mouth actually _tightened, _and he looked angry. But it was gone in a flash, and the mysterious correspondence was being tucked into a drawer that Severus knew for a fact _didn't _exist, or only existed for the hand of Albus Dumbledore at any rate.

"Excuse the interruption, Severus. As I was saying, I was going to suggest that the other member of the Order to carefully assess Mister Malfoy be Hermione Granger. This is certainly something you've trained her to do—to analyze friend and foe, and decide to trust or not."

"What?" Severus gaped at Albus before quickly shutting his jaw and thinking about it seriously. At first thought, it was ridiculous. _The two are certainly no fans of each other! _And _that _was an understatement, surely. However—however. _It might actually work. Albus might actually be eccentric enough to have suggested a completely unlikely plan that would work. Hermione is qualified for the job, and this way she'd come to her own conclusions without needing to be convinced along with the rest of the Order, and her support—if Draco wins it—will be formidable. Both will be able to keep each other's secrets. And if Draco has Hermione's approval, he'll have at least one staunch supporter in the Order, and Hermione's honor will let her do nothing less than to offer her friendship. Yes, this might just work._

Instead of replying to the affirmative, Severus glanced disinterestedly at Fawkes, who was now preening. "I'm sure you know best, Headmaster."

He knew he hadn't fooled the man with his nonchalance, but Albus let it slide. "Very well, will you take on the task of informing Hermione of her first formal assignment for the Order? Thank you, Severus. And I believe that perhaps two weeks, on second Saturday from now, might be a good time to schedule the induction if he passes muster. You'll be his sponsor, I presume?"

"I would like to, but—" Severus hesitated before continuing, "I am uncertain if it is the best thing, so soon after Miss Granger's rather explosive ordeal."

"Ah, yes." Albus looked speculative for a moment. "Nevertheless, I believe you are still the best candidate for sponsor. You have known him the longest, and he trusts you implicitly, even more so than in me despite my own promise to him."

"Very well."

"Draco cannot know he is being assessed, and especially not that Miss Granger is involved. I trust you will have both she and your godson well in hand by next Saturday?"

The question did not leave an option for choice. "Yes, Albus."

"Lovely," Albus exclaimed, clapping his hands. "I shall leave them both in your capable view then, Severus." Severus knew a dismissal when he heard one—he bid his farewell and swept off, back to his classroom.

**A.N.: I'm having a bit of a hard time with this story at the moment, so if this or the next few chapters fall a little flat please cut me some slack. Thanks for following me this far into a very long-winded story!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Rowling. I own the rest. **

"Let me get this straight. In effect, you are telling me that Draco Malfoy is on the side of the Light, he is being considered for induction into the Order of the Phoenix—the same Order _Harry and Ron _haven't been inducted into yet, the same Order in which I have so far been the only exception to the age requirement—and you're telling me my first official assignment as an Order member, despite not having finished my complete training yet, is to determine his trustworthiness?"

Professor Snape glared down at her with his best patented sneer. Apparently, he must really be spending too much time with the girl, because she failed to quiver in her shoes like any normal person would, or even so much as blink. He resorted to his most scathing tone. "Miss Granger, you have just successfully regurgitated what I have just explained in great detail to you. I did not ask for a summary—I asked if you had fully comprehended the task before you!"

To his shock, she even went as far as to wave her hand at him dismissively. "Yes, yes Professor Snape. I fully comprehend the task and blah blah blah. I just want to know—oh, never mind." She seemed exasperated, but cut off her question at his particularly vicious stare. Good. At least she'd learnt not to question him _too _much, even if she had learnt to ignore his glare and his cutting remarks with distressing ease. _Who are you kidding, old man, you enjoy the company of an attractive young woman who doesn't tremble and shrink when you frown, and burst into tears at the slightest hint of sarcasm and a very well-honed insult. _Severus inwardly groaned at the inner voice that he _thought _he'd successfully learnt to block out several weeks ago. Apparently it had been waiting in hiding for the right time to pounce, because it was back, and as large as life. _Damn it. _

He drew out the silence, but Hermione seemed to take it comfortably, staring into space as she contemplated something. "Well?"

"Oh! Sorry Sir, I was just thinking about how to go about doing this assessment. Am I permitted to approach him, or is this strictly surveillance and gathering intelligence?"

"No interactions other than anything that might be considered within the realm of normal between the both of you, Miss Granger, but you would do well to remember that the rules of Hogwarts still apply to you—if someone should catch you."

"Yes, Sir. I won't get caught." She was utterly confident on that fact, and Severus felt a thrill of pride. _He'd _been the one to teach her this, and she was now completely in her element, a junior spy taking an assignment from her handler. He refrained—just barely—from quizzing her on her plan of action, and from giving her another lecture on Things To Remember from the unwritten Spy's Handbook that he felt dwelt in every successful agent's brain and being.

She left then, and he watched her stride out. Even her walk was different from the beginning of the year, he noticed. _She walks with assurance, taking long, firm steps and her posture straight and ready for anything, but relaxed. Not like the hurried, frantic steps of the child she was last year. And her eyes…her eyes were calm, with the shadow of the knowledge and experience maturing them beyond her age, and they sparkled like sunlight to clear, cool water—_

_Hold it right there, Severus, _he ordered himself, aghast. He'd been almost _mooning _over Hermione! _See, you've already lost half the battle because you can't even think of her as Miss Granger anymore. She's not a girl anymore, she's an adult, a woman. _

"Shut up!" He hurled his quill across the room in frustration at his traitorous thoughts, and it hit the door before clattering on the stone floor. He got up and went in search of a new box of quills.

**--break--**

_Please? You owe me for that interruption right in my own mind! Just because you were excited that the first steps towards your healing were being initiated didn't give you the right to barge into my brain. I could have been in the middle of class, or taking a test! _There was a sigh of reluctance, and then a feeling of acquiescence. _Good. Thank you, Hogwarts. You're the best. _Grumbles, almost like Ron in a snit, and Hermione chuckled. _Just let me know when they're all out, and keep an eye out for me and I'll do the rest. _

It took a little longer than she would have liked for that time to come, but on the fifth day of not having done anything but shadow Malfoy, Hogwarts finally knocked on her mind's door and they were off to explore a part of the castle she'd never really been in before—the Slytherin dorms. It was dinnertime, and Hermione feigned cramps and bloating from her monthlies, and begged off the meal. Harry and Ron had turned pale at her first mention of what they called her "female problems," and quickly taken themselves out of her presence as if it were catching. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at their hasty departure.

It left her with a short gap of time to do what she needed to do, and with Hogwarts urging her to get on with it—Hogwarts would have made an exceptionally _bad _spy if it had been human, flooding her with feelings of impatience, worry at the risk, and a general sense of the wrongness of nosing around in someone else's personal things. Nevertheless, it was a reluctant partner in crime, and Hermione felt at the top of the world as she glided smoothly and silently down into the dungeons, avoiding the random suits of armor that she _knew _reported to Professor Snape, arriving at the portrait-entrance of the Slytherin dormitories. She'd never had the opportunity to converse with the White Witch, as the lady in the portrait was called. To those pure-blooded who had never seen the portrait, _The White Witch _seemed an odd choice to guard those reputed to turn out the highest rate of Dark Wizards and Witches. _Although, to be honest, I bet if you did an actual census and tallied up the Dark magic-workers, they would be spread pretty evenly over the Houses if they went to Hogwarts. The Slytherins are just the ones who are the most open about it, plus there's the effect we learnt about in the college-credit Psychology course I took last summer. Confirmation bias, the tendency to search out and take note of only the cases that confirms one's preconceptions. _

But to a Muggle-born witch who had an ongoing affair with books of all sorts, Hermione thought that 'White Witch' certainly summed up in a nutshell the ambition that Slytherins were sorted for. After all, who, after having read the Chronicles of Narnia, would forget the impressive—if rather Dark—feats the White Witch in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe had accomplished?

And indeed, the woman in the portrait looked rather like Hermione had always imagined Narnia's self-declared queen of 'always winter, never Christmas'. She was dressed, unsurprisingly, in a regal white gown, clear crystals that looked like frozen bits of ice and water scattered over its bodice and skirt. The neckline was modestly high-necked, but that did not take away from the breathtaking beauty the reclining figure made. She had a richly-draped couch of purple, and a circlet of diamonds and sapphires rested on shockingly red hair. Despite the auburn tresses, the woman did _not _look like any of the Weasleys—or perhaps it was simply her touch-me-not aura that made her so different.

"You are not one of mine, Child." The voice itself was just as arctic—and refined—as the lady speaking.

"No, my Lady. But I would seek entrance, and the password is _équité__._" Hermione went as far as to make a deep curtsy, the way her ballet instructor had managed to knock into her head before Hermione had rebelled and quit dance lessons.

"There is no one within with whom to converse or to escort you. You are in no way attached as either friend or lady to any Slytherin. Your purpose here is untrustworthy and if you wish entrance, you shall have to ask Professor Snape to let you in." The White Witch turned her face away, but Hermione was undeterred.

"Lady, if I may perhaps convince you. I admit freely that I am here on ambiguous terms. Yet I do not seek to harm any of your charges, merely to _know. _And surely knowledge is the first step, the first step to power? You cannot condemn another for the pursuit of knowledge, you who symbolize the path to true power."

The White Witch's eyes were freezing. "Yet you are not Slytherin, but a Child of Fire and Passion."

"Do we not all have all the elements within us?" Hermione countered. "Even as one of Fire, a Gryffindor may value and seek to learn the elements which eludes us. Look me in the eyes, White Witch, and tell me that you will refuse me the right to travel the way your own children travel. I yearn just as much as any Slytherin, any of Ice, to succeed—to be known, to be appreciated, to be loved, to be successful, to be admired. Will you deny me the same chance as your charges?"

Her heartfelt plea, and the manner in which she'd stated it, halted the White Witch. Hermione could see the lady actually thinking about what she had said, and she finally pulled out her ace. "And furthermore, my Lady, it is no person who has given me the password to your domain, but the entity to which you have sworn to protect with your existence—Hogwarts itself has communed with me." _And a bloody hard time it was too, getting the actual word communicated! The concept of __équité can be quite hard to translate!_

"Let me pass, White Witch, and I will speak your name in praise and use the information I gather for justice and for the healing of the castle."

At first, Hermione thought she had failed, that she would have to find another way to get what she needed or go crawling back to Professor Snape and admit defeat. The idea of it made her unbearably depressed. She didn't want to disappoint him!

Then, wonder of wonders, the White Witch slowly stood, and sank in a deep obeisance! Hermione's jaw dropped. Never mind her vaunted skill at maintaining her cool and showing no emotion for others to use against her. She'd _never _heard, despite her research into the White Witch's mysterious background, of a single instance in which the portrait had ever done more than nod or stand for those she respected for their power and position. But there she was, rising gracefully now to stand and observe Hermione with cool blue-green eyes.

"Child of Fire, you have proven yourself worthy, not only of entry but of our allegiance, which I offer as an aide in your path towards immense power—for I see great things in your future, whether you desire it or not. The way is fraught with death and sorrow, as all paths to great power are. You will need the help of Hogwarts and its denizens. Do not seek to endure or attempt alone, for you will fail. As such, you are now no longer just of Fire, but of all elements in equality, a true Child of Hogwarts as history has never seen before. Enter where you will—no-where in Hogwarts will bar you entrance or sanctuary, and if you ever need my assistance again, simply call the name of the Morrigan and I shall come as I may. Walk in wisdom, little sister." The portrait slid aside soundlessly, and Hermione, speechless at what had just occurred, stepped inside.

**--break—**

It was so anticlimactic, really. Hermione simply waltzed into the boy's dormitory, asked Hogwarts which bed was Draco's, and gave his area a thorough searching. He was careful, she gave him that—any letters he might have received were probably ash, and the only things she found were his homework and an odd stack of books and notes on ghosts and magical illnesses. She didn't know what to make of that, but merely replicated the titles of the books and the entirety of his notes onto her own notebook. _Thank you Mum for suggesting a Muggle notebook for my notes! The parchment is fine for essays, but is so irritating for note-taking, and so messy. _She noted that his bed was the most neatly made, everything on his dresser arranged orderly, and his notes weren't tossed every which way like most others were. She also found a small wooden box that was fiercely warded, and she was unable to open it—she suspected that not only was it protected by dark spells, but also keyed to either Malfoy's blood or his magical essence, or both, and would only open for him. She _was _able to take a general reading of what might be contained within, with an archaic spell she'd discovered in the Library of Dreams. It was not very specific, but it informed her that there was an assortment of things within, some of them with innate magic and others perhaps of sentimental value.

Hogwarts then informed her that dinner was almost over, and she had better get out of there. She replaced everything and left, nodding to the White Witch—to the _Morrigan—_as she left. The lady nodded regally back at her. After stowing the information she'd copied from Draco's things, Hermione went directly to the Library of Dreams. It was time for some research into the Morrigan, whose name she only vaguely recalled as part of a Celtic legend.

**--break--**

Hermione hadn't been at dinner, and Severus suspected that she'd finally gone snooping for any leads on Draco's loyalties. He wondered what excuse she'd given to get out the meal. For once today, he had no detention to oversee, no essays to grade, and only no potions to grade. It had been a theory day for the classes—he suspected that he would be Summoned later tonight, and he wanted to rest before the unwelcome meeting. He began to give his password to the portrait of the snake in the Garden of Eden to enter his private quarters, only to stop short in surprise and slight shock.

"Hello, Severus." The portrait Hogwarts knew as the White Witch was standing in the glorious landscape of his painting, the snake wound affectionately around one arm.

"Lady. What brings you to this part of the castle?"

"Come now, Severus. Surely we have known each other long enough to use our own names. You are one of the few who know mine, and I dearly miss the sound of my own name." She regarded him with the cool blue-green eyes that reminded him of the sea, and he inclined his head.

"Morrigan, then. What would you have of me?"

"Perhaps this discussion would best take place within your private quarters?" She motioned with a pale ivory hand, and he nodded in acceptance.

"Very well. I shall meet you inside." The portrait swung open, and he entered, striding to the living room. He carefully pulled open the drapes covering a medium-sized painting hanging in the corner of the room.

The Morrigan soon appeared, looking around at her new surroundings. It was a stilted painting of a trimmed and pruned garden of Prince Manor in it's glory days, with a slim, dark-haired girl of perhaps sixteen just waking up from her nap on the garden bench. "Severus?"

"Mother, would you please give me a moment of privacy with the White Witch?"

"Certainly," she smiled at the two of them and left with abrupt swiftness.

"Privacy as you requested, Morrigan. What is it you wished to discuss?" Severus enquired.

"Do you recall the prophecy I made you, in your seventh year of schooling?"

Severus remembered it very well indeed. _I was a stubborn fool then, hellbent on revenge and glory and power. I would not listen to a mere portrait then. How wrong I was! _"You foretold a friendless, loveless existence if I continued my quest for power in the wrong places. You were correct."

"Prophesy is an inexact art, Severus. I could not have foretold your return, nor your true repentance. I can no longer see your future, not like I could when you had made up your mind to destroy your life by joining Tom Riddle. It is very possible you may yet find joy in your life in the future."

_I appreciate the thought, but I am certain that the only thing I will find in my future will be eventual discovery of my treachery and a long and painful death. _

"However, that is not the only thing I said. I spoke of a time soon to come when the Children of Hogwarts became more numerous than there had ever been before."

"Yes, I recall it. You repeated it again when you revealed your name to me, my first year of teaching." He recalled _that _experience vividly, his bitter speech to the portrait he had ignored in his seventh year, her acknowledgement of his _worthiness _of all the things, and her gifting him with her name—a truly surreal memory indeed.

"It has begun. The Children of Hogwarts now number two, and there will be more before the end of the next school year." She smiled now at his sudden attention. "Yes, Severus, you are now no longer the only Child of all elements. Today, a remarkable young lady challenged me for right-of-entry into the Slytherin dormitory, and proved herself a true Child of Hogwarts, previously of Fire."

He knew it even before she had finished describing the new Child of Hogwarts. "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Yes, you are correct. Your protégée, if your guardian of the door is not mistaken?"

_The snake. Why am I not surprised that Morrigan speaks Parseltongue? _"I can neither confirm nor deny that, Morrigan."

"Ah. Order business then. I shall not mention it again."

She wouldn't, he knew. "Then the time when the Children of Hogwarts are needed is coming?"

"Yes, it is coming. Not straight away, since this is only the beginning. Those I suspect may in time become what Hogwarts needs in it's defendants are, for the most part, still children yet. Next year—I believe they will be ready next year. It will be a hard summer, a learning summer."

He winced. Morrigan was the mysterious Celtic goddess of prophesy, war, death, and sovereignty. If she foresaw a hard summer, he hardly liked to think what was in store for them. He also knew better than to question her. He'd never found out just how a woman reputed to be an ancient goddess in Ireland came to be a portrait guardian at a Scottish school for magic, but he wasn't about to risk her freezing anger at any point and find out if she could perform magic on living beings. _No thank you! _

Instead, he merely nodded once as his acknowledgement. She smiled regally at him. "As always, it has been a pleasure to exchange words with you Severus. You have grown into a fine young man."

"I rather doubt the authenticity of your assurances, but thank you for the thought nonetheless."

"You do yourself too little credit. You are much more than I could have hoped from the angry boy I tried to warn in his seventh year."

"It only took years of murder and hate and lies for me to change."

"All of us make mistakes, Severus. The greater potential we have, the greater the mistake. I made a mistake once." Her eyes turned haunting then, and Severus shivered involuntarily. _Was that mistake the reason Morrigan is now the nameless portrait guarding the entrance to Slytherin? _

He did not voice the question, and in a split second it was as if she had never spoken the last at all. "Thank you for your time, Severus. I trust you know what to do with the information. I must be returning to my frame."

He bid her goodbye, and then carefully dropped the drapes back over the painted world that his mother—or the girl his mother had once been—lived in. She was, he had discovered, a shy and moody sixteen-year-old and rather inclined to privacy. He respected her wishes, and thought that perhaps all the time spent alone in the attic of his grandfather's manor had something to do with her desire for darkness and quiet. _Not that I can blame her. Besides, at this age mother didn't even know who Tobias was, let alone that she would be disowned from her family for marrying a Muggle and having a half-blood child. If the woman I knew as mother didn't care enough for me to stand up for us and leave my father, why should her younger version care for a son she never knew she had with a man she never knew all? _

It stung, perhaps, that even this young and painted version of his mother would reject him as the real and older one had so many years ago. But it was life, and life was often unfair. He had learnt that practically in the cradle, and it had been reinforced many times since.

**--break--**

"Your verdict, Miss Granger?" She blinked at the unusually harsh tones Professor Snape was using, in private. They were ensconced comfortably in the Library of Dreams, a fire crackling and to all appearances, both of them should have been relaxed enough to be congenially friendly like their past encounters. A careful examination of the man sitting in the armchair nearest to the fire told her that it was most likely not anything she had done or said. His posture was tenser than usual, even for him, and minute strain-lines and a slight downturn of his mouth suggested exhaustion and worry. _What the hell has he been doing to be so tense that he can't relax even here in the Library of Dreams? _

Outwardly, Hermione kept her own opinions to herself and instead opened her file and began briskly. "After surveillance for several days, I dug into some of his personal things. I found nothing that could point to his loyalties either way. He's very thorough in that matter. In fact, the only abnormalities in his possessions were the usual safe-box that _everyone _has, only his probably has some Dark Spells protecting it, plus it's keyed to his magical essence. I don't anticipate anything particularly incriminating in them except for blackmail—the usual soft toy he had as a child or sentimental photo or memento, maybe even a journal. I didn't detect anything that was Dark in origin within the box, so I left it alone. Even so, I'd suggest having one person in the Order, Albus or you perhaps, having him open in and letting us examine it. Just in case. Other than that, there _was _an abnormality in the books he had and the notes with those books, but I can't figure out what he's doing with them."

She pulled out a list of the names of the books, as well as the notes, and handed them over. Professor Snape frowned as he scanned the titles and then flipped through the extensive notes. "It looks like he's trying to find out all he can about resurrection of the dead, or at least of the newly-dead. It's been widely debated that there is a midway point between life and death where one can still force the spirit of one who has just died to reanimate the body and essentially resurrect. Some philosophers believe that the ghosts we have are permanently stuck in this in-between, and for some reason, can't move either forwards or backwards. So far, no ghost has deigned to answer our curiosities about death."

"So…sort of like necromancy? Isn't that Dark?" Hermione frowned.

"Necromancy is generally looked down upon, yes. But the in-between that we're talking of, this is morally ambiguous. Many Healers consider it right if they can dive into that ether and save a patient. Others say interrupting this transition from life to full death and bringing someone back to life is like cheating fate and death and is wrong. It's an ongoing debate."

"But why would Malfoy be interested in this?" She tried to puzzle it out as she tilted her head to look at the notes she'd been mystified by earlier.

"I don't know." And _that, _Hermione suspected, galled Professor Snape. In an attempt to distract him from his distress—_not that he would ever admit it!—_Hermione jumped back into professional mode.

"Well, as I said, I gathered no incriminating evidence from his personal effects. I did get more by simply tracking him. Despite being able to hide anything important in his belongings, Malfoy seems to be untrained in how not to give himself away."

Despite himself, Professor Snape seemed to be interested, and his body lost some of its stiffness. Hermione wanted to jump for joy at that. _He's too bloody self-sacrificing. I'm _glad _I can still get him to relax! _"He was jumpier than normal, he was downright rude to Parkinson instead of his usual aloofness, and he has recently developed a habit of making quick glances to his side for no reason at all. He's becoming increasingly withdrawn from everyone, old friends included, and I've caught him three times talking to himself when he thought he was alone. Only it didn't sound like he was talking to himself."

At Professor Snape's impatient glare, Hermione sighed and clarified. "It was almost like he was talking to someone else. I didn't catch much any of those three times, they were always murmured and I didn't dare get too close in case he saw me, especially when he was alone. Once, he said something like, 'Don't worry, we'll find a way,' and then the second time was, 'Are you sure this will work?' and then he left a silence like someone was answering, and said, 'My family will disown me for sure.' I couldn't catch anything at all the third time, but Malfoy cracked up laughing like someone had made a joke."

"He was alone all three times?"

"Yes."

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hermione watched her teacher anxiously. "If it makes any difference, other than those oddities, I think he's truly on our side. He didn't seem too happy with his life before."

Professor Snape didn't answer her, and Hermione hesitated, and then asked, "Sir? Is everything all right?"

Her question must have been the catalyst, because Professor Snape finally exploded.

"_No, _everything is not fucking all right Hermione! My godson is apparently dabbling in something suspiciously close to necromancy and talking to thin air like there's someone answering him, Albus wants to make us of him as a spy which we both know sodding well Draco isn't cut out for, and I've just had to stand and try not to be sick as the Dark Lord rhapsodized for hours to his followers about what would happen when he took over the world! So no, I am not _all right!" _

He ended, breathing heavily, and Hermione goggled at him.

"You called me 'Hermione'."

True, perhaps it was the lamest thing she could have said after such a passionate rant, but it was the only thing that seemed to be able to escape her mouth at this point.

His eyes widened, and Hermione noticed that at some point during his shouting, he'd risen to his feet and was now towering over her. She had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, which she did, calmly. After a moment, he seemed to come to himself.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," he said stiffly. "I should not have berated you for things beyond your knowledge or ability to fix. It was also inappropriate of me to call you by your first name."

_Professor Snape apologized! To me! _Hermione knew she must have made a very bad show of any talent she supposedly had in hiding her emotions at that moment. In fact, she could almost hear a derisive sneer telling her that she was letting the breeze in and to shut her jaw. _Great. Even my inner voice sounds like Professor Snape. I've definitely been spending too much time with him! _

"Not at all, Professor Snape," she informed him, almost impishly, trying to break the sudden tension that had filled the atmosphere. "We all have our breaking points. I'm just glad to know you're human too. It's very endearing."

The incredulous and baffled look on his face was almost too much for her. She continued, trying not to break out in hysterical laughter, "Besides, I'll soon be an Order member proper and we'll be peers and colleagues, and then it'll be only right we address each other by our first names so starting early is fine by me." She furrowed her brow, and chewed her bottom lip absently. "But I do agree with you that it isn't a good idea for Malfoy to become a double agent. He's just not made for that kind of deception. Even Harry could tell that something was up with him this year, after he had joined the Death Eaters—not that we knew that, of course—so if he turns, surely You-Know-Who will be able to tell, or Malfoy's family, or one of the Death Eaters."

Professor Snape sighed, and finally sat back down again. Inwardly, Hermione rejoiced. _He's actually going to confide in me! _She didn't question why she felt so strangely exultant at that fact. _As friends, we should be able to trust each other with our thoughts. This is no different. _

"I have said as much, to Albus, but he will not listen. I am worried for Draco. I _know _my godson, and my godson is just not born with the right mind for espionage. He may have developed some skill enough through the environment he lives in, but it is barely enough to ensure he survives. Deep work like this is impossible."

"And you told Albus this?"

"I tried to, yes. I might have said it a little less rationally," Professor Snape admitted ruefully.

"So, that means you were rude to Albus," Hermione said with direct frankness. Professor Snape winced. "Okay, sore subject. Moving on." She grinned. "How about I go talk to Albus—_rationally—_about the unsuitability of Malfoy for the undercover work? I'm sure we can work something out to remove him from the scene altogether, and I know the Order has enough safe houses around to take in half of Great Britain if need be. _If _Malfoy makes it through induction, he'll have proven himself enough to the Order to be taken in at one of them. From there, he can decide if he wants to return to Hogwarts next year, protected and well-trained of course, or if he wants to just flee the country and seek asylum somewhere else."

From the way Professor Snape was regarding her, it seemed as if her idea had some merit. Either that or she had just sprouted pink wings, and Hermione highly doubted the latter.

"You—you are something else, Miss Granger," he finally said in an odd tone. She smiled, uncertain if it was meant to be a compliment. Professor Snape nodded. "I would be in your debt if you would speak to the Headmaster, Miss Granger."

"Nonsense. You saved my family, and you've been less of a git during training. You've taught me things I need to stay alive and help others in this war, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know. Consider this the tip of the iceberg in my repayment of all you have done for me," Hermione said earnestly. She didn't know why it was so important that Professor Snape understood her gratitude and sincerity, but it did.

She let the silence and the crackling of the fire take over for several minutes before she rose quietly. "It's late, and I'd rather not give Harry and Ron anything suspicious to think about tomorrow morning, since I'm usually up earlier than they are on Saturdays. I'll make sure to talk to Albus before the weekend is over, Sir."

Hermione had almost made it out the door when she heard him whisper, so softly that she almost couldn't hear it over her heartbeat, "Thank you. _Hermione_."

**--break--**

He didn't know how she had done it, but he now considered himself in her debt. Despite what she had said about owing him, he knew that it was really the other way around. Albus had refused to discuss his reason for his change of plans concerning Draco, but it was evident from the thoughtful and curious spark in his eyes that Hermione had said something that had prompted the old man to change his mind.

As such, he, Severus, was able to witness, and even participate in, the successful induction of his godson into the Order of the Phoenix—something he had never in a million years would have dreamed of. There were snags, of course. Danielle Corwin had silently turned away and been the first to leave after the circle had been broken, and the glint in several people's eyes were enough to assure him there would be quite a few obstacles laid out for Draco. Even the High Council had prejudices. They would never harm him permanently, though, and despite their reluctance, they could not go against the verdict of the Merlin's circle and the ordeal, which he had passed, panting and bloody and crying, but passed. There had not been the customary meet-and-mingle with the un-ranked members of the Order, so Draco did not know who else, besides those in the High Council were part of the organization. And Hermione had not been there.

_Hermione. _Severus truly did not know what to make of her anymore. She had somehow, within the course of less than a year, blossomed from the bookish sidekick of Harry Potter to the intelligent and witty woman capable of holding her own with Severus _and _with Albus even, as she had proved in convincing the Headmaster of taking Draco entirely out of the game. She was brilliant, funny, sarcastic, and caring. She was one of the best in the game of stealth and spymanship he had ever taught. He had called her by her first name. Out loud. To her face.

_Damn! _And like any good spy, she had noticed.

Severus truly was at a loss to how to deal with the woman. She obviously wasn't the young girl-child he had taught for the past six years. She hadn't been since Christmas, in fact. Yet she was still his student. His friend? He didn't know any more. His last attempt at friendship with a vivacious, full-of-life woman had ended in tragedy and bitterness. Was it even possible for him to have a real friendship, let alone with a student?

Even as Severus savored the peace it gave him to finally have Draco fully on the right side and Albus ready to set in action the plan to get Draco away from the Dark Lord and his family safely, the questions still plagued him. _Just what was Hermione Granger to him? _

**A.N.: Much longer chapter than usual, but it's necessary because next chapter is important and I can't keep putting it off. Hope you readers don't mind that I didn't actually describe Draco's initiation or any of the in-between that I've only briefly mentioned in this chapter. I might have a flashback or two later on in the story, but that isn't a promise. Thanks for your support, everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, set on alert, etc!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: Well, looks like JKR is soon going to be making even more millions from the Tales of Beedle the Bard. Why would she ever GIVE us poor common public a free story like this? Yes, that's right—I'm NOT Rowling. On to the story.**

The day had started innocently enough. She'd fretted about the exam she was taking that day. She'd eaten breakfast, studying throughout the meal, taken the damn DADA test, wondered just how the remarkably unnoticeable Professor Larkin had managed to keep the DADA position the entire year without attempting to kill Harry or anything else spectacularly bad, laughed with relief along with Harry and Ron and Ginny after they had all emerged from the exam room, and thought about her summer plans, arranged by Headmaster Dumbledore. She'd be going to the same safe house as her parents, finish taking the rest of her training lessons, and become a fully-fledged Order member.

And then, as she'd finished a cram study help session with some of the Gryffindors and started down for lunch, all hell broke loose.

_Danger! Help! Excruciating pain, the feeling of being ripped apart in the seams, spilling magic and lifeblood—_

Hermione must have screamed and fallen, because she was suddenly in Harry's worried arms, Ron right beside him, and they were babbling something at her, but she was being attacked, poison spreading rapidly through the hallways of her body, and she struggled not to explode from the sheer pain as her own innards rebelled against her.

_No! _Hermione gasped, forcing back the pain. This was not her! She was being held by Harry, with nothing more of an injury than a badly bitten tongue, the metallic blood filling her mouth and a little of a twisted ankle from falling down the stairs. And if it wasn't her that was feeling this sense of invasion, of being cut open from the inside, there was only one other possibility.

_Hogwarts. Hogwarts is under attack! _

She must have said it out loud, because Harry and Ron's eyes widened, and a sharp gasp and an "oh!" told her that Lavender and Ginny were there as well. Uncaring of her own dizziness and sudden weakness, Hermione struggled to get up.

"Death Eaters! They must have gotten in somehow, some way, oh god oh Merlin, it _hurts! _The Astronomy tower—they're heading there, and Professor Dumbledore is there and he's so weak, his magic is flickering like a good gust will put it out, and you have to get there before _they _do, please make it stop!"

With the strength born of desperation, Hermione darted to her feet, running for where she knew, somehow, the climax would take place.

The Astronomy Tower.

With wild flashes of pain and ancient anger bolstering her, Hermione ran. She was vaguely aware of shouts, of small battles taking place as the DA that she had almost forgotten Harry had continued with engaged in the defense of some of the younger years, of Harry and Ron at her heels. But her numb mind was focused only on her destination, and she _knew _in the confines of her gut that she was going to be too late, that she would never reach where she needed to be in time.

Up and up and up, and she was there—and there was a flash of _green —_and then all sound went curiously silent as she watched the Headmaster's body thud noiselessly to the floor, watched Harry open his mouth in a wail she couldn't hear, watched furious lights being exchanged as Ron moved to block Hermione as well as guard Harry's back, watched black eyes under a white mask burn into her before the entire group of black-cloaked attackers disappeared.

She temporarily blacked out, but must have kept on going, because the next thing she knew, Hermione was holding Harry down forcibly, rocking him back and forth as they sat curled up next to the body of Albus Dumbledore, and Harry sounded like a little boy, crying "No, no, no, no…"

She was hoarse, but as Ron's arms went around both of them, she managed to croak to him, "Get Professor McGonagall. Tell her—oh, Merlin—tell her—" her voice broke, but Ron seemed to understand her because his arms tightened around her and Harry, and then his comforting presence was gone, and she and Harry were alone with the one-time most-beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts.

**--break--**

He didn't know how he'd functioned, but somehow he'd managed the whole sorry business. _Well done, Severus, _the red-eyed monster had almost crooned. _Despite your ignorance of the attack, you comported yourself in a manner befitting one of mine and struck the final killing blow that none of my other followers dared to. I only regret that now we no longer have your eyes and ears at Hogwarts. But that is of little consequence! The Order will be broken with the death of the fool, all we have to do is chip away continually now before overwhelming them finally. _

All the while, as his followers had laughed, rejoiced, and whispered of the greatness of their Lord, Severus could only remember the exact moment when the blue eyes he'd associated with calm and wisdom and safety had gleamed in the light of the spell before emptying entirely, as the body had crumpled like tissue paper, as Hermione and her two friends had nearly taken down the entire tower with the force of their grief directing their magic instead of their mind being in control.

And he couldn't think, couldn't think of what must be done beyond tonight. Because now, in the privacy of Spinner's End, Severus knew with a certainty that his mind was shutting down, unable to deal with what had happened. Logically, his brain argued—_I must report to the Order's High Council, I must find out what happened to Draco, I must tell Hermione, tell her, oh Merlin!_ But he would do anything to take that terrible searing _agony _and _knowing _away, as his eyes played and replayed the scene, and so, for the first time since he had been a young and desperate man disillusioned with the Dark Lord, Severus took the strongest potion he had and prayed for oblivion to descend and never lift again. Because if it did, if his mind cleared, if he woke the next day and realized what had happened was real, Severus feared that he would have to face the fact that he had murdered his friend, proponent, and mentor.

**--break--**

_This isn't real. This can't be happening. _Draco shivered uncontrollably, staring blankly at the closed door of the bedroom. He was in an unfamiliar house, the house that was to be his safe sanctuary and training place. _This wasn't supposed to happen this way. _When had things gone so horribly wrong?

He'd been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix. He'd been assured that he would not have to commit murder, and that he could leave the Dark Lord. He'd helped devise a plan to keep his secret for as long as possible—he was supposed to have been "discovered" and "abducted," vanishing to one of the safe houses of the Order for the summer, before deciding whether or not he wanted to out his position at the beginning of the school year and return to Hogwarts, or leave the country altogether and seek refuge somewhere else.

He'd been excited. The horrific ordeal they'd put him through during the rather pompous induction had faded in his memory, and he was raring to begin training and have more time to research ways to get Skye back into her body. And then suddenly, his Mark had pulsed with more strength than he'd ever felt, and he'd found himself, along with the other student Death Eaters, facing a triumphant Evangeline Cain in a small corner of the Forbidden Forest as she explained to them her plan that the Dark Lord had approved.

_Attack. Hit hard and fast, take down as many as you can in fifteen minutes, and then get out of here when you feel the Mark. Apparate to the Dark Lord's location—the wards will be lifted to let us through. We're the distraction—make sure to engage all the teachers who aren't Death Eaters so none of them can get help. Not you, Malfoy. The Dark Lord is specifically disappointed in your lack of action in completing the task he set you. He has a special punishment for your failure._

It had been a two-pronged attack with the students Death Eaters as distractions for their adult counterparts, and it had worked.

Draco had tried to maintain his cool, even as Cain had singled him out, even as a triumphantly shouted spell from Cain took him unwillingly to a dark enclosed space he discovered to be a wardrobe, most likely one in Hogwarts, spelled shut to hold him. He had heard muffled yells, screams, hexes, and then the unmistakable _Crack! _of apparition. Frozen with terror and almost sobbing as he tore helplessly at the unyielding doors, Draco had ducked and snatched at something glinting as it soared straight through the wood, catching it out of Seeker's instincts—

And he'd tumbled right into the dining room of this unknown place, still clutching a small golden snitch.

He'd hyperventilated until he noticed the note addressed to him on the table which the portkey-Snitch had deposited him neatly on.

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

_If the worst should happen and we are unable to carry out the plan we had previously put in place, I have taken it upon myself to enchant a device to bring you here to safety. This is where you will remain during the summer, receive your training as an Order member, and decide (as well as be advised) as to what may lie in your future. Do not leave the house. There will be an alarm which will tell an Order member to go to your location and debrief you, but it may take some time since the safe houses are so safe that even our detection systems are unreliable._

_You are an impressive young man, Mister Malfoy, and I see hope in our future whenever I look at you. The strength it takes to defy those one loves and respects for your own beliefs is more than most can bear. I am confident you will prove our hopes right. _

_Meanwhile, I cannot tell you where it is you are located but I would suggest you make yourself comfortable. I regret to say there are very little conveniences you are used to, but I daresay you will adapt, as young people are wont to do. _

_If what I fear has happened, I may no longer be there to advise you as I had hoped. Please find it in your heart to forgive me for that, but I leave this letter knowing you are in the safest of hands and that Severus and some of my other friends will take good care to protect you. I hope we meet again someday._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

Draco didn't know how the Snitch-portkey had known to fly to his location or batter itself through the wardrobe door. He didn't know what had become of the attack, or if what the letter implied was true. He didn't know where Skye was, because he had left her at Hogwarts and she hadn't showed up. But he feared the tone of the letter because it sounded like the Headmaster had _expected _something to go wrong. Like he had _expected _to die. And that was impossible. Wasn't it?

**--break--**

The rest of the exams were canceled, and students sent home days earlier than planned. Hermione had told Professor McGonagall, who was acting head of school, that she was going with Harry wherever he went. Her plans for the summer were now of secondary importance. She and Ron would go with Harry wherever he went. As she said it, her eyes gritty with unshed tears, she could see the answering gleam of immeasurable sorrow reflected in her professor and fellow Order member's eyes. Professor McGonagall had merely nodded, and arranged for extra protection around Number Four, Privet Drive.

She and Ron never left Harry alone for a second. She could see the fear she felt mirrored in Ron's, as they watched their best friend stumble around with glazed eyes, barely speaking and not eating at all. Hermione hated to have to take Harry away from the small comfort Hogwarts was to him—despite the constant ache it had been for her since the attack, as the castle itself mourned for it's Headmaster—but the blood wards needed to remain intact.

_One month, _Professor McGonagall had promised. _Sooner if I can convince the Order. _Her lips were pursed and tucked tight in misery and worry as they had been since the instant she had ascended the steps of the Astronomy tower and discovered the dead body of her friend and employer and the huddled Boy-Who-Lived, buried in the shaking arms of Miss Granger.

_Convince them, _Hermione had said emotionlessly. _There are safe houses Harry can stay at. Make one of them feasible. Two weeks, Professor. _She didn't care that she'd talked to her superior like she was the one in charge, and Professor McGonagall hadn't protested either. Instead, she'd simply nodded and that had been the end of the discussion.

Just before the students left, they held a memorial and funeral for Albus. He was buried on the school grounds near the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry had only put up a token protest at the impropriety of a grave at Hogwarts—those close to Albus had simply steamrollered grimly over anyone who dared suggest otherwise. Thus, it was on an absurdly sunny afternoon that a subdued bunch of students, faculty, and a great deal many more people watched as the Headmaster's body was gently encased in a white marble tomb. More than one person cried unashamedly when the rawest, saddest sounds they had ever heard poured from Albus Dumbledore's phoenix, strains of pure unadulterated sorrow—as if the creature were dying of a broken heart. Later, some would say it was the most discordant melody they'd ever heard a phoenix sing, just before it launched itself desperately into the air and vanished into the distance.

Albus was not the only casualty. One other had died during the melee at Hogwarts—Parvati Patil. Padma looked like death itself, and she'd gone home early, not attending the Headmaster's funeral at all. Her parents had come to take their surviving daughter and the body of her twin home, looking like they had lost something and weren't sure just what to do with themselves. Lavender, one of Parvati's friends, went around with tear-streaks and seemed to abandon her appearances all together. Seeing Ron after the fight, she'd thrown her arms around the redhead and clung tightly, not crying, just trembling uncontrollably. Hermione did not begrudge the girl the comfort Ron obviously brought to Lavender. She simply made sure she had no other pressing engagements and told Ron she could take care of Harry whenever he wanted to spend time with Lavender. The look of unspeakable gratitude he had sent her was the closest thing Hermione had felt to warmth since the event had occurred.

_But what had gone wrong? _Hermione knew the question was echoed in practically everyone's minds, even as the train pulled out from Hogwarts and headed for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, even as she and Ron guided Harry out and into the car heading to his Aunt's house, even as they fended off Harry's relatives and installed themselves in the privacy of the dusty bedroom and tried to cajole Harry to eat something. _What had gone wrong?_

Hermione knew more that most. She knew that there were real Death Eaters among the student body, although all of them except for Draco Malfoy were graduates this year. She knew that Malfoy had just been successfully inducted into the Order and that there were plans set in place to remove him from the Death Eaters and place him somewhere safe for the summer before any decisions were made. She knew that he had been supposed to kill Albus, but had not wanted to. _What had happened? And how is Professor Snape involved in all of this? _He'd disappeared along with the Death Eaters and the students who had taken the Mark. And Hermione, despite knowing for certain that he was loyal to the Order, felt a cold fear she couldn't shake. _What happened to him? And what had gone wrong for this to happen, for him to disappear? _

It was refrain that would become almost like a Gregorian chant as she prompted Harry through the motions of living, and shared worried looks with Ron, and waited on word from the Order.

**--break—**

Draco woke up abruptly, the business end of a pointy stick poking dangerously into his neck. His breathing immediately quickened and he stiffened.

"Ah, you're awake then. Drink this," a hard voice informed him. Something was thrust into his hand, and while his face was still pressed into the pillow and he was in a very precarious position with someone sitting on his back and a wand aimed at him, Draco couldn't help but ask, the way Severus had taught him.

"What is it?"

"Veritaserum."

_Great, all my secrets all hung out to dry. _He uncorked the vial and took a tentative sniff. No order—that meant it probably _was _Veritaserum. He sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

"No. Drink it."

He gulped it down quickly, and the person on his back shifted and forced him to open his mouth to show that he'd swallowed the potion. As they waited for the potion to take effect, he examined the woman whose mercy he was currently at. As his panic had subsided, he relaxed a little. This was no Death Eater. He didn't recognize the woman, but she was too focused, too trained, to be a Death Eater. Besides, there wasn't any Mark on her arm, and this _was _supposed to be a safe house. Draco figured it was probably security measures that was forcing him to take the truth potion and sit at the mercy of the muscled woman whom he thought was most likely an Order member. She looked weary and angry at the same time, a nerve in her jaw twitching every time she looked at him in the eyes, a pulse of hate in them. It didn't feel good to be the focus of her hate, but plenty hated him enough simply for being his father's son and because he was Marked. Draco supposed he ought to become accustomed to it.

"What is your name?"

"Draco Orion Malfoy."

"Are you loyal to Voldemort?"

"No."

"Where do your allegiances lie?"

"With Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix."

"Do you claim any prior knowledge of the attack at Hogwarts today?"

He couldn't answer no—technically, he'd _known, _even if it had been ten minutes before the attack and he'd been sent straight to the cupboard like some recalcitrant child. "Yes."

Her eyes sharpened. _Who does she remind me of? _"What did you know, and why did you not tell any Order member what you knew?"

_Gods help me. _"I gained knowledge of the attack only moments before the actual event, when I was called by the Mark to a section of the Forbidden Forest where I was informed of a two-pronged attack using the student Death Eaters as distraction. I was then told by the leader of the student Death Eaters that I had failed in my task to the Dark Lord and he was extremely displeased with me. She—Cain—sent a spell at me, and I found myself in locked in a wardrobe in Hogwarts as the attack took place. I can only suppose that I was meant to take all the blame for the attack and be sent to Azkaban as my punishment for failing the Dark Lord. Instead, the Snitch made it through the door of the wardrobe and portkeyed me here."

It bothered him, that he couldn't place where he'd seen the woman before, but she was studying him intensely now, as if verifying the truth that had passed his lips. Finally, she nodded and lifted her wand off his body and allowed him to get up.

"Welcome to Safe House No. 12, Draco Malfoy. You'll be staying here for the summer. Under no circumstances will you go past the fence that is up around the grounds of this house. You'll begin training next week." The woman began walking towards the door, and yanked it open. "There will always be an Order member around the house from now on, although it won't be me if I can help it. Make food for yourself if you're hungry. The next Order member will relieve me tomorrow morning." She exited, and Draco followed her into the living room, a little puzzled at her hostile attitude despite his obvious loyalty to the Order.

"Um…Ma'am? Can you tell me what happened? At Hogwarts?"

The woman looked back, grim-faced. "The attack was meant to make a point, and give the Order a reeling blow. It succeeded. Parvati Patil and Albus Dumbledore are dead, and several more are injured."

Stunned, Draco dropped limply into the nearest chair. "But…that's not _possible!" _

"I'm afraid it is very possible, and _has _happened. No other information has been released at the moment, but only one of the Death Eaters was caught—a seventh year student by the name of Adrian Pucey. He professed to have no prior knowledge of the attack except for just before, when he was called by Cain and informed of his part in it. Hogwarts is closing early this year. No one has figured out who performed the Killing Curse on the Headmaster yet, but it was Cain's _Sectumsempra _that did in the Patil girl."

_Dead. The Headmaster, and Parvati Patil. They're dead. They can't be dead! _The woman spoke so factually, like she was reporting the weather for the day. How could she accept it so calmly? Draco felt like his entire world was collapsing on his head. A horrid thought occurred to him. "Was—was my father a part of this?"

"To all accounts, no. But we haven't gathered all the information to draw final conclusions yet." The grief and bitter, simmering anger broke through the cool eyes for a moment before locking itself back into the woman's taut body. In a tiny area of his mind, Draco heard his godfather applauding such skills of compartmentalizing and focusing on the task at hand. _Uncle Severus. _

Almost as if she had read his thought—or perhaps his sudden freezing in the chair—the woman continued, "Professor Snape disappeared at the same time as the attack took place and has not been seen since. Miss Granger reports, although she is uncertain, that he was among the group of adult Death Eaters attacking the Headmaster. He has not contacted the Order as of yet, so we withhold judgment until we have the full story."

Draco was sure his day couldn't get worse. Faintly, through the buzzing in his ears that threatened to drown him in disbelief and shock, he asked, "Who are you anyway? I never got your name."

She turned back from her trek to the kitchen, and the smile on her face was as wintry cold as the White Witch's when some Slytherin had dared insult her portrait. "You may call me Unspeakable Corwin."

**A.N.: Okay guys, I'm really sorry I sprung this on you like this! I know some people don't like Albus, although I personally feel bad for the guy (I wouldn't want to be in charge of a war), but whatever your opinions of whether you love or hate him, I've had this planned for a while and it does need to happen. War is not all romance and bravery, people we love/hate/don't care about die, and senseless casualties like Parvati happen all the time. **

**Also, a reminder- I love all you reviewers, but by golly, those flames are basically going to be donated to charity, where they will be used to kindle fires for smores and Boy/Girl Scout campfires. Don't waste your time if all you want to do is tell me I've got a crap story.**

**Everyone who's been really wonderful and helpful in making my story better or encouraging me, you know who you are. Consider your favorite chapter dedicated to you (just pick one, and it's yours!). Thank you guys, you're the best. Special thanks to amsev and Estriel for kindly pointing out two errors I made last chapter: it should be Prince Manor, not Snape Manor, and I made a typo by writing "No" instead of "Know" at one point. **


	28. Chapter 28

"Your own family, Draco

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP & co. **

"_Your own family, Draco? You would turn against your own blood, against those who birthed you and bathed you and nurtured you for seventeen years?"_

_"My son, my son, how could you do this to us? To your family?"_

"…_despite turning your back on your family and all you hold dear, knowing that to double-cross the Order means certain death?"_

_"Traitor! You are no son of mine, Draco!"_

"_Iugo socias infinitas!"_

"_Traitor! Blood traitor! Family traitor!"_

Draco cried out and sat up, sweat soaking his hair and making a tangled mess of the clinging sheets. _It isn't real. Just a dream. Just a dream! _Breathing heavily, he took in the abnormal silence of the safe house, the darkness of late night, and the unfamiliar bedroom. He was safe—it had only been the ordeal and his induction to the Order of the Phoenix he had dreamt of, and he had not really done those things. The sweat gathered on his palms began to feel uncomfortably sticky, uncomfortably like the gummy quality of blood….

_No. _He was not going to go there. Draco forced himself to wipe his hands on the sheets, ridiculously relieved as they left a dark sweat-patch and not a streak of red. He leaned back on the headboard, unable to fall asleep again. Reality came crashing down. He may not have done what he thought he had, in the circle of Merlin, but all the same he had been woefully unable to prevent deaths. The death of a fellow classmate he'd never really talked to, and the death of the man who had made it possible for him to escape the bloodshed and pain and fear of being one of the Dark Lord's. And now he was dead, and his only other link to sanity, Uncle Severus, had been with the group that had killed them, might even have cast the curse himself…

Draco didn't know what to think anymore about his godfather. Just where exactly did the mysterious man's loyalties lie? With the newly dead headmaster? With the Dark Lord, like Draco had thought for years? With the Order of the Phoenix?

At that, Draco sat upright again abruptly. _The Order of the Phoenix. _How was it possible, with so many magics binding the initiates, for _any _Order member to betray each other? _Iugo socias infinitas. _It was meant for life, the ancient magic that had been begun with the wandless lighting of the runes in their oath, and completed in the binding of every single member of the High Council. Draco couldn't even fathom going against that deep magic. Uncle Severus was a highly skilled wizard, capable of many things—but Draco didn't know if he was capable of breaking the Order's oath and binding without escaping the consequences.

Or was it possible? Draco certainly knew of the famous traitor Pettigrew, who had sold out his friends to protect his mother and himself, and now bore a silver hand as reward for his devotion to his Master. Had Pettigrew been part of the Order? If he had, just how had an incompetent wizard like him managed to outwit the Order's ancient spell? Not only him, but Sirius Black—Draco was fairly certain that the man _had _been in the Order. How had the Order reacted when the apparent betrayal of Sirius Black in the first war had not resulted in death from breaking the vows so spectacularly?

Mind whirling in unanswerable questions, Draco nearly missed the glimmer at the corner of his eye. But the familiar sigh at the foot of his bed _did _catch his attention, and his head snapped up in shock. "Merlin, Skye, do you always have to appear out of the blue at my bedside?"

"Oh excuse me if my presence is not wanted! It's not like you missed me anyway, even though it took me _ages _to find you!" Skye Corwin snapped right back, eyes sparking in righteous anger and weariness.

Weariness? Draco took a closer look, and felt slightly bad at yelling at his spirit-friend. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks—which she literally _hadn't, _but it had never showed before.

"What's wrong?" He asked tentatively. Skye sat down on the bed, which did not give or creak like it had when he had done the same upon retiring for the evening.

"What _isn't _wrong?" She retorted. "Did anyone tell you what happened at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah. But I haven't gotten _any _more information, and it's been a week! I keep asking, but they won't tell me anything! All I know is that Uncle Severus is still missing and school closed early!"

Skye looked sympathetic. "Well, it's not really that much better out there, to tell you the truth Draco. People are running around like headless chickens, the Ministry is bumbling about like usual, and the students have been home for four days now. The Order sent people to gather all the information together from all the different witnesses. So far, the official story is that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape had gone on a trip the day before and somehow, Professor Dumbledore got weakened. He would have gotten better with rest, but Professor Snape reported it as an opportunity to take out one of the biggest threats to Voldemort, and Evangeline Cain came up with the ingenious plan to use the Death Eater students to attack the other students to draw the Headmaster out, and then use the adult Death Eaters as a lure to separate him from the others and get him alone and undefended. To all accounts, Cain led the student team and was the one who killed Parvati Patil. Professor Snape apparently found a loophole in the protective wards around Hogwarts, something to the effect of anyone being welcomed by four students from the four Houses being able to enter, and he tweaked it so the Death Eaters could apparate in and out. He joined the adult Death Eaters in the trap set for Professor Dumbledore, and in Professor Dumbledore's weakened state, was able to kill him with a curse."

_No! _The strangled sound was coming from him, and Draco's eyes unexpectedly stung with the betrayal that lay thick on his tongue, weighing down his stomach…but Skye was still talking quickly, her eyes concerned and understanding and warm.

"That's the most popular story, anyway. The truth is no one really knows what happened. Pucey—that was the only Death Eater they caught—only knew the particulars of the student attack that Cain was leading, since she was the brains behind the plan and wanted all the credit to herself. He didn't know anything about Snape, really, and no one actually saw him cast the curse. Apparently, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley got to the Astronomy tower just in time to see the Headmaster fall, and they didn't see who cast it although the Aurors who watched their memories in a pensieve say it was most likely Snape, because he was the closest and he had his wand out. But so did all the other Death Eaters, so the only evidence they have that he was the one that killed the Headmaster was that he was the closest."

"But that doesn't explain why he was with them! Why he didn't help the Headmaster! Why didn't he do something? I thought he was part of the Order, I thought he couldn't betray us, I thought he had an Unbreakable Vow with Professor Dumbledore…"

At Skye's _Shhh, _Draco remembered belatedly that there was an Order member down the hallway that he didn't want to wake. He quietened instantly, but he had been lucky and the Order member didn't stick his head in to check on Draco. "Sorry. It's just that—"

"I know," she murmured, her large eyes conveying her heart. "I'm sorry too. But You're right, you know? Professor Snape had a lot of vows binding him to the loyalty to Albus Dumbledore, and right now that's what's really baffling the Order members. I followed some of them after their investigations, and they were arguing about extenuating circumstances and how he had avoided the effects of the oath and spell of the Order. But no one has heard from him since then, so some of them thought he was dead somewhere for his betrayal, and others thought something else had happened and that we didn't have enough information to make any conclusions. Then someone who must have really important came in, because she just simply told everyone what the official version was and that they were not to examine further into the case, and the orders on Severus Snape was to find and capture, but _alive." _Skye's eyes focused on something other that Draco as she remembered the scene she had watched. "He was very insistent on that, told everyone to make sure to find him if at all possible but to let him escape rather than risk killing him if it came down to it."

Draco blinked in surprise. "That's…"

"Unexpected. I know. I didn't know what to make of it, and neither did the others because they grumbled a lot. But they said they'd spread the word, and the head honcho said that it wasn't enough, that he was going to call a full meeting and make sure everyone knew about his orders in keeping Snape alive."

"I don't know what to make of that. Skye, what do you think?"

She looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I think there are things that that senior member knew that none of us are aware of, not even the other Order members—maybe something Professor Dumbledore told him, or maybe about the thing that weakened the Headmaster the day before he was killed, or the situation—and it is important enough to warrant that Snape is kept alive. I really don't know, but I have a strong feeling, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that Professor Snape is still on our side. There just aren't _any _benefits to going against us in this way, not with that many spells binding him from just this kind of thing. Professor Snape is not a stupid man, I don't think."

Draco couldn't explain why his heart felt a little lighter, after listening to Skye, but he did and decided to take it without questioning it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? Still, it made him slightly uncomfortable without knowing why, and he turned hastily to a different topic to distract himself.

"So, why didn't you come find me after the attack or anything?"

"I did," Skye cried in frustration. "But it was like someone put a really strong Muffling spell on you, and I could dimly feel you once in a while but never a real direction or location. I searched everywhere when I wasn't following Order members and professors to learn what happened. I couldn't get a location from you until just a couple hours ago, when I felt some sort of nightmare involving your parents, and it flared just strong enough for me to get a hint of where you might be and followed it as fast as I could. Took me a moment to travel all that distance, and I had to walk through this fog-like barrier that was quite annoying, but I finally got through and found you here."

"Wow. They said the protections on the safe houses of the Order were really good, but I never imagined it that strong," Draco revealed.

"I think my aunt might have had a part of the wards here. I can feel it, a little bit of it."

Draco winced. "Ah…your aunt…might she by any chance be an Unspeakable?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I met her, on my first night here. She didn't like me very much, I think."

"Well, your father _did _kill her brother, sister-in-law, and to all purposes, me."

"I never meant to have that happen!"

"Yeah, well anger is irrational I guess. She's probably still grieving over us."

Skye looked pensive, and wanting to make Skye smile again, Draco said firmly, "Well that means we just have to work especially hard at getting you back into your body so that she has one less thing to be sad about!"

Skye looked at him gratefully. "Ta, Draco. You're a great friend. Don't ever let anyone say you're like your father, because you're nothing like."

**--break--**

Ron was taking Harry-watch while Hermione made an important visit.

Ron thought that she was simply going to talk to Professor McGonagall about Harry's progress, which wasn't much, and ask when they could be moved from the Dursley household. What he didn't know was that while that was one item on her agenda, another was to ask what information the Order had at the moment—and if Professor Snape had contacted them yet.

"Hello, Hermione," the Scottish witch greeted her as she stepped through the specially connected Floo into the Headmaster's—Headmistress' office. The tears welled up without warning, although she tried to blink them back. She had only cried once, the night of the attack. She'd been curiously empty since then.

"Good day, Professor McGonagall."

"Oh, dear child!" The woman embraced her unexpectedly, and Hermione felt tears begin to pour silently down her cheeks. They stayed that way for a while, until Hermione gently detached herself from her professor and wiped the remnants of wetness from her face, watching as Professor McGonagall smiled tremulously at her.

"Professor McGonagall—"

"Please, Hermione, call me Minerva." She was firm, and Hermione felt another pang, thinking of when Albus Dumbledore had sat down with her and told Hermione to address him as Albus in private, as colleagues and peers.

"Very well—Minerva," Hermione acquiesced. "I wanted to know if there was any news, anything at all—"

Profess—_Minerva _shook her head tiredly. "Nothing, not a whit. Pucey has told us all he knows, and he's been transported to Azkaban. They haven't found Cain, or anyone else. And there's been no word from Severus."

"Draco?"

"He knew nothing except for what Cain told the student Death Eaters just before the attack. Even while the attack was happening, Albus took the time to send out the portkey we had made especially for Draco in case of an emergency, and he is safely in a safe house out of the country now. We haven't had time to begin his lessons, not with all the Order members we can spare looking for Severus."

Hermione rubbed her forehead. "Professor Snape would never have betrayed Albus, Minerva. He just wouldn't!"

The older woman looked at Hermione sadly. "I don't know, Hermione. Neither does the Order. You heard the command though—that wily Li _must _know something, if he ordered us not to kill Se- Severus. I just don't know what it is, and he isn't going to share his knowledge. Some of the other senior Order members, the ones on par with Albus, are backing Li, and they've overruled the rest of the Order."

"There were so many spells tying Professor Snape's loyalty to Albus and to the Order. How is it even possible for him to betray Albus?"

"That is, indeed, the question of the day. Unfortunately, there are always ways around every spell, exceptions to every rule—even the ancient magics used in the induction ceremony, even any Unbreakable Vow or blood oath, even the killing curse as you have seen yourself, with Harry. It is certainly not out of the realm of possibility that Severus found—a way out. He was certainly one of the best wizards. Peter Pettigrew was never part of the Order, but Sirius Black was widely thought to have somehow managed to find a way around the spells." Minerva eyed Hermione with worry.

"Speaking of Harry, how is the boy coping?"

"Not well," Hermione grimaced. "It's different from when Sirius was killed, you know?" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "When Sirius was killed, he spent most of the summer either wanting to be left alone, or screaming at people and destroying things with uncontrolled accidental magic. It was only after my father suggested a Muggle-style intervention and we got everyone we could to confront Harry and convince him it wasn't his fault Sirius was dead that he started to get better.

But this time, it's like there's no life in Harry anymore. He won't answer in more than one or two syllables, and he does whatever we tell him to, like a robot, like he doesn't care anymore. But if we didn't tell him to do anything, he would just lie in bed all day. He doesn't even get angry anymore—Ron and I tried, last week, and he just closed his eyes. Not even a teacup rattled!" Hermione swallowed, remembering the dead look in Harry's normally vivid green eyes. "I don't know what to do for him, Professor."

"Minerva," the professor reminded her gently, then pursed her lips. "It sounds like he is still in shock. Do you think he'll come out of it naturally?"

"I don't know. I'm just really worried, and I don't think living with the Dursleys is helping. They stay out of the way, but just being in a house that doesn't have good memories can't be conducive to Harry's mental health, and he's fragile enough already."

"I've spoken with the Order on it," Minerva said. "They are reluctant to move him from where Albus wanted him, with the blood wards protecting Harry."

"I don't bloody _care _what they think! Harry has been through enough since his childhood, his mentor just died, and he needs all the comfort he can get! They _will _find a place for us to move to, one that doesn't hold any memories for him!" Hermione shouted.

Minerva held up an appeasing hand. "I said as much to them, actually. I insisted that they find another solution, and I think we've found one that may work."

"Well, what is it?" Hermione asked.

"It's an adaptation of blood magic—one of our Order members is studying the spells and tweaking it, but we think it might work, if we can get the ingredients and the permission of those involved." Minerva frowned. "It's risky. We're not a hundred percent sure that it will work. The idea is that Harry will blood-link to someone or several someones, preferably people he loves and loves him deeply in return, and the spell will essentially tie them together as a family. Because the person bonding with Harry must be absolutely willing to die for him, that sacrificial aspect should echo and thus recall the blood wards raised by Lily Potter, and instead of centering the protections around a home, it should center around Harry himself. That way, wherever he is, he ensures that place with the blood wards that both his mother and the person bonding with Harry have contributed."

"And you think this spell will work?" Hermione questioned carefully. It sounded dangerous, a primal spell predating Dark and Light.

"I _think _it will work. There is no way to see if it does except trying it."

"More than one can form this tie with Harry? What are the repercussions?"

Minerva must have seen the way Hermione's line of questioning was going. "If you are asking if you can perform this, then yes—if you are certain of yourself. And," she added with a glimmer of mischief, "If you are not attracted to him in a romantic way."

"What?" said a startled Hermione. "I'm not! I would never! He doesn't—"

Minerva smiled. "Filius owes me ten knuts. He was sure there was something between you two. Well, what about young Mister Weasley?"

"No!" Hermione was sure she was blushing now, and she didn't even attempt to try the mind exercises Professor Snape had taught her to control the heat in her cheeks. Sometimes, it was useless.

"Bugger. I owe Severus five knuts. How he always manages to win the wagers, I'll never know…" she trailed off, face suddenly a little pinched as she recalled that there was a possibility that she'd never have to pay those five knuts.

"Well, anyone who chooses to tie to Harry with the blood magic must be absolutely certain that their relationship will always be platonic with him. Once the bond is set, no feeling will ever take the place of the familial bond. It'll be as if Harry is truly your brother, and you'll never want anything more. The same with, uh, Mister Weasley if he chooses to do the blood-magic as well, but there are no such restrictions between participants, if you and Mister Weasley do decide to have a go at it."

Hermione's blush intensified, but she strove for dignity. "I don't think I'll change my mind, and he's seeing Lavender anyway. I'm certain both Ron and I will want to do this for Harry though, if you can get the spell to work."

"Excellent. Molly and her husband have also volunteered for it, as have numerous other Weasleys—although, I note, not little Ginevra Weasley." Hermione grinned at that, but refused to break the confidence of her friend. Minerva went on, "I would do it as well, but I think it might be stronger with those Harry are closest with, and he has never particularly sought me out." Faint regret showed, but it was shoved aside as Minerva continued, "Remus will participate if and only if we can assure him that none of his Lycanthropy problem will be transferred and that the risk is absolutely zero. We're looking into that as well. If all goes well, I think we may be able to perform the ceremony on Sunday."

_Four more days. That's good. _Hermione nodded. "Is that it then?"

Minerva hesitated, and then smiled. "I believe so. Please take care of yourself, my dear. You can't help your friend if you aren't well yourself, and you look rather thin and tired."

"Likewise, Professor, likewise." Hermione affectionately hugged the older witch.

"Please give my regards to Harry and Ron, and someone will contact you with more information sometime before Sunday."

**--break--**

_You are a fool, Severus Snape. _The man cursed himself with every vile word he knew, in both French and English. He eyed the path he had to take carefully, calculating the best way to make it to Grimmauld Place without alerting the Order members hidden and guarding it. He didn't know if the wards at the house had been set to keep him out by now, and he continued to run through all the swear words he could think of to describe his idiocy as he inched his way through the shadows. His Animagus form would only go so far—High Council members knew that Severus could transform into a raven, and would be on the lookout for him.

Severus _should _have been already in and out of Grimmauld Place a week and a half ago. He _should _have already been in contact, explained what had happened. What Severus had not counted on was the unending parties Death Eater after Death Eater had thrown, celebrating the death—Severus winced away from that thought—of Albus Dumbledore. As one of the two honored Death Eaters, having cast the curse that had taken the life of the Dark Lord's lifelong nemesis (young Evangeline Cain being the other for having devised the plan entirely on her own) he had been expected, no, required, to attend.

And in the brief, spare moments? Severus had drowned his crippling guilt in copious amounts of alcohol and Dreamless Sleep potions—and had subsequently forgotten common sense in his self-pity. _Enough is enough, _he told himself. He had a mission to accomplish, and he would do it if it killed him. And it might—Severus held no illusions as to his position with the Order at the moment. Not after he had killed one of the most senior members, his own sponsor. He would not regret it if they did kill him, but they needed to listen to his information first. He owed it to Albus, to explain the pathetic reasons behind his awful, unforgivable actions.

Nevertheless, the blinding guilt and searing pain that dogged Severus had no place on any mission, and as such Severus had, with great effort, finally slept off the haze of firewhisky and vodka, taken a Hangover potion and shut off the part of him that railed at his callousness in living when he did not deserve to, breathing when the man who had believed in him had been murdered by his own hand. Now, Severus-the-spy was in command, and he coolly surveyed his chances of making it through to Grimmauld Place where he had a better chance of being heard by the High Council members stationed there rather than be blasted by an unranked Order member out for revenge.

He drew close to his destination excruciatingly slowly, but he approached without setting off any alarms or alerting the guards on Grimmauld Place, and then he was at the gate of the Fidelius-protected house, grateful that they hadn't renewed the charm to exclude him, and it was the make-or-break dash to get through the wards and get inside now. Severus threw himself into flight, frantically avoiding the spells shooting by his head and reaching ahead with his mind to dismantle the wards—but they let him in easily without resistance at all, and Severus had no time to wonder because he was—_in _through the window_, _and the spell caught him square and he dropped heavily into his human form, forced out of his animal shape, and he was sprawled on the floor panting heavily, wands being trained on him all around, and his own wand clutched in the hand on one of the people surrounding him. Wandless magic took more effort, but Severus readied himself for defense, and looked up warily—

Into a familiar, lined face. _Li. _And the man smiled inscrutably, reminding Severus too much of Albus and bringing the hard knot harnessed by straining to break free and sweep Severus away in a deluge of _hurt…_he was speaking, his lips moving, and it was all Severus could do to keep his composure as Albus' friend offered his hand to help Severus up off the floor, all the while saying gently, "Welcome, Severus. I have been expecting you."

**--Break--**

"Albus confided something of what he was anticipating and planning to me, and so I knew that what you did on that tower was of necessity. My friend is cruel at times, but I think his cruelest act was to force one he loved so much, one whom he knew returned that love, to obey him and darken his own soul by killing."

Wordless, Severus tried to ignore the burning behind his eyeballs as the old Chinese man closed the door on the other Order members and sat down across from him, handing back his wand. Severus took the wand numbly, then dropped it as if it were filthy onto the table. _I cast the spell with this wand—cast the killing curse on my only remaining friend. I don't ever want to touch the stick again, tainted as it is by my own actions. _

"But then, Albus was always very aware of the necessary sacrifice, be it himself or others, and he was never one to close his eyes to their potency in wartime," Li continued in a musing tone. Severus tried to speak, cleared his throat, and tried again.

"It was my fault—"

Li shook his head at Severus, smiling a little. _That smile could get quite as infuriating as—_his thoughts faltered—_as Albus' special twinkle when he knew something you didn't…_

"No, Severus. Albus made his choice that night, and it left _you _no option. Do not make Albus into the hero he isn't in his death. Albus would never want that. He only wanted to make enough of a difference to turn the tide of the war against Tom Riddle, and like any other general, he made mistakes, manipulated the lives of others, and was less than perfect. You are a good man trapped in bad circumstances—what is that Muggle saying? Between the devil and the deep blue sea, I think that is what Miss Granger informed me. That is where you were—stuck with no viable option."

"You don't understand!" Severus jumped up to pace, unable to look at the understanding man in his face.

"Then enlighten me," replied Li.

Severus took a breath. "We had been pursuing a lead on a possible theory on how the Dark Lord had survived the first time. I don't know what Albus told you—"

"Merely that he thought that this Tom Riddle had hidden pieces of himself in objects to anchor himself to life."

"Yes. Specifically, Horcrux-making. Splitting his soul into pieces by killing someone, and storing that splintered bit of soul into something for safe-keeping. It's archaic and unreliable, and the last person who attempted it swiftly went mad and killed himself, but remained as an insane half-ghost due to his Horcrux. Albus thought that the Dark Lord had created a Horcrux successfully, and we had a lead just before the end of school. I had heard a rumor a long time ago that Regulus Black died trying to steal something from the Dark Lord, an object he thought would destroy him. I finally discovered the location, and we set off to scout the area. I didn't know—we hadn't anticipated the lake we had to cross being infested with Inferi, but they must have been what killed Regulus because they were completely unexpected. They came out of nowhere, and suddenly the lake was alive with them, and one pulled Albus into the lake before I could prevent it." Severus took a shaky breath, and resumed his frantic pacing, caught up in his story now.

"It took me too long to get Albus out of the water. He was hypothermic and the blocks I had set on his arm were disintegrating. I managed to get us back to Hogwarts somehow, and Poppy and I tried to slow the curse again. We had to resort to a crude block, and Albus was so tired and weak from the exposure and the curse's effects. I didn't know what Cain had been planning." His voice cracked, but Severus was too far gone to be embarrassed at his lack of censure or composure. _Oh, Albus, I'm so sorry! _

"I wasn't told, but when Cain's group began attacking, I went to stop Albus from going out—I knew he wasn't ready to do any sort of fighting. But he wouldn't stay put, insisted on going to help his children. He activated the snitch for Draco, and went out to help the professors and students. But then the other Death Eaters apparated in—_Four students from four Houses in cordial invitation call, _that's what the Dark Lord said—I don't know how he found out Hogwart's weakness! They targeted a group near the Astronomy Tower, further from any help, and Albus went after them—they led him straight up the tower, and I went with him, and then they disarmed him, and he _looked _at me."

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and whip around, but Li simply regarded him solemnly. After a moment, Severus forced his muscles to relax somewhat, and realized with a sort of numb shock that there were a suspicious moisture on his face. Angrily, he stalked over to the table and picked up the wand he no longer wanted to touch, _Scourgifying _the telltale tearstains.

"I dropped my Occlumency shields," he continued. "It was the only way we could communicate, and it wasn't ideal. He let me feel how the temporary block on his arm was completely gone, and the curse was moving rapidly into the rest of his body and he would die within the week certainly." Swearing softly now, Severus reseated himself and regarded his traitorous fingers with hatred. "And there was this awful love, so much of it from him, urging me to do what had to be done, and I did it. I killed him. Killing Curse, quick and painless as possible. I _killed _him, Li. Murdered the man who gave me a chance at redemption, because I was selfish—because I didn't want to watch him wither away in agony from the curse, because I thought it would serve everyone better for me to kill him before he lost all his ability to function or perform any task, slowly lost his own mind as his body shut down on him, turned into something he was not before slowly frying his brain and body with fever until he died…"

Severus stood and whirled on Li, who was standing and quietly observing him still. "I killed him as a stroke of _mercy. _Killed him because I didn't want to see him less than he was, even though we might have found a way…might have found a cure…too late now. I've _murdered _him."

There was a harsh silence, broken only with Severus' heavy breaths. Then, Li Mong Xing faced him, a strange emotion in his eyes. He spoke, enunciating slowly. "Severus, Albus would not have wanted to die slowly, losing his senses and faculties one by one. You knew that, knew how much it would hurt your mentor knowing that he was doomed to a death stripped of any dignity. You merely carried out his wish, above your own desire to save him. He _wanted _you to live, not to give yourself up by defending him uselessly. Albus always said, when he was younger, that the best death he could imagine was to die with a loved one, fighting all the way. You gave him that—he died protecting his students, died with you there to give him comfort and the love he needed. Do not grieve for your friend, Severus, he would never wish you to deteriorate like this. Instead, live your life as a tribute to him—his greatest wish was that all his children would find happiness and love. _Find _that, Severus, and _live. That _is what you can do, if you truly with to grieve Albus Dumbledore or atone for your actions."

**--break--**

Ron was worried. His two best friends were the current subject of his worry, although his family back home, his girlfriend, and the entire world was quite prominent in his nightmares as well. Harry—well, enough said. Harry couldn't even function without someone telling him what to do, and it was like _Harry _wasn't there anymore—just his body, just like as if a Dementor had Kissed him. Ron shuddered. _Please, let Harry get better. _Albus Dumbledore's death had been a great shock to Ron, but he barely had time to weep for the man who had tried so hard to always stand for what was right. He was too busy taking care of the boy the world depended on, in the absence of their reassuring defeater-of-Grindelwald. _Harry, oh Harry… _

And of course, Hermione. Ron worried about Hermione in a different way. He had barely seen his friend the entire year! She'd had a hard year of it, Ron thought. The death of her parents had hit her hard, and Ron _knew _that something had happened to her over Christmas. He hadn't been able to get any explanation out of her or out of anyone else, but the Hermione he had said goodbye to for Christmas Hols had been his best girl friend, if a little subdued by her parents' deaths. The one who had greeted them in the New Year had been worlds different.

He couldn't place his finger on what was so different. It was almost like she had—_aged _somehow, become an adult while he and Harry were still children. On rare occasions, Ron would startle a dark look on Hermione's face, the kind that reminded him of something. He'd finally discovered just what that look reminded him of when, while helping Lavender with a Muggle Studies project, he'd flipped open a random book and found himself staring at pictures of Holocaust survivors, men and women and children who had lived through the Muggle camps-of-tortures and seen and experienced horrific things no one should ever have to go through.

He'd done his best to take care of Hermione, the times when she was actually around. He'd learnt from the best after all, how to make people laugh, and it was fairly simple to fall into a routine with Harry, exchanging meaningful glances and pestering their best girl until she gave way and laughed like she used to, before sixth year. When he'd begun dating Lavender, he had felt incredibly guilty, had wanted to find the right time to take her aside and tell her what was happening in his life and why, but…well that had been a bust. Lavender still felt uncomfortable around Hermione, and Hermione seemed only to tolerate his girlfriend, although she was never rude and seemed perfectly fine with the relationship.

_Still. There was something wrong with Hermione, _Ron thought, staring moodily out the window, unable to give his concentration to the homework assigned for over the summer. He just didn't know what it was, or what he could do to help.

**A.N.: And the fall-out from Albus' death begins…constructive reviews are very welcome, and will be greeted with choruses of angels and the works. Thanks for sticking around so far into the story!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A.N: I'm_ gasp_**** actually writing a story that views Slytherins in a better light and doesn't focus solely on Harry! Doesn't that tell you something? I'm not Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter.**

"Is that the doorbell?" Hermione lifted her head from her books hesitantly. Ron, sitting next to Harry on the sofa and staring at the blaring TV, looked up.

"The Dursleys said they'd be gone all day today, so it can't be for them," he commented.

Eyes narrowing, Hermione picked up her wand and stalked warily to the entrance. Behind her, she heard some shuffling as Ron got up as well, but stayed further back in a position better for protecting Harry. Harry merely stared straight ahead at the commercial squealing on the screen.

Then Hermione gasped in surprise. "Master Li?"

"Hello, Miss Granger."

"If it's really you, I'm sure you'll know the question I asked you on my very first essay for you," she challenged, not budging although the sight of the competent friend of Albus made her want to weep with relief.

He gave the half-smile Hermione had become used to from lessons. "You asked about how the phenomena of a person's Patronus and how it is able to overcome a Dementor, based on theories we had previously discussed on the subject of Dementors."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione lowered her wand and let the Chinese man in. Behind her, Ron made a noise of inquiry. She hastily looked at her tutor, who merely glanced back at her. Huffing in annoyance at his inscrutability, Hermione turned around to where Ron was standing, still suspiciously holding his wand and shielding Harry from view.

"Ron, this is Master Li, one of Professor Dumbledore's friends. I had the opportunity to meet him over Christmas, when he visited Professor Dumbledore, and we had some interesting discussions, leading to him agreeing to give me lessons in some of the more arcane and international magics while he was at Hogwarts."

"One of the Headmaster's friends? Are you sure," Ron asked, not moving.

"Albus was—is—one of my greatest friends. I had the opportunity to meet him when we were both much younger, as he traveled through my homeland China, and he has helped me out quite a few times," Master Li offered. "I will miss him. He was a good man, a wonderful friend."

Ron softened. "Yes, he was."

"I have already made acquaintances with Miss Granger, and she told me quite a lot about you, Mister Weasley, and also young Mister Potter. You seem to be very close indeed."

"Yes, we are. We're best friends, nothing can change that," Ron said firmly.

"I would not dare to contradict you," Master Li said, laughing a little. "As it so happens, I am a part of the illustrious fellowship that your Headmaster was in as well, and I have been sent by them to ensure your safety and wellness, as well as to discuss several things with all of you."

At that, Hermione had to stifle a cry of joy. _Finally! Something's happening! _Out loud, she mentioned, "A privacy spell would not be amiss."

"Good thinking, my dear." Master Li took out his wand, and in a few fast strokes, the living room was protected against any eavesdroppers. He put it away, and then strode to the sofa where Harry was still staring blankly at the ongoing show. Ron reached over and switched it off. In the ensuing silence, Hermione and Ron watched in despair as Master Li tried to get Harry's attention.

"He won't talk to anyone but us, and even then it's monosyllabic and not all the time," Ron said.

"Harry. Dear boy. It's time to come back, Harry. Your friends are waiting anxiously for you. Can you find your way back?" Master Li stared into the empty green eyes, murmuring soothingly. Without taking his eyes off the boy's, he told Hermione and Ron, "Come forward and hold him and talk to him. Don't stop talking to him. Tell him how much he is missed and loved here. Your friend has lost himself in the shock and grief, and he will need help finding his way back into his body."

Hermione came to one side of Harry, Ron to the other. Simultaneously, they took a hand each and with a brief, uncertain pause, began talking, taking turns to cajole their friend. Hermione's own eyes flooded with tears as she whispered fiercely, "It isn't the same without you here, Harry. You have to come back, so that you can kick Voldy out of existence. Please, Harry, come back to us…"

"Yeah, mate. I have no one to play chess with anymore, because Hermione is shit at it. And there's so many things we have to do still, like feed your porky cousin a Canary Cream. Plus, Ginny would kill me if you don't come back. You don't want that to happen to me, would you? She's scary!"

Hermione thought she heard Ron's voice crack in the beginning, but her flame-headed friend visibly tightened his hold on himself and on Harry's hand. She felt proud of his ability to hold onto his composure. _He's so different from the little boy who threw snits at every little thing and was more sensitive than a girl! _She inhaled, and continued their pleading. "Come on, Harry, come on, you can do it. Life isn't so bad, you know. You're only sixteen, you have a whole future ahead of you. You have to come back to live it, or I'll never talk to you again!"

"Mate, Hermione's getting angry and all teary-eyed now. You're on your own for that one, you're much better at dealing with her like this than I am. You can't leave me here to handle her alone, Harry!"

Hermione shot an exasperated, teary look at Ron, and then a sob caught in her throat as Harry _stirred. _Ron held his breath. Heart in mouth, Hermione waited. They had almost forgotten Master Li, but the little man suddenly had one hand reaching out to touch Harry's forehead, where the lightning-bolt scar resided, never breaking eye-contact as he whispered, "Harry, come back for your friends. They love you."

And Harry blinked, drew in a breath, and began to cry.

**--break--**

After the bout of weeping—on the part of all three of them, actually—Master Li handed each of them a wet cloth, which they gratefully used to mop at their stained, blotchy faces. Hermione snagged the box of tissues from the table and handed them all around, and Ron began to laugh as a chorus of blowing noses filled the air at Number 4, Privet Drive.

Smiling weakly, Harry, red-eyed but _aware _blinked hard, and then said wryly, "Gee, if this is what coming back is going to be like, maybe I would have been better off not returning." His voice was hoarse as if he'd screamed loudly for too long, but he was completely himself again.

Hermione shoved him playfully. Ron eyed his best friend like he was made of glass. "Where _were _you, Harry? It was like you were a robot, for all you acted since…well, since." Ron flinched and hesitated, glancing at Harry as if he were fragile.

Harry paled, but didn't start crying again. "It's hard to explain, really. It was like I was somewhere…not in my body. I was just floating, being carried further and further away, and I couldn't find a way back to my own mind and I really didn't care anymore. It was like my mind snapped or something, and I didn't know the way back until I saw this golden thread leading off into the distance, and I could hear your voices telling me to come back, so I followed the thread and your voices until I fell right into myself again."

Harry noticed Master Li for the first time, and sat up straight suddenly. "You! It was you! The way the golden thread felt…it was like when I cast my Patronus for the first time."

Master Li smiled benignly. "I merely sought where you had gone, and enabled you to see the love your friends had for you that anchored you to your body. You did the rest."

"I wouldn't have been able to get back without your help, though. Thank you, Sir."

"It is my pleasure, Mister Potter. Please, all of you call me Li or Master Li. Although _you, _Miss Granger, cannot call me anything but Master Li or Sir until we are quite finished with all you want to learn from me," he added in Hermione's direction. Noting the ambiguous language, Hermione fell straight into her acting. She let herself blush, and put her head down a little. Harry and Ron laughed at the abashed look on her face. "Ah, but I admire your dedication to learning, Miss Granger. And indeed, all of you must learn something from me before I leave today. Miss Granger, have you explained the Blood Rites to Mister Weasley?"

"Yes, I have, but I still don't know very many details and Harry doesn't know anything at all. Did you manage to formulate a working ritual?"

"Yes, after some collaborative work we have something we think will succeed in what we are aiming for." Master Li took the lecturing tone Hermione was familiar with. "Since Mister Potter does not know what we are talking about, I will begin from the start. Miss Granger here is a true friend indeed. You are lucky to have her. When it became evident that Hogwarts would be closed early and you, Harry, would have to be sent back to the Dursleys, she came to one of the Order and demanded that we find another solution for the summer, giving us two weeks while she and young Mister Weasley accompanied you to your Aunt's house."

Harry gave Hermione a half-incredulous, half-thankful look. Master Li continued, "The Order took a little convincing, but after some creative research, some of us found a way to essentially transfer the blood wards that were cast by your mother and formed over this house, to your actual body. By doing this, we would be creating an even stronger ward, since you would bear this protection within yourself at all times and anywhere."

Harry leaned forward excitedly. "How? Why didn't we come up with this before?"

"It is an obscure form of magic, predating the division of Light and Dark spells, and as such, considered unreliable and morally ambiguous. However, we of the Order have weighed the consequences and believe it is better to perform the ritual than not, as long as we have full and complete permission from all the parties involved."

"What is it?"

Master Li paused, and glanced at Hermione. "Blood magic, the same primal kind that Lily Potter invoked to protect you when she died."

Ron jumped in. "Hermione explained some of this stuff to me. She and I want to be part of this."

"I had no doubts that you would," Master Li replied.

"Wait! What is this about involving other people? Will it hurt them?" Harry demanded, getting up in agitation. The floorboards creaked a protest.

"If the spell is correct and all the participants meet the requirements truly and wholly, no one should be hurt," Li responded softly.

"But you don't have a guarantee?"

"No."

"Then I don't want Hermione and Ron to do whatever it is."

Over Ron's almost-shouting protests, Hermione spoke to Harry firmly. "Harry, we both love you and we both want to do this for you. Ron's been seventeen and of age since last March, and both you and I will turn seventeen in a couple months, and besides, the Ministry actually granted me independence a year early when my parents died, so technically I'm of age although I don't turn seventeen until September and they haven't taken the trace off me yet. Just…listen to Master Li about what the spell is, first, okay?"

Harry looked rebellious, but refrained from arguing as Master Li continued with his explanation. "This particular set of Blood Rites is focused on family love, just like Lily's was. The basic ritual stands as thus: As many people as you wish can actively participate. The only requirement is that you genuinely love them, and they in return love you enough to die for you." At Harry's look of alarm, Master Li hurried to reassure him. "Oh, no, they will not be required to die, nor will it ever be a geas on them. The ritual simply requires that they _be _willing, out of love, to die for you just as your mother was for you, and your father was for his family. The acting 'priest' or 'priestess' as it were will follow a set script, casting the spell. All of those who plan on sharing the bond with you, Harry, will mingle their blood with yours—nothing dramatic, just a drop of blood extracted by a silver knife never used before—and that will be added to a potion which you will drink. Because the willingness to sacrifice themselves for you out of love should be transmitted through the blood and into the potion you will ingest, it should be similar enough to recall the blood your own mother shed for you, and center those protections not around the house of your blood relative, but around your person. The wards will be held together with the love of the living—all those who have participated in the ritual. And in return for the selfless loving, all of those who participate—including yourself—will share a special familial bond. Nothing drastic, more like the instinctual kind between twins, being able to align yourselves more ably, perhaps understand each other and empathize to a greater extent. To all purposes, they will be your family."

In the ringing silence that ensued, broken only by slight creaks and bumps as the house settled—she and Ron had gotten used to that peculiarity of the house with great difficulty—Hermione let Harry sit and contemplate it, struggling with the warring desire to keep his friends safe and to have a real family. She left Ron with Harry to help him make his decision—it was his own to make. Instead, she followed Master Li out into another room, where he cast a Muffling spell and turned to face her. "Miss Granger, there is confidential Order news for you as well. Firstly, you should know that Severus Snape finally contacted the Order—he managed to sneak into one of our headquarters. He confirmed that is was his hand that ended the Headmaster's life, but also that Albus was dying already and declining rapidly, and that Albus had as good as asked him to cast the curse. I believe him, from what I know of both Albus and Severus, and Severus has not been killed or bothered in any way by either the Unbreakable Vow he took with Albus and the ancient oath spell of the Order. He will remain our trusted spy, although he cannot return to Hogwarts. Instead, he will become Tom Riddle's Potions Master to full capacity, and only meet with one Order member to reduce risk of discovery, and only certain people will know of his true loyalties."

"I knew it!" Hermione was elated, and it took all her control not to jump up and do a victory dance in the dark and shabby room they were in. _Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry! What an awful thing to have to do! _If she knew the man, she would bet that the despair and guilt had sunk him even past his duties until now, and that he'd probably just bottled up all his emotions without dealing with them properly. "Is he okay? Is he coping okay? Does he look all right?" She couldn't seem to stop barraging the man with rapid-paced and garbled questions, but Master Li seemed to understand.

"He is still grieving his friend, but I think he will be all right with time, Miss Granger, as long as he has a friend to talk to sometimes," Master Li answered, beaming at her.

"I somehow don't see the Death Eaters as great friends to confide in, Master Li," Hermione said in irritation at such an inane statement.

"Ah, but that is why I bring you the second piece of information! The High Council, after numerous conversations, has decided that in such urgent times, we must bump our schedule up and let up a little on our stringent standards. Therefore, I am most particularly pleased to tell you, Miss Granger, that you are now a full Order member and no longer considered a trainee. You now hold the right to address any Order member, even the High Council, by their first names—with discretion of course—and we in turn will give you the respect of colleagues and peers. Congratulations, Hermione. And your first task for us, other than your evaluation of Draco of course, which we are very thankful for—will be to assume the role as Severus' contact and handler."

Distantly, Hermione heard Ron and Harry raise their voices in debate. She ignored them, focusing her dazed eyes on the genial Master Li—_what was his first name? _"Uh…Master Li…ah…_what?" _

Master Li laughed. "My name is Mong Xing, although most non-Chinese people find it easier to call me Li as if it were my first name, so you may do the same. And I am not in jest. The High Council agreed that you were probably the most well-acquainted with Severus, and also that it would be easier for you to hide your contact with Severus because no one knows you are part of the Order, let alone that you are now a working and contributing member. You will be viewed with less suspicion and have less eyes on you than, say, Minerva or I. Other than you, only the High Council will know of Severus' continued loyalty to the Light—the other Order members will continue to think, as will the non-Order public, that Severus is Riddle's. You, however, are the best person for the job, Hermione, and it would put Severus at ease to be in contact with a friend."

"You really think he considers me a friend?" _I wish he would, but I'm not entirely certain he sees me as anything other than an asset to the Order and a semi-intelligent student he can argue with in private without repercussions. _Hermione threaded a hand threw her particularly unmanageable and tangled hair, tugging at gently with nervous energy. The summer heat and her recent worries with Harry and Professor Snape and everything else had wreaked havoc on her appearance, particularly her nuisance hair. _Maybe one day I'll get so tired of it I'll just shave it all off and buy a wig! _

But Master Li—_just Li—_was certain. "Severus includes you in his very small circle of those he considers friend, Hermione. Trust me on this. He respects you already, and I can see as well as Albus could that the times you spent in lessons with him were a highlight to his day, and he enjoyed spending time with you. Do not shortchange yourself or your ability to make friends, Hermione. It is a talent you would do well to put to use in the coming years."

Speechless, Hermione could only gape as Li went on briskly. "In keeping with freeing you next year for your role as handler and contact, the High Council wants to know if it is possible for you to complete your seventh year material this summer, take your NEWTs at the end of the summer, and graduate a year early. Minerva has expressed her confidence in your abilities, and has already offered you a student teaching job in Potions provided you obtain an O on that exam and an O in Herbology. If you agree, I will become your main tutor this summer and we will race through the material for seventh year, as well as get you sufficiently accomplished in controlling your Vacuumency properly. You still must work at that, even if you are now officially out of training. It is important," admonished Li. Then he smiled again. "We have full confidence in your potential and your performance. Someone from the Order will fill out the necessary paperwork for the unusual circumstances, as well as arrange for you to be allowed to teach if you do succeed in receiving your NEWTs. It shouldn't be too hard. You will be seventeen come September, and as Danielle Corwin informs me, you have actually aged several months due to the initiation trial…we can doctor it to make it look as if you had an accident involving a time-turner, and place you squarely into the adult category before the Hogwarts year begins."

Hermione nodded dumbly, flabbergasted at the sudden weight of duties falling onto her lap, and the implicit trust the Order must have had in her—_the same girl who had scared them badly by bringing back Harry Potter's severed head in her trial!—_to give her such responsibilities. _Is this the sort of fear Professor Snape feels with all the things he is entrusted with? _A sudden thought occurred to her. _As a full Order member, if I wanted I could call Professor Snape 'Severus' now. _At that, her stomach gave a little twist and clenched, and Hermione rubbed her forehead, palms sweating at all the things she was being told and was realizing. _Come on, girl, where's that composure in the face of stress and surprise that Professor Snape taught you? _She pulled herself together as best as she could, shoulders straightening. Outside, the voices quieted and fell to a murmur. Ron and Harry would be wondering where she was soon, if they didn't return.

Li seemed to think the same thing, because he canceled the Muffling spell and gave her one more cheerful look before exiting, his very footsteps ringing with the same calm amiability as his smiles, if that was at all possible. _Grrr. I'll get you in private to explain things more thoroughly soon, just you wait! _Hermione growled in her mind, following him out into the other room where Harry and Ron were staring awkwardly at each other. They both jumped up, startling each other when the floorboards _eeped _in disapproval again, when Hermione and Li entered.

"We've decided—"

"Hermione—"

They both began at the same time, and then laughed and glanced at each other in embarrassment. Hermione smirked at the two boys. "So, is it on then?"

"Yeah, it's on," Ron said enthusiastically.

Harry mock-glared at them. "I didn't know you were so eager to risk death, Ron."

"Yeah, well, you're stuck with us I'm afraid."

Hermione simply reached over and ruffled both boys' hair, and yelps filled the air as they tried to duck away. After the three had gotten hold of themselves, she turned to Master Li—no, to Li. "M—ah, Li, who else volunteered to do the ceremony?"

With a flourish, he produced a list. "All of them wrote their names down, but they won't be offended if Harry decides to take them down. It's important that Mister Potter feels real love for those participating, or the spell won't work."

Harry bent his head over the list of names, clear green eyes widening as he scanned through the long list of names. "So many people?"

"Yep, everyone just wants to be related to the great Harry Potter, I guess," joked Ron. Harry shuddered at that, and began reading the names more carefully. Hermione craned her neck to read the names as well.

_Molly Weasley_

_Arthur Weasley_

_Hermione Granger_

_Ron Weasley_

_George Weasley_

_Fred Weasley_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Poppy Pomfrey_

_Hagrid_

_Pomona Sprout_

_Filius Flitwick_

_Rolanda Hooch_

_Irma Pince_

_Sybill Trelawney_

_Neville Longbottom_

_Padma Patil_

_Luna Lovegood_

_Lavender Brown_

_Seamus Finnegan_

_Hannah Abbott _

_Katie Bell_

_Susan Bones_

_Terry Boot_

_Justin Finch-Fenchley_

_Anthony Goldstein_

_Angelina Johnson_

_Lee Jordan_

_Ernie MacMillan_

_Alicia Spinnet_

_Dean Thomas_

As he surveyed the parchment, Hermione could see his shoulders drooping a little. "Hey, Harry, what's wrong?"

He looked up, eyes a little shadowed. "Moony isn't on the list. And neither is Ginny."

Hermione smiled gently, and then mentally recoiled when she realized she was imitating Master Li. _Oh no, I am _not _picking up annoying habits like that! _"Oh, Harry, they would if they could. But Remus wouldn't ever do anything to risk hurting you, and because it's such an old ritual I bet he doesn't want to risk transferring Lycanthropy to you, or anyone else. And as for Ginny…well, think of it this way. The people who participate must be certain that they have no intentions towards you other than familial love, and that the love you reciprocate is also purely familial. Once the spell's cast, you wouldn't want to date any of us, because we'd be like your sisters or aunts, relatives at any rate. I'm sure Ginny was told that, and was smart enough to know _her _intentions towards you are nothing so familial." Hermione grinned, and Ron snorted.

Harry blushed. "Oh. I didn't think about that."

"I'm sure. But I bet that both you and Ginny would prefer that you are _not _related like brother and sister, hence the absence of her name from the list."

Beside Harry, Ron made an odd strangled sound, his face turning a unique shade of puce. "Can we please not talk about my baby sister in _that _way?"

Harry sniggered, and Hermione threw an overly scathing look at Ron. "She's a girl with girl interests, Ron. Honestly, don't you want the best for your sister and your best friend?"

"Wait! If this spell ritual thing makes us all related, does that mean that I'd be related to Ginny anyway?" Harry pointed at Ron. "Just about every other Weasley volunteered for it, and I know I can't stop this dolt here from joining in, but wouldn't that mean I'd be related to the Weasleys and to Ginny anyway?"

At this junction, Li spoke up. "No, Mister Potter, the familial ties will be solely to the person who participates in the ritual. Their other relations will not become in any way related to you, because it is the individual you are bonding with, not their bloodline."

Harry relaxed, and noticed his friends' red faces. "What?"

They burst out chortling, unable to hold it in any longer. In between howls of laughter, Ron informed Harry through wheezes, "Your face, mate…abso-blooming-lutely _picture-worthy! _Wish Creevy had been here to take it!"

When she had caught her breath again, Hermione took the piece of parchment from Harry's hands and shook it at him. "_Look _at the names, Harry. Look at it. Most of those names were people in the DA. Most of the others are your professors. See how much of an impact you've made on all of us in six years?"

Harry shook his head in amazement. "I never thought people liked me that much for me, you know? Just for my fame."

"This is the screened list," Li informed Harry. "There are people I'm sure who would have loved to add their names onto the list, but they were not told of this. The only reason we told so many of your schoolmates is because your Head of House confided in me that you had been the founder of an esteemed group of young folks who could be trusted with a secret. We did not as several of your committee for various reasons—for example, a Dennis Creevy, I was advised, was possibly too young for such a commitment, and a Cho Chang had been a previous love interest, while a Ginny Weasley was also not sisterly material to Harry Potter. These are the names of those we came up with, and who agreed, to go through with the ritual. None of them will be offended or put out if you decide to strike their name from the list. I would suggest you do so now, so that I can return to Hogwarts and notify those who have been selected and those who have not. The Blood Rites will take place the day after tomorrow, if that is amenable to you."

Harry looked dazed, and Hermione patted his hand in support. "Uh…okay, I suppose." He looked back down at the parchment again. "I'll take all the Weasleys, I guess, if they're really as whacko as to want to be related to me," he grinned at Ron.

Ron smirked back. "Most people would think _you're _the mad one, for taking us on," he retorted. Hermione held back a giggle as she watched her two best friends bicker good-naturedly over the rest of the names. Li gave her a significant twist of his lips, and she nodded slightly at him, relieved that Harry was back to normal—or as normal as a boy who's mentor just died and who has a dark lord after him can be.

In the end, very few names had been crossed out. Harry had debated for several minutes before taking Padma Patil off the list. "I'd like her there—she's a wonderful girl and a great member of the DA, and I'd take a shot for her if I needed to, but—how do I explain it—her sister just died, you know? Her twin sister, her other half." Harry stopped and swallowed painfully, but went on. "I don't want her to have put her name down out of revenge, to spite Parvati's murderers, or to have her participate _for _Parvati. I don't think that would go well with the spell."

"I think you're doing yourself injustice, Harry, I'm sure she loves you solely for yourself just like the rest of us, and didn't put her name down here for any sort of revenge or anything. But you may be right that her anger may cloud the ritual," Hermione allowed.

Madame Pince and Sybill Trelawney were also crossed off. "Madame Pince is really a nice lady when you get to know her," Hermione protested, thinking of the various kindnesses the librarian had shown her over the past year. _Most especially the wonderful Library of Dreams! _

But Harry had wrinkled his nose and commented wryly, "I'm sure she loves _you _Hermione, I'm just not so sure she feels the same way towards me. Especially after my last visit, when I creased the page of one of the books in the library by accident when I shut the book and one of the pages folded."

Ron shook with humor. "I remember that, she was practically blue in the face from screaming, and she chased us out with that thick heavy tome she keeps on her desk all the time. I thought she was going to throw it at Harry's head!"

"Honestly, Ron, Madame Pince wouldn't have thrown a book at Harry." Hermione looked prim and disapproving for an instant, then added, "She would never have done that to the poor innocent book. She'd have thrown your homework, or a jar of ink instead."

Li gazed at the three teens rolling on the now screeching floorboards, the parchment forgotten, and humming to himself, strolled over to the sofa to wait until the bout of hysteria had passed.

**--break--**

Spinner's End. His childhood home, the home he'd tried to avoid since—well, since childhood—the house he would have to endure living in for the foreseeable future. Severus methodically disposed of the pile of alcohol bottles and trash he'd built up in his prior attempt to forget the blood that stained his metaphorical hands and sullied his once-beloved wand. He suppressed a shudder at the sight of the empty vodka and firewhisky bottles and the acrid, sour stench that accompanied them. _I will not end up like my father. This was a temporary aberration. I will not end up like Tobias Snape! _

A muffled popping sound made him whip around, despised wand out in defense mode, before he realized that he was aiming at a cowering, distressed house-elf in an elegant silk scarf that looked foreign on the house-elf. "What is it?" he barked.

"Please, sir, I is Mippy, I is coming from Malfoy family. Mippy must have been very bad, very bad elf indeed, because Master is giving Mippy _clothes _and sending Mippy here!" The house-elf promptly burst into tears, and Severus' headache was complete.

"Stop that incessant wailing at once!"

"Oh, Mippy is sorry, Mippy is a bad elf! Minny would be ashamed of Mippy, she would!" The elf pulled his ears and started ramming his head against the table leg. Cursing, Severus leaped forward and forcefully gripped the hysterical house-elf before any further damage was done.

"Stop, Mippy. I order you to stop hurting yourself, and tell me why Lucius sent you here."

Hiccuping with the effort of obeying Severus, the elf's ears drooped sadly as he recounted his last minutes of being a Malfoy house-elf. "Mippy is visiting Minny, Sir, Minny is Mippy's sister at Hogwarts school for Wizardry and is telling me news about the great Dumbledore's big sleep, and Master is calling for Mippy. Mippy comes, and sees, scary snake-man with red eyes, snake-man tells Master he is displeased with Master's son and is punishing Master by taking Mippy away. Master is very angry but also very frightened at snake-man, Mippy knows. Snake-man is telling Master to give Mippy clothes and send Mippy to Master Severus for present. Snake-man is very pleased with Master Severus. He says, he is promising great reward for his servant and servant has no house-elf to serve. Master must give Mippy to Master Severus. So Master gives me _clothes, _and tells Mippy to come to this house, and Mippy obeys. Minny will be so angry at Mippy," the elf—Mippy—moaned, hanging his head and wringing his hands.

Severus stared at the house-elf, and wondered just how livid Lucius was right now at giving up another Malfoy family elf. They had now lost both Dobby and Mippy, and house-elves were a precious commodity in Pureblooded families indeed. To be forced to gift one to a half-blood would be the greatest humiliation and blow, even worse than being _Crucio'd. I had better tell whoever my contact is with the Order to make sure Draco is safe, especially if he decides to remain in Hogwarts for seventh year. Lucius will consider Draco's failures and disappearance and the cost of losing a Malfoy house-elf the ultimate betrayal to the family. I wouldn't be surprised if he is disowned. _But then, perhaps Severus was being cynical. He knew that despite his murdering tendencies, Lucius truly loved his son and his wife. _I just hope that love is enough to make sure he doesn't try and kill Draco. He would kill anyone else who had betrayed him in this manner in a heartbeat. _

Sighing gustily, he crouched down to the sobbing house-elf. "Mippy, you is—uh—you are a very good house-elf indeed. It was not your fault that you were given clothes, do you understand? It was your Master Draco who was bad, and so the Malfoy family was punished by having to give you clothes. Do you understand?" _Damn it, you listen to a house-elf too long and you start talking like one! Sodding creatures, I wish whoever taught the first house-elf how to speak had had a better command of the English language!_

Mippy uncovered his face and peeked up at the tall man. "Is Master Draco being safe?"

"Yes, Mippy, Draco is bei- Draco _is _very safe, and he is hiding now because he made Lucius and the snake-man angry." _Oh, now I recognize this one—he's the one that was assigned to Draco's personal needs. That's infinitely better than if he had been Lucius' personal servant or one of the general ones. He may have less loyalty to Lucius than to Draco. I didn't know the elf was related to one in Hogwarts though. Perhaps I could somehow get Minny here to explain things and help Mippy out? _Probably not, although it was a good idea. Hogwarts wasn't exactly a sanctuary for him anymore. Feeling a burst of pain bubble up, Severus was startled when his dark thoughts were interrupted.

"Minny always tells Mippy, when Mippy is sad, Mippy must think of someone Mippy loves." The house-elf was standing now, looking into his eyes, radiating concern and understanding. How was it that house-elves couldn't understand the most basic concepts of not harming themselves and freedom as a good thing and not a bad, and yet were able to glimpse, with amazing ease, the heartache and acidic guilt that lay buried so deep that his own fellow Death Eaters could not see it, and even the Dark Lord could not access it with the strongest Legilimens in the world?

_When Mippy is sad, Mippy must think of someone Mippy loves. _So simple, the mentality of the house-elf, and yet so easy to overlook how elementary, how basic, his advice had been. _Someone he loves. _A girl with gloriously red hair rushed into his head, but was replaced seconds later by twinkling blue eyes. In his mind's eye, Severus saw Albus as he had been—calm, a tower of strength for Severus, almost divinely able to read Severus, occupying with ease a position Severus himself would not want to be in as he ordered and directed troops against a monster, yet human enough to make mistakes, human enough to love. The Albus of his memory offered him a lemon drop and placed his hand on Severus' shoulder, almost as an act of forgiveness—of compassion. The bile that had risen in his throat as his polluted soul had taunted him with memories of his vile deeds subsided—trembling, Severus stumbled into the grimy kitchen and splashed water on his face before gulping down a glass of water. Settling his shoulders firmly, he turned back to his impromptu guest. Said guest was looking at him knowingly, in a house-elf kind of way that Minny often did. _Like sister, like brother, I suppose. _

"Mippy is thinking Master Severus needs taking care of," Mippy stated. Gone was the quivering heap of house-elf who had just been freed against his will. This elf was firm, with a glint of excitement in his eye. "Master Severus has a house he doesn't like, and must clean and clean and put away bad things and bad rememberings. Mippy will stay, and clean and make Master Severus' house have no more bad ghosts in it, and make sure master Severus eats and does not neglect himself."

Raising his eyebrow at the audacity of the house-elf, Severus peered down his nose. "Just what makes you think you'd be welcome in this house, Mippy?"

"Master Severus needs house-elf. Mippy needs Master. Is a perfect match," Mippy declared confidently.

Severus laughed suddenly, the first time he'd done so since he'd murdered his mentor and friend. "I think the Malfoys must breed queer elves. Dobby was quite a handful himself, and I can see that you certainly will be as well. Very well. If you are certain you wish to stay in a ramshackle house with no company but a dour old man, so be it."

The house-elf had the temerity to clap his hands merrily. _Good gracious, I hope Mippy doesn't have a naturally _cheerful _disposition. That would be unacceptable! Although, considering how Lucius knows me, he _would _pick the most irritating and cheerful house-elf to gift to me, in hopes of driving me barking mad. _Groaning, Severus headed off in search of something he could transfigure into an appropriate towel, the grinning house-elf trailing behind like a puppy.

**A.N.: Thank you all for your continued support! You've all been so patient with my slow pace. As always, thank you for those who take the time to review, and to those who think my story worth reading, chapter by chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one. Also, next week's chapter will most likely be delayed by up to a week, unfortunately. I'm flying halfway across the world, moving into my new place, and starting classes again…so I probably won't have time to write, or post. :( **


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters. **

Harry gazed around in wonder. The place wasn't just the dark, verdant green of thriving vegetation, it _smelt _green, like the essence of what 'green' ought to be. The closest he'd ever come to smelling such a scent was—"Are we in the Forbidden Forest?"

"No, Mister Potter. We are in an isolated area of the Queen's Wood. This is where the inductions for the Order of the Phoenix have been taking place—there are many protective wards, circles, and spells in the very ground and tress of this particular area, and we are very careful in coming here. If you are inducted into the Order when you become seventeen, you will return here." Professor McGonagall told Harry in a low voice. "Please do not mention this to any of the others unless you know for a fact that they are Order members themselves—there is a chance several of them will not be inducted into the Order at all, and it is a great privilege that all of you have been allowed to see and use this place for the Blood Rites. The Order is protective of its secrets."

Harry nodded his consent, feeling a twinge of old resentment at the Order's secrecy, especially involving _him. _He hated keeping secrets from his friends. "Not even Ron and Hermione?"

The Transfiguration professor glanced over at where they stood, along with the others who would be participating in the Familia Blood Rites. Was it just the dim, filtered light of the moon, or had a queer expression flitted across her face? Harry stowed that thought away as she turned back to him. "No, I'm afraid not. Not even Ron and Hermione."

"Ron's already seventeen though. Shouldn't he be allowed to join now?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, probably pondering how best to answer the question that had plagued Ron since his seventeenth birthday. _Ron already feels like he's inadequate compared to his brothers and Ginny, and that he's insignificant compared to me, or even to Hermione's brains. The Order should know better, though! Ron's brilliant in his own way—just as scary as Hermione when he's plotting or planning something. _Harry narrowed his eyes at the long pause, and he thought he heard something like a little puff of air escape Professor McGonagall's mouth before she spoke.

"Harry, the Order is not something to be joined like a club or a society. It takes a certain kind of ruthless dedication at the cost, sometimes, of your life, or even the life of the ones you love." McGonagall paused, then continued, "Mister Weasley was discussed in March, when he turned seventeen. Too many of us felt that it was impulsive and rushed to nominate him for induction right after his birthday. Most of us—though not all—joined the Order when we were older and had more experience with life and understood what we were getting ourselves into. Of course, the situation is different for you despite every effort to make it as equal as possible. You are the subject of a very important prophesy. You are the top target of Voldemort. You will most likely be nominated for induction straight away, after your birthday in July. You _will _have to go through the same procedure as every other inductee, and if you cannot prove your worth to the Order, not even Albus could have swayed their minds to let you in. However, we preferred that Mister Weasley be given several months to become accustomed to adulthood. We would rather have years for you and he. Unfortunately, with a war that could swing either way on our shoulders, this will have to do. I have no doubts that the Order will decide to nominate your friend as well, and you will probably undergo the induction together."

Harry blinked at the witch, who was staring at him earnestly with none of the twinkle or humor of her predecessor, but did possess an all-too-familiar upright and strict aura from her classroom. He was grateful for that, somehow. She had given him much more of a straightforward an answer than Dumbledore had ever given him. _Dumbledore. _He both hated and loved the old Headmaster, and it was so confusing. Harry wished that feelings were less complicated. He didn't like the turmoil of thought every time he remembered his mentor. They hadn't told Harry who had killed him, although the most widespread rumor was that it had been _Snape _who had done it. _Snape, _the man who Dumbledore had forgiven and trusted—Harry's anger flared, but he dampened it down. He wouldn't take the rumor for absolute truth until he was told by a reliable source. After all, many of the rumors about Harry were complete lies.

"What about Hermione then?"

Again, that shifty look—Harry was almost certain that he hadn't imagined it this time. What was McGonagall hiding?

She cleared her throat hastily, but her tone was just as lecturing as if she had never been disturbed. "Miss Granger's birthday is not until September. The Order of the Phoenix has only every inducted two people who were below the legal age, and both were unusual circumstances. Miss Granger will not be allowed to be inducted with you and Mister Weasley if it is before her seventeenth birthday. That is quite final. I'm sorry, Mister Potter."

_That's not fair, _Harry wanted to protest. _Hermione's probably better prepared than either me or Ron for the Order! _But McGonagall was already ushering him back to the others, and the reality of what they were about to do rushed back in, making him temporarily forget his complaint. Every person had, while Harry and Professor McGonagall been talking, spread out into a small circle, leaving a small space of un-trampled detritus and forest ground for the two to join them. Remus was there, to his Harry's great delight. Someone must have found a way to make it safe for Remus to participate! Harry reminded himself to thank the person by proxy through McGonagall. That the last man connected to his parents could take part in the family creating ritual was important to Harry, and he suspected it was just as important to Moony. The Chinese man, Li, was in the middle—he would be the bonder and priest, invoking the ancient ritual.

Joining the others, he clasped hands with Ron on his right and Hermione on his left as everyone connected hands. Hermione's was cool and comforting as she exerted a little pressure on his fingers before relaxing. Ron's on the other hand—Harry nearly started chuckling, despite the enormous seriousness of the ritual they were about to undertake. Ron's hand was just as nervous as Ron probably was, too-warm and slightly sticky.

Li smiled reassuringly at him, and with jerk of his hand—the man was wandless!—Harry found himself bound, with thin red threads, to everyone in the circle, a spreading network of lines spanning the circle with a small space in the middle for Li to stand. Surprisingly, he could barely feel the cord encircling his wrists. They rested as lightly as spider-webs. Then the ritual began, and Harry hoped, with a fleeting thought, that his friends didn't mind his profusely sweating palms.

**--break--**

The analyst and organized part of Hermione wanted her to write, in detail, exactly what the ritual had been like. The irrational, emotional soul simply longed to bask in this new joy. She had seen the same emotions reflected on the faces of everyone in the circle when the ritual had been completed, and Harry's most of all. Hermione had nearly cried at the stunned wonder on Harry's face as he felt all the love his friends had for him. _He deserves it, _she thought sadly. _It's a wonder he isn't more permanently scarred from living with his idiot relatives. Maybe he needed the blood protections, but I'm sure Albus could have found another solution, even a variation of this rite, to spare Harry the neglect he suffered growing up. _

Oh, but the spell had been just about the most powerful thing she had ever been a part of, or witnessed! Hermione guessed that it was even more primal and more powerful than the spells the Order of the Phoenix had invoked for her induction. She savored the comforting glow that had been with her since the Familia Blood Rites, glancing out the window at her two best friends shouting and diving and veering dangerously on their broomsticks. She'd never had a sibling before, but she imagined this would be what one felt towards one's brothers, only perhaps more concentrated.

_If only Professor Snape could feel this too! _Hermione chewed her lip and winced as her bottom lip cracked finally and began bleeding. She fished around and found a slightly crumpled tissue, and absently pressed the rustling absorbent paper to her lip, still lost in her thoughts. She guessed they were somewhere in France, probably more towards the south border of the country. She'd requested, in private, a safe house with a large yard in an isolated area that would allow Harry and Ron to fly without fear of discovery or leaving the protection zone, and the Order had risen to the challenge with an absolutely beautiful cottage an hour from the closest small village (in case of an emergency), and in an unfamiliar terrain. Hermione didn't know when she'd begin her Order work as Professor Snape's contact, but she suspected that either Minerva or Li would pop in sometime this week to give her more details. _Professor Snape. Huh. Will I always call him that, even in my mind, I wonder? _Hermione had always striven to show the greatest of respect to any educator, and that included addressing her teachers with their proper title, even in her mind. Now, she was technically their equal in non-school related activities. Albus had given her explicit permission to use his first name, and so had Minerva and Li (or his last name, anyway), which had made the switch easier in her mind. _Would it be so bad if I simply referred to Professor Snape by his first name in the confines of my mind? Especially once I get the hang of Vacuumency—I could consider it an experiment, but maintain his title in speech. _Yes, that would work—Hermione nodded to herself. _Besides, it can only help me with my feelings of inadequacy when it comes to being Professor Snape's contact. No, _Severus. _That's his name. Use it in your head. _It felt uncomfortably presumptuous of her—Hermione crushed that feeling ruthlessly. _Practice makes perfect, just like when I had Ron practice saying "Voldemort" when he had trouble last year. _

Hermione glanced out the window again and saw that her friends—_brothers—_had abandoned whatever game they had been playing in the air in favor of chasing each other on broomstick. Determinedly, she padded over to the desk and pulled out her notebook and a Muggle pen she'd stolen from her mother last summer, one she'd fallen in love with because it fit her hand as if it had been born there. With the soothing pressure of writing utensil against her curled hand, Hermione wrote.

_Familia Blood Rites_

_Background: Subject is male, slightly underweight for age, 1.68m height, sixteen years, no outstanding diseases. Subject had not experienced the corporeal familia love before, parents having died and relatives criminally negligent. Assortment of friends and teachers, numbering in twenty-eight, participated, twenty-nine all together including subject. Location was highly concentrated with residue of previous powerful magics and protective spells. Took place during the waxing moon, the sixth month, year 1997. One of the participants is a Lycanthrope. _

_Ritual: Red thread signifying love and binding connected the wrists of everyone to the subject. Priest stood in the center, chanting the initiation spells in Latin. Beginning from the right of subject and going around the circle, participants pierced their left hand fourth finger with a ritualistically blessed stone knife and shed a drop of blood into the stone bowl levitated in front of them, directed by the Priest wandlessly. When the bowl and dagger reached subject, he shed blood into the receptacle and the base potion and added blood turned a silvery-white. Subject transfigured dagger into stone ladle with wand (holly and phoenix feather, 11'', supple), and ladled out some of the potion, imbibing it. Subject describes it like drinking sunlight—his physical body glowed faintly throughout the rest of the ritual. Subject then Vanished the bowl and ladle, and Priest invoked the final Latin spells. Immediately after last word, the red cords dissolved into thin air, and all participants felt their bared souls brush against the soul of their now brother/son/family member, experiencing intense feelings of awe, love, joy, and empathy. With the Blood Rites over, the circle broke and everyone felt the urge to touch subject, even with just the briefest squeeze of hands or hug, to reaffirm relationship. Participants left soon after._

_Results: Four days after the Familia Blood Rites, subject reports a lessening of grief for loss of a mentor previously, as well as an unusual courage and acceptance of his fate. He is unusually energetic, and has had no nightmares or visions, and also reports a greater degree of tolerance and a lessening of his normally explosive temper. Subject's left side participant reports an increase in ability to concentrate and more confidence. As right side participant of subject, I have noticed a developing sense of acuity, a quicker accumulation of information time, and a stronger desire to simply enjoy the simple things in life such as a sunny day or a well-cooked meal._

_Analysis: It's still too early to tell, and I don't have enough information gathered, but as a preliminary analysis, I would suggest that the Familia Blood Rites have not only been successful in creating a protective blood ward around Harry, but also, to a certain extent, benefited the other participants by enhancing certain traits and skills to boost performance. A possible reason? The stronger each participant is as a person, the stronger the wards hold around Harry Potter, and the more able his newly created family is to protect him when the wards are unable to do so. _

"Hermione!" The boisterous noises of two teenage boys clattering in from the yard alerted her to the end of her two best friends' 'playtime'.

"Coming!" she yelled, slamming the cover of her notebook over her writing and shoving it and the pen inside a drawer. She hurried down the short flight of steps and her face lit up. "Master Li!"

"Ah, you know exactly why I am here, I see," Li said, amused at her enthusiasm. He turned to the boys, who had come in, still clutching their brooms. "Mister Weasley, Mister Potter, in an hour's time one of the Order will arrive and begin to teach you what you will need to know on self-defense—among other things, of course, of which I will not speak of just yet. I would suggest you prepare one of the dueling rooms for her arrival. Perhaps it goes without saying that these lessons will continue the entire summer, and the Order member will be evaluating both of your performances and reporting to the Order of the Phoenix. Both Mister Weasley and Mister Potter will be informed of the Order's decision in allowing you to join after Mister Potter's seventeenth birthday. Miss Granger, the Order has something different in mind for you and since your birthday is not until September, you will not be evaluated at this moment. I will have hand of your education—you'll be learning something different from your friends, so it will be separate lessons, I fear."

_I had wondered just how they were going to explain my exclusion to the boys. They can't very well come out and say they broke their own rules and inducted me before I was seventeen—Harry would throw a fit, improved temper or not. And they would hardly want me studying trainee basics again, not when I have an entire year's worth of material to learn and a spy to get in contact with, not to mention perfecting Vacuumency. I do _not _ever want to lose my emotions entirely again. Although, I wonder, how will the Blood Rites interfere with my Vacuumency? Or will it? I very well might have helped myself by forming a magical and emotional bond with Harry that will not allow me to lose all emotion. _

Ron laughed. "Little Hermione. I bet you're going to be learning stuff that would cause me nightmares to have to learn."

"I am hardly _little, _Ron, despite your abnormal height, and I am actually going to be putting my brain to good use, not having someone beat me up and calling it training."

Ron had shot up in the past year, and he never stopped flaunting it at Hermione. He pulled a face at her, and Harry waved a hand lazily. "Hey, you two, no fighting. I'll hex you both if you disturb my nice, peaceful summer."

"Peaceful, yeah. It sure is peaceful when the Wizarding World is at war and in risk of a megalomaniac who's fixated on you, specifically on your death, and has equally insane and dangerous people out looking for your blood. _Really _peaceful, Harry." Hermione sniffed with exaggeration, and then mimed fainting. "Phew! You two, take a shower or something! You smell like a boy's locker room after a Quidditch game!"

The two glanced at each other in bewilderment before simultaneously leaning closer and sniffing each other. "Smell's fine to me, Harry, what do you think?" Hermione wrinkled her nose as another waft of sweat and the heat of summer greeted her cheerfully.

"Smell's fine to me too, Methinks the lady is delusional. But then, the real question is, how does she know how the boy's locker room smell like?"

Hermione gaped at Harry, and then at Ron as they both clasped their hands behind their backs and stared at her innocently. A little ways away from them, carefully _not _inhaling, Li was doing his best not to begin laughing at his erstwhile pupil and not helping the situation at all. "Why, you…you…argh!" Hermione threw up her hands in despair. "Fine, fine, I'll admit it! I snuck into the boy's locker room this year after the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game! I'll have you know that I was trying to foster a sense of House integration!...among other things, of course, like admire some half-dressed classmates," she added slyly.

"_House integration?" _Ron was so red he was practically blue—Harry had to whack him forcefully to get him to breathe again, he was laughing so hard. Hermione tilted her nose into the air haughtily, then hastily took a step back.

"I fear I shall die of the odor soon if you don't physically remove yourself to the showers," she shuddered dramatically, then enjoyed the comically appalled look of horror on her friends' face as she backed away further, feeling with a bare foot for any chair or rug that might trip her up in her tactical retreat.

"I'm sorry to have to play stern taskmaster, but Misters Potter and Weasley do need to get ready for some physical exertion and Miss Granger does need to begin her lessons with me, so if you will excuse us?" Li interrupted the trio finally and quite regretfully, firmly guiding Hermione down a hallway to where several rooms lay, almost echoingly empty except for several chairs tucked in corners—probably for observers to watch ongoing duels and such. As two sets of thundering feet signaled Harry's and Ron's ascent to, most likely, the bathrooms, Hermione picked one of the rooms at random, and Li closed and locked the door with an audible _click_. "There are specific spells on each dueling room meant to enclose all magic that happens inside from the outside, as well as to prevent outside influences from leaking in. We're able to talk privately here as well."

"Oh, good," Hermione muttered. "Then you can start by explaining just _what _I'm meant to be doing this summer and for the foreseeable future? I didn't quite catch it last time."

Li gave Hermione an unrelenting stare. "Hermione, need I remind you that despite your official status, you are still my student during lessons?"

Hermione flushed—hadn't she just prided herself earlier on her utmost respect for all educators? "Please accept my profuse apologies, Master Li. I did not mean to offend you."

He smiled to take the sting out of the reprimand. "I did inform you that you could call me simply Li, except for when the façade of merely pupil and teacher is needed for non-Order members. You may continue to do so, even within our lessons."

"Okay."

"Now, you wanted a better explanation for your job this summer?"

"Yes, I did," Hermione said eagerly. Li smiled, and waved to the corner of the room, where several chairs lurked, and they sat before he proceeded to go over the basics of her duties as contact again.

"So, do I initiate contact? And when?"

"Yes, Severus and Albus had a means to communicate when he was being Summoned, and I've appropriated the means for your contact." Li dug into his robe and and pulled out a slim box. He opened the cover, but did not reach inside, holding it out for her instead. She groped within the small cardboard box and found beautiful silver lady's watch with a larger-than-normal dial on the side. Puzzled, she surveyed the polished glassy-smooth face of the watch. To her surprise, instead of the time, it read, _As safe as circumstances will allow. _Her wondering face prompted an explanation.

"This watch is attuned to Severus, and now, since you are only the second to touch it, to you. He has a similar watch in the men's version, of course, which you will need to touch to establish two-way contact. It will, just like the Weasley's family clock, tell you about the other person to whom it is adjusted. Just now, Severus seems to be as safe as he can be in the sole company of his fellow Death Eaters, and so the watch reports this condition. If he ever is in mortal danger, the watch will heat up to an almost unbearable temperature and a warning will display on the face. The same will be true if you are in a perilous situation. When Severus was called to Death Eater meetings, he would twirl the dial on his watch once, which would then alert the paired watch by warming just enough for you to notice the difference. To reply, Albus simply pressed his dial once and said a brief message, which was then sent to the display of the other watch."

In awe, Hermione looked at the watch she held with greater respect. "You mean this does of all that? I had something rudimentary a while back for the DA with the Protean Charm, but this is fantastic!"

"This is actually a variation of the Protean Charm. That you were able to do it at all at such a young age proves that the Order was right in inducting you," Li told her.

Trying not to smile widely, Hermione clasped the watch to her wrist, and held up her arm to look at it again. The chilly metal was fast warming to match her skin-heat, and it felt unnaturally light on her wrist, but it fit perfectly.

"You may experiment with it, but the basic functions are what I have already told you—one twirl of the dial means alerts the other watch very subtly, and Severus will probably use it to tell you when he is in the company of Tom Riddle, as well as when he is released from Riddle's presence. He can also press the dial and speak a message to you. And if you twirl the dial three times, the other watch will cool considerably. Albus and Severus never needed to use that signal for anything, but you may wish to assign it some significance since you will be in much less frequent contact with Severus than Albus ever was."

"Very well. When should I set up the first meeting?"

"Any time that is free for you within this week or next—you are, of course, allowed to leave the safe house although the others are not, but I urge you to be discreet when outside. The best route is to use the one fireplace that is connected to the safe house in the living room. It's the one the Order members use, and it is connected only to one other fireplace, in Grimmauld Place. Mister Potter has kindly given us the loan of the house, and so it is one of our headquarters though we move every several months in between places as a preemptive strike against discovery. From Grimmauld Place, you will find several broomsticks that you can use to get you where you need to go."

"Okay," Hermione said uncertainly. _I do hope I don't botch this up too badly! _

Perhaps Li guessed her train of thoughts, because he patted her shoulder kindly. "Don't worry too much about it. You will be a wonderful contact, and Severus can help you on the finer points of the job as you go along. Now, how about we work on your Vacuumency? After the mental work out, the Order member coming to teach your friends is going to come and take a look at your physical performance to make sure you've kept up with your dueling and fighting skills."

Groaning, Hermione settled into the familiar routine of master and pupil and began focusing on that nirvana-peace that Li had _promised _existed without the distortion of no emotion at all.

**--break--**

He inhaled, and could have cried with the beauty of it if he hadn't been the consummate spy for the better part of his life. He'd done nothing but tell Mippy to cook something completely exotic and foreign as the elf could manage, and not half an hour later, the scents that were drifting out of his now fully functional and _clean _kitchen was—simply put—_phenomenal. _

He hadn't wanted the usual fare that he sat down to every day at Hogwarts. He hadn't wanted the fancy foods served at Pureblood functions and dinners. He'd simply wanted a good meal that held no painful memories and could, perhaps, even entice him to eat more than a mouthful or two. And, as the diminutive elf _popped _into the dining room and plunked a ceramic platein front of his nose with a dull _clunk, _he was sure that Mippy must be a miracle worker.

It was a steaming dish of some sort of noodle, flat and rather ragged looking, mixed in with some dark greens and meat he thought was most likely pork. It smelt like nothing he'd ever smelt before, and the unexpected blend of spices immediately took the metallic smell of blood from his nose like it had never been. Eagerly, Severus reached for his fork—and stopped, wondering where it was, and why there were two flimsy wooden sticks in its place.

A cough, low and forced, drew his attention to Mippy, who still stood by his side, arms crossed impatiently around a soft, large towel with a tiny silver insignia of a cauldron with smoke rising up from it. "Mippy, where is my fork?"

"Master is not paying attention to Mippy, Sir. Mippy is wanting to tell Master about Master's food from very very far away, yes indeed, Minny is telling Mippy about so many dishes many homesick children want, oh yes. Minny is having a very good recipe because of young Miss long time ago who misses her mother from far away country, Minny is very impressed with this country. _Thailand, _Minny says it is." Mippy concentrated, and then beamed, jumping up and down twice in excitement at pronouncing the hard country name.

Severus furrowed his brow, peering down at the house-elf, half his mind trying to detect and catalogue the strange new spices within the new dish. "What does this have to do with my fork, Mippy?"

"Oh, but Master is not letting Mippy get to that part!" squealed Mippy. The high-pitched squeal pressed against Severus' eardrums, and he glared. Thankfully, the elf must have gotten the picture because he continued in his high, childish voice, "Mippy is learning from Minny about how young Miss from long ago wants to eat meal with _wands! _Minny is very confused, but young Miss tells Minny that it is how people in _Thailand _eat, with this…_chops." _

_Chops? _Severus vaguely recalled reading a disgusting Muggle magazine once, when he had been bored to tears during the summer. One of the articles had praised the opening of a new restaurant with Asian cuisine who forced all customers to use wand-like utensils, bits of twig sanded smooth, to pick up food and eat it. Somehow, _chops _did not seem right, but then house-elves often distorted the names of things. He'd look it up later, Severus supposed, if only for the sake of knowing just what in Merlin's name Mippy was referencing. It wouldn't do to be less educated than his own house-elf!

"Mippy, bring me my fork now. I refuse to put myself up to this foolishness!" he barked angrily, tired of being taunted by the smell of the meal and the inaccessibility of it. Unexpectedly, the elf's ears drooped, and a mutter that might have been a _yes, Master, _drifted to his ears as the elf trudged away, not even bothering to pop in the way it had been doing dramatically around the house since he'd arrived, despite the unimpressive size of the house at Spinner's End.

Severus didn't know what prompted him then—in later years, he'd look back on it with a mixture of disbelief and thankfulness. Because, for some completely unknown reason, he called out, "Wait! Mippy!" When the house-elf turned to stare at him with large brown eyes, he cursed under his breath, and then said carefully, "Perhaps you would tell me how this young student managed to used these _chops _to eat?"

More food was dropped than made it to his mouth, but eventually Severus was full and staring rather bemusedly at the torture device clutched in his hand that disguised itself as a pair of flimsy sticks, and at the remarkable mess he'd made—the most he'd made at the dinner table since he'd been a child, in fact! But as he trudged up to his newly cleaned bedroom to change out of his stained attire and turned out his light after checking his watch to make sure no message had been left for him by his yet unknown contact, Severus reflected that he hadn't felt so normal and unburdened since Albus' eyes had slid shut on a damned day several weeks ago. _I do not deserve the distraction. I ought to be on my knees, unable to sleep, haunted by what I've done, _Severus thought bitterly, a wash of desolation erasing the ease he'd felt at dinner as he forgot himself temporarily in his quest to master the unfamiliar utensils. But, breathing in the dry, magically-cooled night air of his bedroom, Severus fell asleep before he could even finish wallowing in guilt.

It might have been repentance for having almost enjoyed himself at dinner time, but Severus' dreams that night were filled with the taste of coppery-sweet blood and the stench of death and whisky and rancid beer, and the screams of the innocent burning along with the damned, and when the buzz of his alarm jerked him awake and away from a hypnotic snake with sky-blue eyes, Severus nearly ran in his haste to get away from the bed and the scene of his night terrors.

**A.N.: So sorry about the long wait! I flew across the world, got sick, moved in, organized my life, and started classes and now I'm getting better so…here's your new chapter! Reviews are sunshine on a cloudy day. :) Oh, and one more thing. When I first began figuring out ages and birthdays and chronology, I completely mixed myself up before coming to some semblance of order. Thus, if you noticed that the ages for Harry, Hermione, and Ron are all sort of moved back so that Ron is the eldest, and Hermione the youngest (in canon it's Hermione who is the oldest, a September baby) just…pretend that it's true, okay? It's too worked into my plot to change now, and the whole who's old enough go to the year above in school instead of one below has never been my favorite topic of thought. **


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its materials.**

"It's not fair. Why does Hermione get to go, when Harry and I are stuck here in Merlin knows where, with Danielle Corwin beating on us daily and Hestia Jones waiting to pounce on our minds at any odd time!"

Hermione pulled her hair back and began braiding it viciously—it was being uncommonly stubborn these days, and the sticky heat made her fervently want to get it all out of her face and back and neck, even if it meant looking ridiculous. "I told you already, Ronald, that Master Li needed me to do something I simply couldn't do here. A special project. I'll be disappearing infrequently to oversee it over the summer, and if it's not finished by the end of summer, I'll probably be doing the same thing when we return to Hogwarts next year." She finished off her braid, and snapped the tie around it, making both boys jump with the sharp sound.

"And honestly, Ron, I thought we'd gone over this before—it's Unspeakable Corwin and Madame Jones, give them their proper titles of respect! Actually, it's Madame Corwin as well, since only very few people know she's an Unspeakable. Still, they haven't given you permission to use their names, and it's not polite to do so. It's presumptuous, even if they are friendly."

"Friendly!" Harry scoffed, raking a hand throw his messy (as always) hair. Hermione noted gladly, by the reflection of the mirror, that the boy whom she loved as a brother (_and whom I am now tied to in such a way, magically) _was looking much better for having only spent just under a week away from the Dursleys and only a little more since he'd come out of the protective trance-like state he'd been in after seeing Albus die. She was only thankful, now, that they hadn't reached the tower several seconds earlier. She didn't think it would be conducive to Harry's mental or psychological health if he'd seen the actual act. As it was, Harry had spent two days raging over "that bastard git Snape," and then calmed down and remembered who had ordered the attack in the first place. It had, of course, helped that Remus had made a brief visit and talked to Harry privately. Hermione didn't know what had been said, but both had come out of the room swollen-eyed and solemn, arms around each other, and Harry had seemed less angry afterwards, even able to discuss Professor Snape without bursting into an angry tirade.

"Hestia Jones and Danielle Corwin—excuse me, Hermione, _Madames _Corwin andJones—_friendly? _I swear, after our practice sessions with Corwin, I feel like every bone in my body is broken, and Jones is, if anything, even more brutal than _Snape _was with Occlumency!"

"They aren't easy things to learn, Harry," Hermione defended, beginning to pin the braid up. "Both of them were chosen because they are two of the best in dueling and mind magic. It requires a certain amount of harshness to be able to learn the lessons."

Ron grunted, rubbing his shoulder where the last practice had dislocated his joint. Magic had fixed it quickly, but the residual ache wouldn't go away for a day or two. "I'd say they're _very _hard, not just _not easy. _But she's right, mate, we do need the poundings. What _I _don't get is what is so important with Li and your special project that you can't join us in practices anyway. You need to learn defense too, both mind and magic."

_Ah, I'd been expecting this. _Hermione stuck the last pin in her hair and stood up, turning to face her friends. "I'm learning something just as crucial, Ron, and I can assure you, I will be just as proficient at defending myself physically, mentally, and magically as both of you—in a different manner, so to speak, but I am not neglecting my defense. Master Li has been very adamant about it." Ruefully, she shrugged. "In fact, he's probably just as strict as your teachers, if not worse. _And _there's the extra work I get to do as well…" she trailed off, and Harry examined her with vivid green eyes.

"Are you sure you can handle all of this, Hermione? Besides your learning whatever it is with Li, and your special project, and the Order wanting you to take your NEWTs by the end of the summer? You'll be awfully busy."

Hermione sighed. "I know, I'm an overachiever and I always take on more things than I have time for. But Harry, let's face it—the Order _has _been watching all of us carefully, and you know that they always try to put recruits into the positions that best serves them. And if that means my having to go on no sleep and maybe even borrow a time-turner again, I'd do it, because we need all the help we can get to defeat that monster that calls himself lord."

Firmly, she met Harry's bright eyes, and then Ron's more muted ones. When Harry slumped, she relaxed slightly, a huff of air barely escaping her lips.

"We know, Hermione, it's just that…aw, heck, I thought we'd be doing this thing together, you know?" Ron nodded emphatically in agreement with Harry's statement, and Hermione winced inwardly at just how much Harry and Ron didn't know. _I can't help that. It's for the best. Although, Merlin help me and the Order when they are inducted and find out about me..._outwardly, she grimaced empathetically.

"I know. I thought so too. But I guess the Order thought it would be best to do it like this, and it probably is."

The boys scowled, following her striding steps as she snatched her bag off her bed and made for the stairs. Then Harry brightened again. "Hey, at least we're allowed to do magic now!"

Ron smirked in a superior fashion. "_I _have been able to do magic outside of school for months, now," he reminded Harry.

"Oh shut it, Ron," Harry groused in a good-natured manner.

"I do wonder, though, how they managed to convince Scrimgeour to allow the trace be taken off our wands," Ron said thoughtfully. Hermione, reaching for the small bag of Floo powder Master Li had given her (with the private admonishments to keep it well away from her two mischievous friends), choked. When the boys turned towards her enquiringly, Hermione shook her head mutely, feigning innocence. _It wouldn't do, after all, to be telling them _just _exactly _how _Hestia Jones had _convinced _Minister Scrimgeour. That had been told in confidence, female Order member to female Order member. Harry and Ron really don't need to know what kind of dalliances the Minister of Magic enjoys with his Ministry workers! _

Instead, she took out a pinch of Floo powder and placed the pouch securely into a pocket of her robes again, and then smiled at Harry and Ron. "Well, I'm off. Oh, and before I leave—I do believe that you might stick around, since Master Li informed me that certain visitors are due any minute." Hermione tossed the powder into the fire, watched the flare of green, and then stepped into the flames and was whirled away.

Grimmauld Place was crowded with red-heads. Cheerfully, Hermione threw her arms around Ginny, allowed herself to be jostled around by the various Weasley boys—she counted four, and realized that Bill and Charlie must have both gotten time off their jobs to come—and squashed by Mrs. Weasley's hug. "Hoy there, Hermione! How are our little brothers doing?" cried Fred.

"Not too much-"

"Trouble, we-"

"Hope!" finished George, grinning manically at her. Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

"Honestly, you two! One would think your mother had dressed you in identical clothing past your tenth birthday, to leave you two with practically one brain and one mouth!"

George turned to Mrs. Weasley solemnly. "Mum, did you dress us the same after we grew up?"

"Of course I didn't! How would I be able tell you apart if I didn't dress you differently?"

Fred clapped a hand to his heart dramatically. "Alas! Our own mother cannot tell us apart!"

"Don't be silly, Fred."

"I'm George!"

"Sorry, dear."

"_I'm _George!" said the other twin, gaping in horror at his mother, and then at his brother.

"Sorry, bro, you've just been replaced."

George—the second one, Hermione amended—looked affronted, and sniffed. "Well, at least you're admitting that being George is _much _better than being Fred."

"What, this old body? Nah, Fred is so much sexier."

"George is!"

"No, Fred!"

"George!"

"Gred!"

"Forge!"

"Gre-…uh, I've lost track of which one I am."

Shaking her head in amusement, Hermione reached over and smacked them both on the head.

"Ow!"

"Watch it, woman!"

Crossing her arms, Hermione informed them, "You're twins. _Identical _twins. You're so twin-like that you're practically interchangeable. Therefore, the conclusion must be that you're _both _equal in your appeal." Hermione paused theatrically. "None at all!"

This time, it was George—the _real _George—who mimed shock. "Hermione, you slay us! Wounded mortally by a woman, I perish without ever having tasted the joys of a full life…" He promptly fell over, apparently dead.

Ginny nudged him with a foot, and then snorted. "Well, what are we waiting for? _Puppy pile!" _And Hermione watched to her supreme entertainment as every single Weasley—including the Pater and Mater of the family—sprung on top of their fallen brother, squirming and tickling and squealing with glee.

Beside her, Hestia cackled in mirth. "Ah, Weasley family tradition. Don't ask. Or at least, that's what Arthur told me some time ago when I was first introduced to his family."

Hermione nodded, eyes sparkling as she heard muffled protests from George and watched Ginny's elbow come into contact with Bill's stomach. "It looks rather violent. No wonder people have trembled at the mention of the Weasley army."

"No wonder," Hestia agreed, surveying the heap of Weasleys.

Mrs. Weasley was the first to emerge, panting, her pinned-up hair falling down in pieces. She clambered out of the pile of her children and husband, and made her way over to the two non-Weasley family members. "I'm dreadfully sorry about this," she said, patting at her hair helplessly.

"Nonsense, Mrs. Weasley. It's great to see, actually," Hermione told the red-cheeked woman.

"Molly, please," she corrected, winking at Hermione conspiratorially.

_Oh yes, she's an Order member. I'd almost forgotten—none of the Weasleys were at the induction itself, or the soiree afterwards, and they never talked to me about it. _They must have heard from Hestia, or someone else. She wondered why they hadn't come to the induction party—it was obvious from their absence that none of them were High Council members, but she'd have thought they would be at the introductory mingling some time after. Perhaps they'd been busy then—there had not been the full Order there after all, not with so many on long-term missions and with other plans.

"Molly, then," she acknowledged as Mr. Weasley came up to them, followed by Ginny, and then the others.

"And you must call me Arthur," Mr. Weasley announced, smiling at Hermione as he wrapped an arm around his wife.

"Thank you, Arthur. It's an honor."

Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie all looked knowing. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at the thought of any of them becoming spies—Professor Snape would have pulled out all his hair in frustration, she rather thought. _Although in a pinch, Fred and George might learn faster than their siblings. They've certainly got the art of sneaking around down to perfection, with all the pranks they've played! _Ginny, the only non-Order member in the room, didn't seem to catch the big grins on her family's faces, thank Merlin.

Luckily, Molly interrupted the 'grin-at-Hermione' session by asking anxiously, "Are Ron and Harry okay? Have they been eating well?"

Bill snorted, and murmured loudly, "It's Ron, Mum. Of _course _they're eating well!"

Ignoring Bill, Molly looked at Hermione, and Hermione smiled reassuringly. "They are just fine, and eating _very _well. They don't know who is coming to visit, but they do know someone is coming, so I'd hurry to see them." She motioned towards the fireplace.

"What about you?" demanded a feminine voice. Ginny stared pleadingly at Hermione. "You can't leave me with all these boys and only Mum as the only female!"

Beside Hermione, Hestia muttered, "What am I, chopped meat?"

Ginny blushed furiously. "I'm sorry, Madame Jones. I forgot…uh…that is…I mean—"

Hestia waved it off. "Never mind, young Weasley. I've had enough affirmation of my gender recently, anyway." She smirked at Hermione and Hermione cringed, wishing that Hestia had chosen _not _to share that piece of girl gossip with her while waiting for Danielle to finish with the boys.

"Ginny, I wish I could come too and spend time with all of you," Hermione stated. "But I really do have to look after a project for someone, and it's really important. And I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. Have fun with the boys this afternoon, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can," she promised. Hestia took that as her cue to take the Floo powder from the mantle and passing it around. With another rueful round of goodbyes, Hermione left the Weasleys and Hestia, and entering the faded hallway, took a deep breath. _Right. Now comes the hard part. _Hermione went to the entrance of Grimmauld place, where, as she'd been promised, the most reliable broom of the Order was leaning. _Flying. Heavens, I never thought I'd willingly mount another broom. _But _that _thought brought back the vivid images Hestia had described gleefully, and Hermione flushed once more. Professor Snape's trick for keeping blushes away just wasn't good enough to overcome acute embarrassment of this sort!

After several extensive spells and Glamours, Hermione felt more confident that she wouldn't be recognized. She'd kept it as simple as she could, sticking with her brown eyes and height. She'd merely darkened her skin tone several shades and lightened her hair to more of a mousy blonde-brown, adding freckles and—the hardest of the spells—a squarer jaw and longer nose. Warily, Hermione picked up the broom as if it would turn into a dog and bite her. It didn't, so she sighed and grasped the solid wood of the handle firmly, opening the door to the street. Outside, Hermione checked her message-watch instinctively in case she hadn't felt it alert her. It had no message from Professor Snape, so she assumed their meeting was still on in the arranged time and place.

As she feared, the broom ride was enough to make her stop just before the city-proper to vomit into the prim-looking topiary bushes. _I hate heights! I hate motion sickness! _Wiping her mouth with trembling fingers, Hermione grimaced at the foul taste and gratefully dug out a sugar quill, popping the end into her mouth. She had prepared for the worst, and Hermione knew from long experience that any type of traveling motion—be it broom, car, or plane—would induce sickness on the very worst occasions, especially if she already had an upset stomach; and Hermione had been very nervous indeed already. She _Evanesco'd _the mess, feeling sorry for having heaved her last meal on the artistic shrubs outside someone's house. The least she could do was erase the evidence.

She'd flown fast enough that she wouldn't be late, and Hermione decided she'd walk the last stretch of dreary housing complexes at Spinner's End to reach the address she'd been told to find, rather than fly the short distance and risk throwing up on Professor Snape when she made contact. After the initial weak spell induced by the motion sickness and subsequent expelling of her breakfast, Hermione fell into a brisk rhythm of walking, and soon reached her destination. She inhaled the still, simmering air that seemed to steal energy from the living things enveloped in it.

The house she'd been directed to was invisible, of course, and she felt the subtle _go away _urges. Glaring at the nothing that was messing with her mind, Hermione looked once more at the display on her watch. _No. 134 Spinner's End. _The cobwebs across her mind suddenly dissolved into dust and thin, filtered sunlight through the smog of the factories nearby. Hermione looked up once more, and was confronted by a rundown, decrepit house, stained grey by the pollution of the industrial city it was in, an exact replica of every other house on the street. It looked abandoned. Steeling her resolve, Hermione marched up to the front door and rapped it sharply.

_Clunk. Clunk. _The sound seemed to die a rapid death within the thick wood of the door—Hermione wondered whether anyone on the other side would even be able to hear it at all. But her fears were unfounded when, precisely two seconds later, it was all but thrown open, shuddering from the force with which it had slammed against the wall. A squeaky voice drew her attention towards the floor to where—how odd! a house-elf?—stood. "Mippy welcomes Missy to home and hearth, Miss! Please come in!"

The elf—Mippy—jumped up and down in glee, beckoning. Hermione cautiously entered, bewildered. A vague thought bubbled up—_the house-elf reminds me of the Jack-in-the-box my father bought me for Christmas one year! _Suppressing a hysterical giggle, Hermione stepped inside a room, and found herself in a small, cramped, living room. And beyond the door, standing with his rigid back towards her as he poured a cup of tea, was Severus Snape.

"Would you like a cup?" Professor—_Severus—_turned around, holding the pot politely.

"Yes, please. Two sugars—"

"And plenty of milk, not cream. Yes, I remember you telling me your preference for no reason at all several months ago—_Miss Granger." _He didn't show his surprise at her appearance in his living room, disguised in all but voice (which is how he'd recognized her), but Hermione had learnt to pay attention to the little details, one of which was that the man had instinctively stiffened further than she'd thought possible, and through his voice and face was neutral now, she would stake five galleons that his eyebrow had shot up at her familiar voice while his back was turned to her and she couldn't see.

But she did not comment on his unease, although she wished he would relax like he'd done before in her presence, like she was a trusted friend. "I wanted to know more about you, and the mannerly thing to do is to exchange information for information," she told him instead.

"Well, I wager you probably do not want to _know _more about me anymore, thank Merlin for small mercies," the dark man gritted out, sloshing the milk liberally into her cup and stirring furiously.

_What? Is _that _why he's so unhappy? He thinks that he has no more friends because of what he was forced to do? _Hermione ignored the last hastily thrown in barb at her inquisitiveness at the end, and instead very firmly stated, "I still want to get to know you, Professor Snape. I consider you someone I can trust, someone I can enjoy spending time with, and someone who is a phenomenal teacher. I'm sorry you won't be teaching again next year, it _is _my NEWTs year you know…"

At her feeble attempt at a joke, Professor Snape turned around incredulously, nearly knocking over his cup. "You _trust _me? You would trust Albus Dumbledore's murderer? It is obvious you haven't learnt a thing from my lessons, Miss Granger. I can't imagine why they'd send a little schoolgirl to do an adult's job here. You should go back and tell Li to find someone competent."

Stung, Hermione scowled. "I _trust _you because I know that however much Albus Dumbledore was a manipulative old windbag, he loved you and you loved him just as fiercely. I know it would have taken a huge sacrifice, of placing Albus' desires before your own, to kill your friend and mentor. And I know that Li has assured me of your allegiance to the Light, Albus never wavered in his belief, and my time spent under your tutelage in enough proof that you would not have ever willingly killed Professor Dumbledore. Not unless the other option for him was worse than death. So you can bitch and moan about how despicable you are and take it out on me by calling me incompetent and little—which you know very well I'm neither—but Li sent me here to do a job with a person I respect, and whether or not you lose that respect by feeling sorry for yourself for what you had to do on the Astronomy Tower is entirely up to you."

There was a dreadful silence, as Hermione slowly realized that _she'd just told off Professor Snape, _and then Professor Snape dropped the disdainful expression in his eyes to one of mingled chagrin and surprise—even contemplativeness? "My apologies, Miss Granger," he murmured. "You are, indeed, grown up and fully capable of an adult's responsibilities. Please forgive me."

_Did…did Professor Snape just ask me to _forgive _him? _Hermione searched her brain, and couldn't come up with a single word to describe her shock. Numbly, she said, "Sure, let's just forget this every happened. Friends?" _You're being too bold, _her mind tutted. _Too forward, offering friendship to the intimidating bat of a professor, the same man who can kill his best friend if he needs to…_but Professor Snape was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before (which technically he hadn't since she was wearing a Glamour) and slowly, his hesitant words filtered through her consciousness.

"I do not see how—or why—you would wish to inflict me on yourself," he said seriously, "but if you wish me as a friend then a friend I shall be when you need me."

**A.N.: …well…I hope you liked the meeting between Severus and Hermione (finally!). It was slightly less explosive than I'd planned, but this is how it turned out and I rarely question my muses for fear of driving them completely away, so…please review! Oh, and the observant BrieB pointed out a minor mistake I made back in chapter 29- I've changed the original tool intended for the Blood Rites from steel to silver, and then it was changed by the characters from silver to stone to accommodate Remus. Thanks, BrieB! **


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. They remain the property of JKR, etc etc.**

"The Dark Lord has been in an uncommonly good mood since…since Albus died," Professor Snape said, and Hermione frowned, making a note in the small, charmed notebook she had brought with her (and that Professor Snape had sneered at, making a comment on how Miss know-it-all had to always be over-prepared for things).

"That's not good. Harry's recovered from the shock and the grief, although he's still sad of course, but I think it's time for the Order to give as good as it gets and prove that Albus' death wasn't the end of the Order itself, or our fight. What do you think?"

"You called him Albus," Severus remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione nodded, twirling her Muggle ball point pen in her fingers. "Yes, he gave me permission to do so several months before his death. Besides—" she grinned unexpectedly, and Severus blinked at the flash of childish glee in the face of the woman he'd become accustomed to as a serious and intelligent adult. "Didn't I tell you? I'm a full Order member now, so I can call those in the Order by their first names."

"When did this happen? You still had lessons to finish!"

"I do still," she admitted, "but it's just the Vacuumency control with Li that I have to take now. They 'graduated me' into full membership because of what happened, and because they needed me as your handler and they couldn't rightfully give me a full Order job and not the position and respect and privileges it entails as well. So I am an actual Order member, and the only time I am not one is when I'm in lessons with Li or faking in front of Harry and Ron. Which is going to be finished soon, because both of them are going to be inducted the day after Harry's birthday, and then we can tell them that I'm an Order member and that my parents are still alive, even if I can't tell them about you or about my position within the Order as a handler."

Severus pondered that, and tried not to grimace. "You seem eager to tell your…friends the truth. I have never been able to train that Gryffindor part of you out," he commented.

"I can keep secrets, I just hate doing it," Hermione acknowledged. "Harry and Ron are not just my best friends, they're my brothers, and it's hard to keep something so big from them when I know they're mature enough to hold my secret for me. They wouldn't be able to a year ago, but now…now they would be able to, and it's hard not to just blurt my deception out. Perhaps that's why I prefer being a handler to a spy. To be a handler, one has to know all the rules for being a spy and to utilize them but only in protection of their contacts. Whereas, you have a harder position. I don't think I'd ever be able to do what you've done for us, for the Order."

Uncomfortable with the sudden praise and admiration in her brown eyes, Severus cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose as a full Order member you now have the right to call me Severus rather than Professor. It is a rather superfluous title at this point, anyway," he ended bitterly, but shook of his melancholy and self-disgust with effort as Hermione's smile lit up his room.

"Oh, thank you—Severus. It's nice to finally be on a little bit of equal ground, I'll admit," she smiled, waving her pen around. "Now you can't take House points or give detentions, I can tell you whatever I like…"

He eyed her with disfavor. "Kindly do not push _that _too far, or you may find out to your detriment that there are other ways of punishment."

"Yes Sir," she laughed, and they continued with their discussion of the Dark Lord's current actions (nothing but basking in the enjoyment of the world's fear and loss) and how the Order could shake his complacency and happiness.

"He's hinted at a further reward for me other than just Mippy," Severus told Hermione as she was preparing to leave, having jotted down some impressions and ideas for a counterstrike as well as the troublemakers among the Death Eaters at the moment. "Usually, his rewards are distressing and wholly distracting, so if I find that it inconveniences our meetings in anyway I shall let you know by the watch."

"Very well. I shall plan on hearing from you if anything important happens, and we can schedule another face-to-face meeting again soon so I can let you know what the Order decides to do. Take care, Severus," Hermione told the man briskly, slipping the notebook and pen into a bag.

"And you," he responded courteously, walking with her to the door where she picked up the broom with much distaste.

"Until next time!" She sighed, mounted the dratted broom, and regretfully began her trek back to Grimmauld Place.

**--break--**

Still slightly green in the face from his ordeal (whoever in the fucking world had come up with such a grueling process to get inducted to the Order ought to be strung up, Ron decided), the lanky teen sympathetically watched as Harry shook himself out of the glazed funk he'd been in since _his _ordeal. Judging by his own, Ron thought that Harry's must have been hell. _Sure, they're great to see who has the balls to belong to the Order of the Phoenix, but damn, they turn you inside out and wring you dry emotionally, mentally, physically…_Ron contemplated as the jubilant crowd of High Council members swept him and Harry towards their latest Headquarters. _High Council—I didn't know the Order had levels of rank! And now Harry and I are on the very bottom-most, ready to work our way up—no special allowances for the Boy-Who-Lived! _Ron was glad, and he rather suspected that Harry was too. They didn't want any special allowances, not just because Harry was the baby who'd somehow mysteriously vanquished some great evil once, or because he was presumably fated to do so again or die himself. And Ron—well, Ron had worked hard for everything all his life. He had had to, as the youngest boy among so many kids. Just because he'd made life-long friends with a famous kid didn't mean he was suddenly afforded privilege now, and it shouldn't be that way either.

_But now we're Order members, fair and square, and no one can say we didn't earn it, not when we passed their damned ordeals and tests and initiation! _Ron grinned jubilantly, then winced as one of his muscles popped painfully in his back. _Oh, my aching body…_

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place," he heard Master Li say quietly, and a hush fell over the assorted group of people as the temporary Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix slowly filled in, like a child's drawing, first the solid black outlines and then the wash of various colors filling the picture in. When the entire picture had solidified, Master Li reached out a wrinkled thin hand and knocked. "It is the High Council of the Order of the Phoenix, with new initiates," he murmured in response to an inquiry Ron hadn't heard from the other side of the door. Master Li cocked his head to the side, listening to the low voice, and then smiled delightedly. "Why, it's a large and extremely playful otter, my dear."

_Otter? But Hermione's Patronus is an otter…_and the door swung open easily, and a familiar-looking bushy head of hair haloing a small, delicate face and stubborn chin stood in the entrance, beaming at him and Harry.

**--break--**

"I can't believe you didn't tell us," Ron muttered for the fiftieth time.

"Forget you not telling us, I can't believe that they _let _you join before you turned seventeen," Harry added in a disgruntled voice—also for the fiftieth time. They'd been having similar dialogues throughout the entire night, and Hermione was starting to become slightly tired of Harry's and Ron's incredulous "I can't believe…" statements.

"I can't believe you can't drop it," she replied in exasperation. "Honestly, boys, I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you and I'm sorry I did get a special advantage, but they needed skills that I could uniquely learn or offer them."

"And here I thought it would be Harry getting preferential treatment," Ron grumbled irately.

"Ron…"

"Alright, alright, I'll shut up now." He held up his hands in surrender and retreated to the refreshments table to console himself with his favorite panacea, food.

Sighing, Hermione turned to Harry worriedly. "Harry, are you certain you're not mad or…"

Harry rubbed his thigh, where a particularly livid green-black bruise was slowly fading, courtesy of Madame Pomfrey's bruise balm. "Well, I'm not particularly thrilled," he acknowledged, "And I don't like that the Order would enlist your help before you even turned seventeen. And I wish you could tell us just _what _you're doing for the Order anyway." He looked at her hopefully, but she shook her head regretfully and he shrugged, ignoring the Order member at his elbow who was trying to get his attention. "But I guess I'd have done the same thing as you did if the Order had approached me with that kind of offer, so I can't blame you for doing it, or keeping it from us."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione allowed herself to bask in the dimmed but still-strong glow of _family, love, _that resided in her chest—her magical tie to Harry. She flung her arms around her friend. "Thanks, Harry."

Awkwardly, Harry patted her back and then eased her off of him. "Er, I think I'm going to pull Ron off the refreshments now," he muttered, discomfited, hurrying off before she could hug him again. Hermione grinned at his retreating back idiotically.

**--break--**

"I want a demonstration." Ron stuck his chin out stubbornly, and brother or not, Hermione wanted very badly to belt him in the face like she'd done to Draco before. _Cool, calm, I am stone, I am peaceful still water…oh, hell. _

"I haven't gotten to see you in action before," remarked Danielle soberly, eyes sparkling with repressed humor. "Harper mentioned that he'd had a hard time keeping up with you when you still shared lessons."

Hermione vowed to find and kill Christopher Harper in her next free moment. Right now, she was trapped between an obstinate Ron, a pleading Harry, and a Danielle bent on humiliating her. "It really isn't the best time," she tried.

"It's summer hols. You don't have any outstanding engagements with whatever Li has you doing, and he can't come today so you don't have lessons with him until tomorrow. When could you find a better time?"

"Danielle…"

"Please, Hermione?" Harry widened his liquid green eyes.

"Please, Hermione?" Danielle echoed, turning red with the need to hold in her laughter.

"Yeah, come on, Hermione," Ron challenged. "I bet you the last piece of chocolate pie that we're having tonight that Cor- that Madame Corwin will put you on your ass."

"Language, Ronald!"

"Sorry."

Hermione sighed. It was no use. They were bent on forcing her to perform like a dancing bear. She was so going to kill Ron later for having brought up this topic as she had observed Harry and Ron in their defense-offense lesson with Danielle. "Fine. What style?"

Harry and Ron cheered—Danielle winked, and rubbed her hands in excitement. "Free-for-all, dirty fighting allowed. Harper's description of your abilities were practically rhapsody-worthy, and I want to see you in your full form before I'm satisfied you were taught by the expert." _By Severus, _Hermione added silently. _By experience. By practice and despair and the knowledge that there was no other option but up. _But Danielle wouldn't say that, especially not in front of Harry and Ron.

"All right. You'll probably beat me anyway," Hermione muttered, transfiguring her comfortable loose jeans and t-shirt into her usual work-out attire.

"We'll see. Harry, Ron, I want you to go to the observation corner and _don't interfere. _Watch the fight carefully, I'm going to be quizzing you about it later—make note of what you know and don't know, the tactics and moves you see that I've taught you, etcetera," Danielle instructed as she and Hermione warily faced each other, wands at a ready position.

**--break--**

When Harry and Ron had made it to the observation post (where an automatic shielding would deflect any flying spell or curse), it was Harry who signaled the start. "Begin!"

He had barely finished the word when the two females were a blur of flying spells and action. Harry watched in awed fascination as Hermione _flowed, _her body wrenching around to duck, roll, and come up off the ground in a perfect maneuver of a defensive move he and Ron had garnered numerous bruises from in their attempts to master it. He knew Corwin's style by now—it was a fierce, bulldog-type fighting style, a relentless advancing on a victim with an endless barrage of dangerous spells, forcing her prey into an untenable, indefensible position. But for the first time, he saw _Hermione _fight, and it was as if he were watching water move. She made everything look easy, even as she took a hit and went down again.

Beside him, Ron caught his breath as a slash of Corwin's wand shoved Hermione into a corner, opening a bleeding gash in her wand-arm shoulder. But instead of falling under the constant spells shepherding her into the direction Corwin wanted her to go, Hermione seemed to _slide _in-between two oncoming spells, a third missing her head by a hair, and suddenly she was right next to her opponent, and a blur of motion that Harry wasn't fast enough to catch had Corwin's wand _dropping _from limp fingers, and then Corwin was narrowing her eyes as her other hand came up, a spell launching itself from her hand to be blocked by Hermione as Corwin's wand, in her other clutched fist, disappeared entirely.

_What just happened? _Harry became aware of his open mouth, and quickly shut it before Ron could notice, although judging by Ron's goggling eyes, he wasn't that far off from gaping like an idiot too. _I never knew Hermione could fight like that…_said girl was skillfully attacking now, not giving Corwin a pause in which to turn the tables on her. _Then _another change of pace, as Corwin wandless spell—_who had told Harry that wandless magic was extremely hard and clumsy to wield in battle? It certainly didn't seem that way!—_snaked around to yank the wand from Hermione's palm. But Hermione launched herself after the wand, but not aiming for the stick of wood but for Corwin herself, her lunge coming in just as the wand landed in Corwin's outreached hand, and the two women were grappling physically now, the wand knocked to the floor by Hermione's flying leap and forgotten—_damn, _that had been close! Harry dared not blink as a twist had Hermione going down, only to bring Corwin down with her. He could barely make out _anything _now, hampered by tangle of limbs that the women had tumbled into, but a breath and a strangled shout later, they froze just long enough for Harry to see who had won.

Hermione and Madame Corwin separated, breathless and panting and red-cheeked, but both grinning ecstatically. Harry couldn't understand it, the enjoyment he saw both witches take from their vicious fight. All he could think about was how it could have ended up differently, could have ended in someone's injury or death out there against Death Eaters, could have been bloody and pain-filled and nightmarish…but Ron was speaking now, his voice an octave higher in amazement, and Harry tried to clear away the haze of mingled guilt and anguish and the vision of Sirius falling, blank-eyed, Dumbledore crumpling soundlessly…

"_Wow! _Bugger me, Hermione,where'd you learn that? Bloody hell and hellfires, you were _thisclose _to _beating _Madame Corwin!"

Smiling ruefully, still riding high on the exhilarating free-fight of the type she hadn't had the opportunity to test so thoroughly since Prof—Severus—had still been teaching her, Hermione caught up a clean towel, tossing one over to Corwin. She swiped at her hot face. "I'm out of practice in real fighting," she muttered. "Time was, I'd have actually remembered my wand…"

"Birdbrain. It was two inches from my hand when you took me down," Corwin lectured. Then she put her hand on her hip indignantly. "Just where did you Banish my wand to?"

"Useful trick, isn't it? My signature move," Hermione replied without a trace of chagrin. "It's safe, don't worry—I just sent it to a small locked and shielded box at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake."

"_What?"_

"Well when I started to work the move into my repertoire, I needed a safe place for the wands to go. Don't tell anyone where the wands go, mind you—it's easy enough to Summon if you know where the wand is. Go ahead, try it."

Madame Corwin skeptically flicked her—Hermione's—wand. It responded sluggishly, obviously unhappy at being in someone else's hand but unable to do anything but bend to the will of it's wielder. A second or two later, Harry saw the dark wood of Madame Corwin's wand materialize in the air in front of her. Their instructor snatched it gleefully.

"That's where I Banish all the wands I can," Hermione informed them, then hesitated. "You're welcome to do the same if you can work it into a fight, but very few people know about the box because the more people who know, the more will be able to Summon their wands back, and I don't want some Death Eater knowing where their wand is going and getting it back right away."

"No sweat," Corwin said, handing Hermione back her wand. She swiveled to glare at Harry and Ron. "Do you hear that? Keep your trap shut!"

"Yes'm," they responded with alacrity and in unison.

"Good boys. Now, what happened during our fight?"

Harry let Ron launch into his excited description—much more detailed and reverent than Harry would have ever managed—and just nodded his head and interjected at appropriate times.

**--break--**

"_Emergency meeting. Urgent. Change of plan."_

Hermione jolted as her watch alerted her to an unexpected message from her spy. As she read the terse lines, she bit her lip. _Drat. I hope P- Severus hasn't gotten found out or into any trouble. _

_"Spinner's End, 9pm tonight?"_

_"Yes. Come unseen. Extra watchers."_

_"Will do. Stay safe."_

_"You as well."_

Hermione glanced up at the clock. It was 7 o'clock now. She had two hours to get to Spinner's End, unseen. She'd have to borrow Harry's cloak. _Better go ask now. _She slipped out and down the hallway to where Harry's room was. _Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. _Her mentally chanted mantra carried her through Harry's confused and resigned reactions, through the Floo, through the quick stop at Grimmauld Place's night shift of the Order, and continued as she began her flight, for once not concerned about the motion sickness she invariably got whenever she flew. _Don't panic. Don't panic. Stay hidden… _

**A.N.: I'm sorry it's so short and I left you with a cliffy! Please don't throw rocks, I just didn't have any inspirations to expound at length on anything here. Please review, and I promise the next chapter will be longer!**

**Oh, and a big thank you to Zencry, who caught a discrepancy all the way back in chapter 4. It is being fixed, and in case any of you were confused by it back then and didn't ask me, Hermione's parents are in an unknown location, where they did have access to a large library similar to the Library of Dreams, but not the same exact one. The Grangers **_**may **_**be in India, or they may be anywhere you wish to guess, and you won't find out for a while. **


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: What do you mean this doesn't belong to me?! /**_**Bursts into hysterical tears and runs away/**_

**Yeah…we all know the spiel. Not mine. Let's get on with the story…**

_She'd grown up. When had she grown up? He'd had had his eye on her for the past year, carefully monitoring her learning, her coping skills in living an entirely secret second life from the one she projected, the progress she was making…how had he missed the transition from the bossy little know-it-all to mature, confident, and outspoken young woman? _Severus absentmindedly stirred some crystals of some sort into his tea, then cursed as he realized he'd just dumped a spoonful of salt into the liquid, besides the fact that he rarely took sugar in his tea in the first place. Trying to maintain his equilibrium, he wandered towards his newly cleaned and improved library room.

"Mippy is wondering what Master would like for dinner tonight?"

"Anything, Mippy."

"…is Master being alright, Master? You is looking…befuzzled."

"Master _is _befuzzled, Mippy," Severus murmured absent-mindedly, not really catching what he was saying to the elf at all. "Now do take this despicable drink and dump it, would you? I don't want to be disturbed for anything but emergencies." He handed the cup to Mippy, leaving the completely confused elf behind staring at his back as he wandered aimlessly into the next room.

"Master's friend must be casting many spells, Mippy thinks," the house-elf muttered to himself as he watched his master, whom he had rapidly come to know as a normally stoic, impenetrable, and only rarely letting his guard down—and _never _less than sharp-witted—practically walk into the wall next to the doorway before maneuvering himself through. If the house-elf hadn't kept a weather eye on the conversation that had just taken place, and personally watched the first visitor his master had had at his house since he'd arrived exit and fly off on her broom, Mippy would have suspected something sinister, like Imperius or something Dark. _Like old master's hobbies, _Mippy thought with a shudder, winking himself the short distance to the kitchen. _But Mippy will not think of old master. Mippy has new Master now, and must take care of him. _

And in that line of taking care of her new and quite appallingly thin charge, Mippy would investigate just who this new woman-creature was who had shouted at Master and then worn her heart through her eyes, telling of something more than just friends. Mippy doubted that Missy-girl knew of what her eyes whispered whenever she looked at Master, and she rather thought that Master, as observant as the man was, didn't notice it either. But then, with the way Master had acted after the woman left, Mippy knew that Master was simply better at deafening his eyes to his heart for a while.

_But who is Missy-girl who is Master's friend and maybe more? Master calls her _Miss Granger. _Mippy will ask Missy when she next visits, Missy knows everything! _Resolved, Mippy glared at the cup of salty tea with disfavor and upended it into the sink, a familiar and well-used spell cleaning the cup thoroughly.

**--break--**

He must have flipped through about thirty pages of some random book he'd pulled off the shelf before he came to his senses enough to realize he wasn't reading anything, and furthermore, he didn't even know the title of the book he'd chosen. A Compleat Text on the Differences Between Lust and Love Potions. _Oh, how very helpful, _Severus snorted. _Lucius gave that one to me for Christmas decades ago, no doubt an unsubtle hint on my inability to snare and retain a woman. That was when he was still insisting that I marry and continue the Prince bloodline, and give my heir the Prince name and all that balderdash on the importance of blood and name. Rubbish. I don't know how I ever saw anything but greed, sadism, and fanaticism in the man. Except maybe when he is with Narcissa and Draco. As warped as it is, I suspect he truly loves them. _

But none of his internal dialogue, or his reminiscing was helping him with the situation before him, the one that had knocked the breath out of him entirely. _Hermione had grown up. _

Severus traced a finger down the spine of the book, which was pristine and looked brand-new. When exactly had she gone from being a child to being an adult? It hadn't been when her parents had nearly been killed, although it had certainly been a catalyst. It hadn't been when she had been inducted and tested over Christmas, although those events, Severus was sure, had played a big part in the sudden maturation of Hermione. He hadn't seen it in any of the lessons as he'd taught her, first how to more completely use her body and mind together in a fight, then how to use stealth to glean information, plant lies, and cultivate secrets.

She'd made the rocky crossover from student to friend, he acknowledged now. From annoying pupil to a kindred spirit, and one might even say she had a soul older than her physical years. She'd gone from _student, off-limits, _to _peer, equal, friend. _Perhaps right around the time he'd begun to compare her to Lily, around the time he'd begun to call her Hermione in his head. But when had the friend who had been under him, in a sort of queer mentor-pupil way, become his equal and peer?

He must have sat in the worn and cracked brown leather armchair for at least two hours, because when Severus finally woke from his reverie and cleared his mind—with great difficulty—of the mystery of Hermione Granger, it was to the smell of a steaming meal on the coffee table before him. _Funny, I don't recall Mippy bringing it or telling me to eat like he usually does vehemently. Blast it, it's another Asian dish with those dratted thrice-curst chopsticks! _All thoughts of the woman who had occupied his thoughts since she had first opened her mouth in his house this afternoon abruptly vanished as Severus glared at the offending utensils. True to his inability to remain willfully in ignorance, he had researched the _chops _that Mippy had presented him with, and discovered that it was the utensil of choice in many Asian countries, called _chopsticks. _He'd made two mistakes then—he'd told Mippy what he'd learnt, and he'd added that he wouldn't mind trying other cuisines from other countries once in a while rather than sticking to the usual British diet.

_I can do this—I've suffered through countless torture sessions from both sides of the war. I've faced Azkaban and the Dementors as well as the Dark Lord and his perversions. I killed my greatest mentor and friend rather than watching him die. I've always hovered in between the grey ambiguity between ethics and depravity, and stayed relatively sane. I can handle a simple pair of chopsticks! _Especially since Severus particularly enjoyed this Indian dish, potato curry and rice. He would master the chopsticks if it was the last thing he did! Steeling himself, Severus picked up the flimsy wooden sticks.

**--break--**

The lance of stabbing pain surprised him—the Dark Lord had not been summoning his followers since Albus' death, and Severus had not been expecting a call. Leaving Mippy to stare disconsolately at the chessboard, where he and the house-elf had been engaging in an impromptu match (with Severus winning, but the elf showing surprising maneuvers and tactics that Severus had never thought of and catching up), Severus Apparated to the Dark Lord's citadel.

He didn't know where it was, only that the Dark Lord had established it as his stronghold and living quarters only a month ago. It was a small, cramped castle, perpetually dark and with some rooms completely unusable from decay and wreckage. How it was still standing, Severus didn't know, but magic certainly had to be involved, or the Dark Lord would not have deigned to dwell in a place that could crumble in on him at any moment.

_There is no one else here, _Severus observed uneasily as he made his way forward to silently drop to one knee in front of the red-eyed monster he served. "My Lord, you Summoned?"

"Ah, Severus. You are very prompt today. Please, have a seat." The Dark Lord waved negligently, lazily, at the chair that had been placed awkwardly at the foot of the dais the Dark Lord was on. Cautiously, Severus took his place in the chair, an old-fashioned fancy affair with dark red velvet cushioning and polished wooden back, arms, and legs.

"You honor me, my Lord. What is it you wish of me?"

Instead of launching into whatever he wanted as Severus expected, the Dark Lord smiled thinly—and in the back of his mind, a tiny voice that sounded irritatingly like Hermione remarked, _uh oh. _

"Severus, my dear boy. Do you remember when you first came to me, gawky and socially inept barely of age? Lucius saw your potential, your promise, the ways you could serve me, and the minute I laid bare your mind I knew he had been correct. You were just who I had been looking for, rough and unrefined clay in my hands to mold and shape into a great masterpiece. Do you recall?"

"Yes, my Lord, I remember it well. I was a foolish little boy, unworthy of your notice," Severus breathed, all his muscles screaming in protest as he tightened up invisibly. _Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin…_

"You were a sullen little thing, and it was hard to see the gem you could become," the Dark Lord said in amusement. "But I saw the raw fire within you, and I knew you could become great." His voice dropped dramatically, malevolent glowing eyes intense with an emotion Severus might have likened to _fatherly pride, _if it hadn't been so warped and unfitted for the twisted horror that was the Dark Lord. Paralyzed with fear, Severus listened numbly as the Dark Lord went on, "And you have undeniably proved my every hope true beyond dreaming. You killed the old man, the vaunted Light's King. You've chopped the head off the Order, and they will never be strong again. Oh, they will try, they will lash back in their grief, they may strive to train their little hero boy to replace Albus Dumbledore, but they will never rise such peaks as they have done again, and we will hunt them out and kill them, kill them all with swift venomous strikes, kill…"

His Master trailed off in a hiss, and for a long nightmarish moment, he leaned his head and cheek against that of Nagini's flat head as the snake undulated up his owner's arm. "You remind me very much of myself, Severus," the Dark Lord finally whispered, his speech now sounding considerably more snake-like than it had previously been. "Oh, there were differences—I enjoyed studying people as a child, manipulating them, watching them as I directed them in a giant game of chess. Minnie McGonagall got that idea of the life-sized chess pieces from me years ago when we were both young, you know. I don't know how she ever thought the mastermind of the true chess game of life would ever have fallen for a mere chessboard." Chuckles filled the room, echoing off the bare walls eerily before dissolving but lingering like a bad odor in the musty air of the lonely castle. "But we were both underappreciated, both from families that had disgraced themselves, families that did not appreciate the value of bloodline or ancestry…we had weak mothers and unworthy fathers, and we rose to make something of ourselves when the world would have buried us. Yes, Severus, we are self-made men, in the crude words of the American philosophers of centuries ago." Almost whimsically, Severus' Master shook his head.

"I digress. Severus, the reason I Summoned you alone today was for the other half of your reward for the great service you have rendered to me by killing my lifelong nemesis and thorn in my side. Let it be known that the Dark Lord never withholds praise and reward where it is deserved! And I have been pondering the question of what to do for you for some time, and I believe I have found just the thing. We are men that come from a respectable family bloodline that has almost completely destroyed and shamed itself, and it is up to us to bring back the name of our magical lineage. Therefore, Severus, I have placed myself in the position to be able to give to you your entire inheritance as a Blood-heir of the Prince line. You are now in possession of the entirety of Prince Manor, it's grounds, and the Prince vaults in Gringotts."

**--break--**

"This…complicates things." Hermione pressed her sweating palms together in an effort not to tremble and undo all the work she'd put into presenting herself as an equal, adult, and capable handler to Severus. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the house-elf that Severus had acquired peeking in the room.

Severus paced furiously before Hermione, who looked rather odd with only one leg—the other leg having been vanished by her careless draping of Harry's invisibility cloak over it as she'd settled to listen to the spy's agitated story.

"Complicates…you have a fine way of understating the situation, Miss Granger," Severus barked tersely.

"It's Hermione, and I was merely making an observation, _Severus," _Hermione replied.

"Nonetheless, we have a problem on our hands and less than twelve hours to rectify it," Severus retorted sharply.

"You are certain that there isn't any way you can refuse…"

"No possibility at all. He would immediately suspect me if I didn't wish to establish the honor of my family lineage once more. It is a _privilege _of the highest degree to regain possession of the dusty, shut up Prince Manor, it's untended growing-wild grounds, and the Gringotts vaults in the family name, of which I will see very little of since most of the gold will automatically go to fund the Dark Lord, of course. He's sending some Malfoy house-elves tomorrow morning to move everything of value over to Prince Manor and get it ready for living in, and by tomorrow night I and whomever the Dark Lord wishes to offer living quarters to will have been securely installed in my _new abode, _with me as the gracious host," Severus spat furiously. He whipped around to glare at Hermione as if it were her fault somehow that this had happened.

She tried not to quail under his dark wrath. _Dear gods, the glares he gives Harry and Neville are nowhere near this potent or scary as the full force of his rage! _Striving for a calm equilibrium she did not feel, Hermione began to evaluate the problem out loud. Her voice started out barely above a whisper, quavering and breaking occasionally, but eventually as she dove further in to the obstacle that had presented itself, she forgot the student-in-Potions-class-out-of-her-depth feeling in pursuit of a solution.

"So, you say that Prince Manor is large, very large, and has only had one inhabitant for the past two decades or so, a distant cousin from Germany if I heard you correctly? And V—the Dark Lord convinced your cousin to move back to Germany and deed the estate back to you, as well as declaring you officially the Blood-heir?"

"Yes, the Dark Lord most likely gave _dear _Cousin Heinrich Prince the choice of a quick immigration and giving over his Blood-heir status and Prince family possessions to me, or unwillingly joining the lower ranks of Death Eaters and most likely thrown into the front ranks of the next melee, since on Heinrich's death, the Blood-heir title would revert to me as the very last existing blood-relation of the Prince line."

Absently, Hermione nibbled at her bottom lip. "And he actually _said _that he would be…uh, matchmaking you with a wife so that you could perpetuate the line?"

"Yes," Severus snarled.

"But you said it yourself, that it would take a couple months at least for marriage talks to progress to the point of becoming formally affianced, so I don't think we have to worry about it—at least, not right this moment," Hermione decided, looking askance at her dour former professor. _I can't imagine him getting married, or having a wife. He wouldn't know what to do with her if she didn't have two brain cells to rub together like most Pureblooded wives are groomed to be! _Grimacing in pity, she pulled herself back to the topic at hand. "I think the most pressing thing is that you'll be out of reach of all contact except for the watch, which is quite inadequate for longer reports and so on," Hermione continued, wincing as she bit off a piece of skin from her lip and exposed raw flesh. _Damn it, I always do that in the same place, _she thought, sucking furiously on the sore spot where she'd ripped away the skin from her bottom lip.

"You'll be stuck in Prince Manor, brewing extensively for the Dark Lord, and you'll be living day in day out with Pettigrew and who knows who else, and it sounds like the Dark Lord wants to keep you completely cooped up in that house for a while…"

"It's supposed to be an honor," Severus said bitterly. "To be kept close, to be told to stay put, to be told not to worry about any mission but the home-bound tasks that the Dark Lord sets you, it means you are too valuable to lose. I am essentially going into house-arrest for the indeterminable future, Mis—Hermione. I will not be allowed out—my only contact with the world will be things coming _in, _and with the ancient wards on Prince Manor, it will be a virtual prison…"

But Hermione had a particular look of a growing idea on her face, and she finally unclasped her hands and leaned forward intently. "You said…correct me if I'm wrong, but only things going _in…_what kind of things?"

"Potions ingredients…Death Eaters…not their families, but for the single men, possibly some night entertainment…orders for books and other materials, several owls that must be magically included into the ward settings that the Dark Lord will examine in finite detail—"

"_Night entertainment?" _Hermione interrupted, and Severus blinked in half-astonishment, half-embarrassment.

"Well, many Pureblooded males find enjoyment in obtaining the-the company of a female at times, for, ah, enjoyment and entertainment and their enjoyment and, ah—"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hermione found herself giggling helplessly. Severus' eyes swiveled accusingly at her, but she must have used up her scared-quota for the day, because she only laughed harder at his affronted expression. "You…_gasp…_you said '_enjoyment' _three times in the same sentence," Hermione finally managed to get out, clutching at her abdomen as it started to hurt from the spasms of hilarity. "I'm not completely clueless, Severus, I _do _know what a streetwalker is. Its not just Pureblooded males who pay for the services of a willing female for the night, you know, Muggles do it too."

Caught between red-faced embarrassment and complete shock at Hermione's blunt speech, Severus opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything. Hermione had to suppress the urge to blurt out that he looked like Ron when he was particularly surprised, minus the obvious appearance-differences of course. He decided to recover what shreds of dignity he still had left, and drew himself up, coldly stating, "It is not polite to refer to any woman, even on of ill-repute, as a—"

"A streetwalker? A hooker? A prostitute?" Hermione wondered if she had taken leave of her sense, but she couldn't seem to stop baiting the man, delighting adversely at his uncomfortable expression. _He's like Dad's friend, the one who came over to dinner when we were in the middle of a family debate about the historical accuracy of Queen Bodicea and the rape of her two daughters when the Romans took over her kingdom, and her subsequent rebellion and rampage…he never came over to our house again, and Dad always said he was a stuffy old man anyway. _

"A lady of the night," Severus said loftily.

Hermione burst into incredulous laughter. "_Lady of the night? _This isn't Phantom of the Opera or the archaic Middle Ages, Severus!"

"Fille de joie."

"English, please. No retreating to another language. Don't be a stuffed shirt, Severus!"

"Lady companion." Was it just her imagination, or was Severus starting to sound the tiniest bit desperate?

"That could be anything from your best friend who is female to your fiancée."

"Call girl?"

"That…might work." Hermione pretended to muse on it. "Call girl is rather staid and proper, but it'll do—better than _lady of the night, _at least!" Hermione snorted, amazed at her own daring in discussing _prostitutes _with _Professor Snape. _Well, he was Severus now, but it was still a leap she had never imagined making—she was practically teasing the man, and he wasn't ripping her to shreds!

"_As _I was saying, before your untimely and impolite interruption, there is no way out for me to report to you, and I don't know what affect the Prince wards will have on the connection between the two watches," Severus declared acidly, looming over Hermione ominously.

Trying to tone down her impulse to laugh in his face at his propriety, Hermione traced her train of thought back to its start. "Oh…yes. So, if you cannot come out to make your report, the solution is really quite simple. I shall have to come _in." _

"Ridiculous," Severus snapped angrily. "You must be insane to even think about _attempting _to breach ancient Pureblood ground wards to get into a place crawling with the enemy. You might get in, but you would never _leave." _

"I never said I would attempt to _breach _the wards, Severus. I merely said that I would have to come in—and by come in, I mean invited." Hermione was thinking hard now, her brain clicking frantically as she began mapping out a rudimentary list of ideas.

"And who would invite you in, pray tell, Miss Granger? The Dark Lord? Me?"

"Hermione."

"What?"

"My name. Use it. We're not at school and you aren't my instructor or superior anymore. It's okay to use my name, you know."

"You silly, inane little girl!" Severus exploded at last, furiously approaching the sitting witch. "This is no time to bandy about insignificant little details like what name to give a call girl, or what I address you by. You are truly still an inconsequential pittance of a school-girl, to quibble about the unimportant when on a task meant for a full adult! Go back to your precious Potter and Weasley, little girl, and read your books and send someone better equipped to deal with the realities of life with all due seriousness that it deserves and do not bother me!"

Hermione shot to her feet, white-lipped and trembling with raw emotion. "How _dare—_you _bastard! _I thought we had resolved this _last _time! I was willing to be your friend. I was willing to, to accept you for who you are, not for what you've done. I was _teasing _you—do you even know what that means? Joking, joshing, kidding, having fun—trying to take some of the tension out of a bad situation! Because that's what friends do, they share each other's worries and try and make things better! But you had to throw it back into my face, didn't you? You just had to show how superior you are to me in every way. You had to prove to yourself that you were still in charge, that you were still controlling everything, that nothing had changed. You're a fool, Severus Snape. I thought you were smart and wickedly intelligent. I guess I was wrong, because only an utter fool would isolate themselves and cut off any potential _friend _purely out of _fear, _and the need to be in control of everything. You're not brave at all, you're a coward."

"_Do not call me coward." _He advanced on her menacingly, and his voice was such that even in her righteous wrath and disappointment, she involuntarily took several steps back, running into the sofa as it hit the back of her knees. Swallowing, Hermione felt pinned like a beetle on a pin as the man seized her shoulders, gripping them painfully in his large, lean hands. "_Never. Call. Me. A Coward," _he hissed, inches away from her upturned face. She forgot to breathe, trapped by his hands and eyes—although if she had been in her right mind and in an admitting mood, Hermione might just have admitted silently to herself that it was more the deep ache of an unhealed hurt concealed by the overwhelming anger in Severus' dark, snapping eyes that had her paralyzed, more so than the fierce hold he had on her shoulders.

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone—the passion, the barely controlled fury, the fiery blood-heat of eminent battle (Hermione imagined)—and the hands at her shoulders were abruptly loosed, leaving, no doubt, a pattern of bruises she would have to find her bruise balm for, and Severus withdrew, both physically and emotionally. Cautiously, Hermione tracked his movements, not daring to rub at the sore spots on her shoulders.

"I apologize for harming you, Miss Granger," he said in a remote tone, cold and removed and as far from the unchecked man of just a moment ago as one could get.

"I—it's okay," she said unhappily, watching as the man went from Severus to _Snape _in a matter of seconds. When he didn't respond, Hermione gathered up the vestiges of the courage that had buoyed her through the entire meeting. "Severus—I'm sorry too. I was out of line when I called you…well, I was wrong. I didn't mean it, I was just angry that you weren't respecting me as a true friend the way you said you would. But I never meant to say that you were…"

"What? A sniveling coward? A miserable bastard? Someone akin, perhaps, to the Dark Lord in my obsession with control and power?" Severus stated neutrally, face a mask of impenetrableness.

"I—_no! _I never meant all those things!" Aghast, Hermione took a hasty step forward, not quite daring to go as far as to grab his still hands as she might have with Ron or Harry. "Please, Severus, forgive me—you are nothing like the Dark Lord, and you are not a coward. That's been proven over and over, each time you go to the foot of the Dark Lord and defy him by remaining loyal to us, I don't think anyone else would be brave enough to do that. Severus—"

He wasn't speaking, and Hermione was despairing of ever repairing their unorthodox friendship when a piping voice startled both of them.

"Master is _sulking," _squeaked the odd little house-elf indignantly. He marched over to where the tall man was standing, putting hands on his hips and staring defiantly up at Severus' flabbergasted expression. "Master is not to be treating young Missy like this. He has no right! And young Missy—" the house-elf whirled, looking for all as if he were Hermione's friend Sofi's father, a stay-at-home writer dad with the manners and sense of courtesy of a medieval knight of the Round Table. "Young Missy is being stupid to be offended at Master—if young Missy is _friend _as Miss claims, then Miss must know Master's temper and understand Master."

Hermione could only gape at the house-elf as it continued to berate the two as if they were recalcitrant children who had begun a playground brawl. "Master has said sorry, Missy has said sorry, now Master and Missy must seal their sorry!" When they didn't move, the elf made a noise of derision and impatience, and lightning-fast, had taken Hermione's hand and Severus' and linked them together, leaving them holding each other's hand in stunned silence as the elf popped out of existence.

"Uh…" _His hand is warm, _Hermione thought. _Warm and firm, the kind of hands you might imagine carrying a small child with gentleness or working industrially at a task no matter how drudging or inglorious. _

Awkwardly, Severus cleared his throat and murmured, "Perhaps we should take Mippy's rather bold words to heart and just forget this incident?"

"I—uh, yeah, let's," Hermione stammered, jolted out of her musing about Severus' hands.

"Then it is forgotten entirely." He squeezed her palm once, so subtly that if she hadn't been thinking about the way his long, sinewy fingers wrapped around hers, she might have missed the slight pressure, and then tactfully withdrew his hand, leaving hers empty and strangely cold without his skin warmth.

"Forgotten," Hermione agreed, trying not curl her fist up in an effort to excise the phantom hand that lingered around hers.

"So—the Dark Lord—"

"Yes, your 'reward'. You know, I did have the beginnings of an idea before we…well, I had an idea but I've lost it."

"A pity," was all he said as they both reseated themselves.

"But…maybe we can follow where we, ah, left off our brainstorming and I might be able to remember it."

"Very well."

They spent an hour going over in detail what they'd already discussed, along with any other suggestions or proposals to the contact problem. As the hour faded away, Hermione sighed wearily, sitting back and curling her feet up onto the cushioned seat of the sofa. "I swear, it's like the Dark Lord _knew _what he was doing…"

"I hope not," Severus quipped sardonically. "It would mean that my house-warming party would involve a torture and death to inaugurate Prince Manor.

"I'm sure your ancestors would prefer your family heirloom rugs to stay free of bloodstains," Hermione retorted.

"I shall inform the Dark Lord of his duty to the portraits of the Prince family to kill me where there is nothing of value to ruin."

"You do that. I'm sure the Dark Lord would acquiesce."

"Undoubtedly."

"But seriously, Severus, if you can't come out and everything going _in _is censored, we're never going to be able to—" Stopping in the middle of her exasperated rant, Hermione sucked in a breath and her eyes widened. "That's it!"

"What? What have you thought of, Mi—Hermione?"

"That's it," Hermione repeated, triumph flooding her as she swiftly sketched out her plan in her mind and searched for any impediments. _Nothing that can't be overcome, _she decided, smiling from ear to ear.

"_Hermione. Hermione." _Severus' peevish tone brought her back to earth. _Oops. I suppose now would be a good time to explain my idea to Severus, wouldn't it? _Hermione inhaled, and licked her lips.

"Well, we've already eliminated you coming _out _in any way, shape, or form. You'd never make it out, and it's too dangerous for your position. Owls and any other method of message is out, and we don't know how reliable the watches will be, since you say yours always malfunctions when you go to the Malfoy's and their wards are similar to the ones at Prince Manor. But we haven't ruled out the one thing that you've _trained _me in, Severus—I wasn't initially trained to be a _handler." _

The dawning understanding in his eyes spurred Hermione on. "I was trained—by the best, may I add—to be a _spy. _I can disguise myself and walk right in, and if you've done your job right I should never be suspected at all!"

"How would you disguise yourself? It would be difficult to get the hairs you need for Polyjuice."

"No—I won't go in as a Death Eater, too much risk of me slipping up when you all know each other well," Hermione said, thinking aloud. "So—the other option—I'll have to go as one of your _ladies of the night." _

"Absolutely not! Has Potter's insanity rubbed off on you?"

"No, not at all. It makes sense, really. As an anonymous streetwalker, I can just get some random Muggle's hair for the Polyjuice, and make up my own character and no one would know me at all to be suspicious of my acting differently. It gives me freedom to come and go as I please, as long as I have the excuse of being at your whims. I'd have to be your personal…uh, you know, to avoid confusion and me having to do unwanted things with other people," Hermione stuttered, suddenly realizing just exactly what kind of charade she was proposing.

"Miss Granger—Hermione—you may consider yourself an actress, but you would have to _maintain character _for hours—perhaps entire nights. You would have to endure my company for much longer than just these infrequent meetings to touch base. You would most likely have to pretend to be attracted to me, engage in some physical closeness to convince others of your status, and the other men would constantly look at you, even pursue you for a price if they are interested. You would be facing Death Eaters casually, perhaps even the Dark Lord if he drops by and wants to meet the girls. It is too much of a risk."

"I understand," Hermione replied, readying herself mentally for a full-blown logical argument. _It's our only chance at any sort of contact. It has to work. The war needs Severus. _She refused to think about the tiny prick of her conscience that told her that _she _needed Severus as well, the unconventional friend and mentor who had never let her down, who had been the one constant in her rapidly shifting and deceptive life."But Severus, you live with that kind of risk every day, every minute of your life, and you haven't failed yet. You have to admit that I have become as proficient as you in the art of spying, if not as experienced. I am not a child, as I have frequently told you. I can handle myself. And—you do yourself injustice, Severus. It is no big punishment to spend an extended amount of time with you. It might be enjoyable—you're always so much more sarcastic and witty than Harry or Ron, and no matter how smart and brave and fun they are, neither truly understand—well, you know. Death. Not even Harry, not yet. Albus, and then the Blood Rites and his initiation trial might have started him on the path to knowing, but he doesn't yet get it like you do. My parents are in hiding and I can't even write to them now that Albus is dead, because Master Li is just too busy to do trivial things like deliver letters. I killed my best friend in another world over Christmas, and I underwent a super-training over the course of the year. They just don't…" taking a deep breath, settling herself, Hermione shook off her digression.

"The point is, you're certainly no ordeal to be with, even with all the acting thrown in. It would be…almost like a game, if you think about it that way. We're playing the entire company of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, making them see only what we want them to see. And Severus—admit it, I am fully capable of doing this. You taught me to be that way, even if you didn't want it to ever come to this." She stared earnestly at Severus, heart thumping in her eardrums, sweat pooling at the small of her back. _If he doesn't agree…_

"Nymphadora Tonks is a metamorphagus, she is more qualified," Severus tried.

"Tonks can't lie to save her life, and you yourself mentioned a while ago that her Occlumency wouldn't survive longer than it took for her to call for back up, break eye-contact, and attack. She would never be able to stay undercover that way. Face it, Severus, not only am I your only choice and as your handler, it _is _my responsibility, I am also the best person for the job."

A beat, two beats—and then Severus sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Very well. I do not like it at all, but it is obvious that you have your heart set on this deception of yours, and it might well work if we are extremely cautious."

_Yes! _Elated, Hermione beamed at him. "Thank you for your trust, Severus. It means a lot to me."

Uncomfortably, Severus changed topics. "How are we to set this up?"

"Leave it to me," Hermione announced briskly, mind already having galloped miles ahead. "How long do you think it will take for you to get settled for the men to begin calling for entertainment?"

"Pettigrew is uncommonly patient, but I would suspect that whomever the Dark Lord selected to stay at Prince Manor—not that he has given me a hint of who except Pettigrew—whomever is chosen will most likely be single, and most single Purebloods have little patience in satisfying their wants…I would say a week, perhaps a week and a half?"

"Then when they begin doing that, I want you to do the same, but make sure you go to Madame Merri Madness for your 'call girl'. She operates out of the large Wizarding alley in Yorkshire—Terrier's Turn, I think it's called? She serves a high-class clientele, I believe, very discreet and slightly pricey, but with your new…turn of circumstance, it would be perfectly in character for you to go there. Ask for a—what kind of female appearance do you like?"

Taken aback, Severus looked very much as if would refuse to answer, before he reluctantly murmured, "I care little for race or feature, so long as they are well-formed enough, but I do prefer that a woman is not the same width as my wand. I should not like to snap them in two as I have already done to my previous three wands."

Three _wands? Dear heavens, just how had he managed to break three wands in one lifetime? _Hermione eyed the slender stick just peeking out from his robe pocket, which, now that she was examining it in great detail, _did _look rather thinner than most wands…

"Wands specifically attuned to an inclination towards potions, as well as other specific dispositions of which I possess, tend to be made of ebony. If you know anything of wandlore, ebony wood is extremely dense and difficult to bore a hole into for the core, and thus the wands tend to be slimmer, the hollow for the magical core smaller, and the core itself something unusually slender or powdered rather than an extravagant ingredient such as phoenix feather or occamy eggshell."

_Don't ask what core his wand has. Don't ask what core his wand has. Don't ask what core…_"Okay, so no super skinny girls. Um—well, why don't you just ask for 'Milena', then?"

"And just how are you going to be able to infiltrate this Madame Madness' house of ladies in a week and establish yourself as Milena?"

"Trust me, I know some people," Hermione half-grinned, half-grimaced as she remembered the excruciating lecture-speech Hestia Jones had given her on the pros and cons of the various brothels in Britain. _She's certainly an expert on them, seeing as how she does routine checks on the legal ones to make sure they _stay _legal, but I do wish she wouldn't explicate on what the girls actually _did…

"Why…no, I won't ask," Severus decided. _Smart man. _"So, one week or a little more, Madame Merri Madness in Terrier's Turn, Yorkshire, ask for Milena."

"That is correct."

"And what will I tell the Dark Lord when he enquires as to why I am suddenly hiring a call girl from Yorkshire rather than courting a wife?"

"Tell him now that you have come into your inheritance, before you settle down you wish to actually spend some of the money in enjoying life to the fullest before you must do your duty."

"That…is ingenious, and I tremble to think of what else you hide behind that innocent façade," Severus commented in general bemusement, quirking a dark eyebrow in her direction. "You have connections to brothels and you think up good excuses to satisfy Dark Lords…what can you not do?"

"Fly," Hermione said impertinently with a rueful glance at the abandoned broom in the corridor.

**A.N.: 'Milena' means 'people's love,' and its origin is Russian, in case anyone was interested in name meanings. The last line, where Severus asks Hermione if there's anything she can't do and Hermione responds "Fly," is taken from the movie **_**Ever After—**_**obviously not with the original context etc, but the idea was from there and I just felt like using it. Um…oh, an occamy is a magical serpentine creature with wings. It lays eggs with pure silver shells, and I just threw that in the wandlore paragraph for something other than the usual dragon heart-string, unicorn hair, etc etc.**

**And…here we have the part where the your Author decides to take some creative license to push our two into awkward circumstances in hopes of stirring some realization of their beginnings of feelings for each other, because if not this story would be twice as long and quite distressing to write as Hermione and Severus remain clueless…yeah. Please review!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize. I'm merely making…improvements. ;)**

_He paused, and just as she was about to take his brief warning to be careful of the watchers on his house—his "honor guard"—as his final words of farewell, he spoke, voice curiously—well, she didn't know how to describe it. It wasn't pitying. It wasn't sympathetic or hideously understanding, or particularly kind or gentle though that would have been odd enough combined with the Severus she knew. But perhaps the best word to describe his rather self-conscious tone was _empathetic, _although even that adjective didn't quite fit. _

_"I believe, Hermione, that Li would not be bothered by your request to continue writing your parents," he declared. "I am certain that it was not his intention to cut you off from them. You should ask him—I am sure something can be set up for your communications once more."_

_Hermione blinked at his unexpected advice. "Oh. Do you think so?"_

_"Yes," he affirmed._

_Hermione thought about it. Perhaps she _had _been overreacting in not wanting to bother Li with anything. She had felt so bad as day after day, she failed to grasp the rudiments of true mind control of a sort that would keep her Vacuumency firmly under her conscious prerogative. _I've been coping so well with everything else otherwise, _she noted ruefully. _I suppose I was due for an overemotional and unreasonable breakdown soon.

_"Think over it," Severus said as he handed her the invisibility cloak. _

_"I will. Thank you," she added, swinging the soft folds of fabric over her shoulders and pulling it up to cover her head. _

_"Are you ready?"_

_"Yes," she responded grimly. _

_"Then may Nimue speed your way home," Severus replied unexpectedly, pulling open the door before she could answer. As he strode outside to the tiny garden plot that should have, by all rights, been wilting from the air pollution from the factories nearby, presumably to 'gather an ingredient', Hermione didn't waste time but flung herself silently onto the hated broom, making sure that every part of both her and the small broomstick was completely covered, above and below, with the cloak—no easy task and made harder by Hermione's motion sickness. _

**--break--**

"…so, I was wondering if, perhaps, you would permit my parents and I to exchange letters again? Or if there's another mode of contact or anything…"

"Of course, my dear child!" Li exclaimed, looking abashed. "I should have thought of this right away, but with so much going on and you acting like the mature competent woman you have become, it completely slipped my mind. Your parents _have _been enquiring about you most anxiously, Natalie tells me—that's Order member Natalie Bryans, your parents' main OPFP. I am dreadfully sorry that I have not remembered to convey their thoughts and well-wishes to you in our exhaustive pursuit of perfecting your Vacuumency—please forgive me."

Immensely relieved, Hermione smiled warmly. "You've had a lot to do, Master Li, I cannot blame you for forgetting something that is trivial in the large scheme of things. But I _would _like to be able to communicate with them…"

"Certainly, my dear. Simply give me your letters, and I'll make sure they get there, and I shall give you their replies as well."

"Are you sure you're alright with playing messenger…?"

"It is no problem at all, Hermione. You are a vital part of the Order, and even more, I consider you a friend. I could do no less, and should have done this even earlier." And with that, the topic was set aside, Li firmly diverting or denying any thanks. At the end of the lesson, as he left, Li turned back, clearing his throat tactfully. "As I mentioned earlier, when we discussed your…new approach as our spy's handler, I firmly believe that you are fully up to any challenge presented by the method you have settled on. Hestia Jones will be instrumental in setting up the rendezvous, and she will most likely be the best person to go to for any advice on this matter. In this area, I perhaps fail to acquaint myself with the intricacies and knowledge…"

Hermione's cheeks felt hot as she stammered, "No, no, don't mention it. I'll definitely talk to Hestia—you don't have to worry about anything at all."

Looking extremely relieved, Li nodded gravely at her and exited quietly, leaving Hermione to her own thoughts. She wasn't alone for long. Li must have debriefed Hestia, for within ten minutes of his departure a knock at the door signaled her entry, grinning widely and waggling an eyebrow at Hermione. _Oh no, here comes the cavalry. _Hermione braced herself for the crude jokes and blunt advice.

"I hear someone needs assistance in the fine art of seduction?" Hestia slyly asked, as she slid into the seat that Li had vacated earlier. "Tell mama about it, then, do!"

"You're not my mama, and I have no desire to tell you about it only for you to poke fun at me," Hermione retorted.

"Ooh, sassy," Hestia joked, not offended at all. "Well then I swear, on me mum's secret cream for a tight tush, that I shan't poke fun at you at all, dearie!"

Skeptically, Hermione glanced over at Hestia. "Your mum has a secret cream to keep your fanny…"

"From flabbing," Hestia finished triumphantly. "She swears by it, she does."

"Swear on your plans for Friday night," Hermione said innocently, batting her eyes at Hestia as the woman widened her eyes comically and slapped a hand to her heart.

"Hermione, you slay me! That's a costly thing to be swearing to, it is, my Fridays with our esteemed Minister."

"Please, spare me. Just swear."

"Fine. You drive a hard bargain, m'love. I swear on my Friday entertainment that I will not tease nor taunt Hermione when she explains what she needs of my _special skills, _as Li expresses it," Hestia declared, eyes sparkling with mirth, tipping back on the two back legs of her chair and shoving her hands into the oversized pockets of her robes.

Doubtfully, Hermione eyed the irrepressible woman before her. It was hard to believe that she and Danielle Corwin were best friends, and had been for years. Danielle was so normally reserved and conservative, with a loyal and fiery heart and a fierce temper easily provoked. Hestia was boisterous, unrepentantly crude and forward, and had such a sense of humor that she rarely got angry—but when she did, it was forever and grimly unforgiving. They complemented each other, Hermione supposed. _Much the same way that Harry, Ron, and I balance each other out sort of—Harry's all sensitivity and feelings and ideals. Ron is all about strategy and logic. And I guess I am about knowledge and rules—because you have to know the rules to be able to break them, as my teacher used to say when she taught us grammar, back before I came to Hogwarts. _

"All right. Well…what has Li told you?" she enquired, shifting in her seat and shaking one foot in irritation as it began buzzing with that particular sensation that meant it was beginning to get pins and needles.

"The basics—that you have a special job that requires my _special _help—which, as everyone knows, is the art of love," Hestia replied flirtatiously.

"Not love—lust," Hermione corrected. "You're practiced in the art of lust. There's a difference."

"So says the innocent in the room," Hestia shot back.

"I meant—oh, never mind," Hermione sighed, giving up the line of contention she'd warred with Hestia over more than once. _She just doesn't understand why I see sex as something precious, to share only with someone you truly love and who loves you back just as much for you and not for the aesthetic and enjoyment value you provide them. It's two different views that aren't compatible, really, and too bad for me that I'm going to get a crash course in the latter or at least faking the latter. _"I'm not authorized to tell you much, then, but I need you to help me create a persona at Madame Merri's, with specific instructions."

"Ooh, an intrigue—I'm all ears, Hermione. What kind of persona?"

"A working girl in her business named Milena, who will serve no real customer but _will _be first in line for a call coming in roughly a week from today asking for said girl. I need a rock solid background and everything in case someone comes nosing around."

"Curious and curiouser," Hestia commented, taking the quill from behind her ear and writing directly onto her hand. "Never-ending ink," she informed Hermione as she busily scratched down the details Hermione had just relayed to her. "They're government-owned, and the Ministry wants to keep it that way, so they've kept the invention hushed for the past three years and only special high positions get to use them. Dip the quill once in the ink and it never runs out or dries up on the tip. The only reason _I _have one is because Danielle _is _allowed to use them, and she snuck a quill with the special ink for me."

"You two are more Muggle-knowledgeable than most—why don't you use a regular pen?" Hermione wanted to know.

"It's not allowed." Hestia wrinkled her nose. "Technically. One of the old Pureblood-biased laws about banning Muggle objects from becoming popular in the Wizarding world, and the Ministry never got around to changing it. They're pretty lax about enforcing it outside of the building, but inside the Ministry, they have to fine you."

"That's…really disgusting and stupid," Hermione decided in disbelief. "They need to un-legalize that law." _At least I have a real answer to why people don't use Muggle pens, more than Harry and Ron gave me. _

It was a question she'd posed Harry, who had scratched his head sheepishly and admitted that it was one of the conveniences he'd most missed at Hogwarts, but had never thought to bring with him in any of his years of school until he'd noticed one lying next to Hermione's books this past year. And then, of course he'd been preoccupied this summer at the Dursleys and hadn't thought to lift a pen from the house…

Ron had just stared at her as if she had grown two heads and snarled at him like Fluffy. Of course, after she'd taught him how to use one, he'd been awed and appreciative. _I swear, I _will _get him acquainted with basic Muggle conveniences if it's the last thing I do. Even if it's technically illegal. We've gone over pens, notebooks, electricity, video games, the telly…I _wish _I'd been able to get my hands on a computer, even Harry doesn't really know how to use them besides the basic turn on-turn off, browse the internet function. And I myself have probably missed half the new improvements and additions they've made, since Mum and Dad aren't exactly here to show me the latest technological advance and how to utilize it. I haven't checked my email account since last summer! Merlin, what must Julia and Sofi think? We've never gone so long without talking—we always lived in each other's pockets over the summer, practically. _Ashamed, now that she had remembered her two best childhood friends, both of who also went to boarding school—one in Cambridge, the other in Zurich, Switzerland—Hermione berated herself for having neglected her Muggle heritage for so long. _I'm fighting a battle to defend my Muggle roots, and here I am completely abandoning it! That won't do, not at all. _Yet what could she do? She was trapped in an escalating conflict—not just trapped, but semi-voluntarily right in the middle of the heart of it, and effectively cut off from the rest of the world in both her activities as handler as well as within the safe house.

"Hermione?" Lost in darkening thoughts, Hermione jumped at Hestia's voice. "Ah, earth to Hermione—where were you?"

"Just…thinking about the year," Hermione smiled weakly. "Where were we?"

Hestia looked at her with an arch expression that seemed to say, _I know you're not telling the whole truth but I'll let it slide since you know it and you know that I know it. _

"Well, while you were a thousand miles away, I left, got in touch with Merri—how, you really don't need to know, my dear, but I have my ways of getting things done _fast—_and had a discussion with her and then came back."

"I missed all of that?" Hermione exclaimed, astonished.

"Hon, you've been sitting and staring at that smear on the wall for the past half an hour at least."

Not knowing what to say at having so obviously lost track of time, Hermione reached up to rub her forehead ruefully. "Uh…sorry. I guess I was just really lost in thought."

"Well, whatever you were thinking must have been _very _interesting indeed, because you never even heard me when I said goodbye, or when I told you that Harry was banging Ron right outside the door."

"_What?" _Hermione yelped, tripping as she leaped up in shock.

"Just kidding, Hermione. You know me better than to fall for that, although I wouldn't deny that it would be rather hot to see such a thing enacted for my benefit…" Hestia grinned salaciously, and Hermione fell back into her seat with an aggravated thump.

"_Don't _do that, Hestia! It's disturbing, disgusting, and frankly something I _don't _want to envision of my friends. Or you, for that matter. Besides, both of them are too young for you."

"They're both seventeen and of age," Hestia pouted. "And very built, the both of them."

"So are you, muscles and six-pack and all," Hermione pointed out sourly.

"Sweetie, I just can't imagine myself and myself getting it on. It's just a little too kinky to be one of my fantasies."

"_Ugh—_Hestia!"

"Sorry, Hermione," she winked.

"_Don't—_ugh, just tell me what you talked about with Madame Merri," Hermione said disgustedly, shaking her head the way a wet dog flings himself dry after an unwanted dunking.

"Fine," Hestia said disappointedly, plopping back down into her own seat. "Be an uptight prude. Merri said she had just hired a new girl and she hadn't established herself yet, so you can share her identity. The girl's perfectly fine with the name Milena and with you taking her identity and position for your mysterious contact, as long as you uphold the persona and pay her for it."

"Money, of course, it's always money," Hermione muttered. "Can they both keep their mouths shut?"

"Madame Merri is the epitome of secret, and she only hires girls who have the same trait—good for the business if they have a reputation of being close-mouthed and unbribable for state secrets," Hestia nodded. "As long as you pay the girl—she asked for fifty galleons up front—she'll keep quiet."

"Will she try blackmail later on?"

"She had better not, or Madame Merri will be worse than any fate we could consign her to," Hestia remarked.

"Okay. I'll take your word for it. What's the girl's history and look?"

Frowning, Hestia tugged at her hair tie as she spoke. "I didn't get to see her or anything, so I'm not completely sure. Merri described her as having really long brown hair, 5'8'', and with a 'generous figure,' if you catch my drift…"

_So really, I know nothing about what I'm going to turn into. _Hermione mentally groaned, hoping that the body type and personality wouldn't be too hard to cope with.

"Merri gave me the bare bones of her story—she's not actually from Russia, but she'll fit the name you picked out fine, I think. She's from a tiny village in Ukraine where the only forms magic is practiced in is by the village priest and maybe the town healer—she ran away when she was fourteen, and made her way from Ukraine into Russia, and lucky enough to be discovered straight off the streets of the first big city she came to by a woman in the business of brothels. The woman brought her up, and she started working as one of the girls when she turned sixteen. She's nineteen now—just last month, the woman who had taken her in died, and she came her in hopes of a higher-paying job than in Russia."

"I'll need to meet her," Hermione mentioned, already feeling the beginnings of a pressure headache.

"Sure, I figured that so I set it up for you to personally meet Merri and Faina—that's her name, by the way, Faina. Is tomorrow morning good for you, around nine?"

"That sounds great. Thank you so much for everything, Hestia," Hermione sighed in relief, pushing her chair back noisily as she stood.

"Glad I could help—no one ever thinks to use Hestia's connections unless it has to do with something less concerned with the war and more for their own personal lives…well, I've mostly been shaking my legs in between banging Rufus and banging some _protection _into your friends' minds…"

"Enough! I don't need to hear it!" Protesting, Hermione fled as fast as her legs could carry her, the strains of Hestia's boisterous chuckles floating after her.

**--break--**

They were in the private office of 'Madame Merri Madness,'—"Just call me Merri like everyone else does, dearie," the buxom blonde woman, probably in her mid-forties, had told her kindly as she ushered Hermione into the room. True to Hestia's word, Hermione had been shuttled from Apparating spot to Apparating spot until she'd arrived at Merri's establishment, which was basically a housing complex, dormitory-style, of girls and an office, and promptly lost her breakfast into a conveniently nearby rubbish bin. _I need to get my Apparating license soon. This side-along Apparation is just as bad as flying, curse my acute motion sickness! _Still slightly nauseated and light-headed from the arduous trip, Hermione closed her eyes and sipped slightly at the cup of cold ice tea she'd been served upon settling into Merri's office. Someone had been sent to fetch Faina, who was moving in today apparently, and thankfully Madame Merri was not one to chatter incessantly, and allowed Hermione some quiet time to slowly regain her self-confidence and equilibrium. _Danielle mentioned that Apparating is so much better than being hauled along-side by someone else's Apparation like a sack of potatoes, and I'm inclined to believe her. It's rather like being the driver rather than passenger, I suspect. _

A firm rap broke into her thoughts as someone knocked on the door and then without hesitation or pause opened it. As it swung open and the woman outside stepped in and closed the door behind her, Hermione opened her eyes to examine the person she'd be impersonating for the foreseeable future in all her contact with Severus. _Dear Merlin, Hestia really gave me less than the bare bones about what she looks like, didn't she? Just how am I supposed to pull that kind of look and attitude off? _

Like some sort of pagan goddess or queen, Faina stood regally, a powerful sense of assurance of her beauty's effects on _everyone, _male and female, radiating off of her golden, sun-hued complexion and in particular from the dark, dark eyes and impossibly high and defined cheekbones. She had bushy, thick eyebrows—too full and prominent to be conventionally pretty, but in the context of her face, made a statement of high fashion and personality and a sort of edge of risqué that Hermione was sure her clientele appreciated. The legs were long and elegantly toned, framed in the flowy, colorful patchwork skirt that hit her knee and her—well, to put it as decently as Hermione could manage in her stunned state, the girl's _chest _was ample enough, certainly more so than Hermione's own although given just how much trouble the 'burdens' were in certain physical activities like running down stairs (of which there were a great many at Hogwarts), Hermione thought she rather preferred being less 'blessed'.

And the hair—Hermione thought that if it was the one thing she envied about this Aphrodite, it was the hair that cascaded in soft, uneven waves down to the small of her back, swinging unfettered and shiny with health. And the color was a rich, dense, mahogany that seemed to shimmer between the shadows of black and the slightly lighter tones of chocolate…_she's gorgeous. And I'm never going to be able to be her for even a minute, let alone the hours it might take to make contact and keep up the charade! _Hermione thought in dismay. It wasn't often that Hermione was dazed by beauty—she was certainly immune to Ron's and Harry's claims to "hotness," as described by Hestia, nor did she find very many specimens of men worthy of losing her precious mind over. Perhaps David Beckham—Hermione didn't mind admitting that the Muggle soccer player was quite worthy of second, third, and forth glances. But she wasn't even attracted to women, and even she had to remind herself that it would not be a very good first impression if she had to pick up her jaw from the floor. _How can any one human be so beautiful? I wouldn't be surprised if she had some Veela blood mixed in there somewhere, a really, really powerful one…_

"Madame." The voice was throaty and low, and matched the sexual enticement as well as the confident self-possession.

"Ah, Faina, you're here. Faina, this is Ms Granger, who proposed to share your identity for her own needs in a secret mission of some sort, I believe—Ms Granger, this is Faina, the girl who I told you about. She's just moved in this morning. Please, Faina, sit!"

Gracefully, Faina seated herself in one of the leather-upholstered chairs. "Thank you, Madame Merri. Good day to you, Ms Granger."

"Hello. I'm thrilled to meet you—and I see that my friend has done no justice at all to your stunning beauty, Faina."

"Thank you, Ms Granger."

"Tea, Faina?"

"Yes please, Madame. Thank you."

Pleasantries over, Faina received her glass with a small and genuine smile from Merri before turning to face Hermione. "I hear you have need of me? Perhaps we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement, if you would sketch out what you are looking for."

_Be professional. _Palms sweating at having to act on behalf of the Order and remain cool while staying respectful of Faina's profession, Merri's establishment, and skirting the truths she couldn't tell them, _and _having to do this all in front of a woman who looked like _that _was a daunting prospect. Nevertheless, she had to try—for Severus' sake, for the Order's sake, for _Harry's _sake and the war—she had to try, and succeed. Hermione took a deep breath and launched into the highly vague story that was all she could afford to tell the two in front of her.

Half an hour later, Hermione finished up her speech, rather proud of herself for neither stuttering nor rambling. _I sounded quite like an adult, even if I do say so myself. Take that, Miss Oh-so-self-assured!_

"This is all very interesting to me, Ms Granger, and an interesting proposal indeed. I am warning you though, that it will be difficult to be me, even if you do not wish to do—what I do, but with your one man. I am—different."

"Different how?" Hermione wanted to know.

"To begin, I am open to both men and women. You will find that I have no delay but to begin building my formidable reputation as _the best, _here in England. I intend nothing but to be…_renowned." _

"I find nothing wrong with that," Hermione said cautiously. "If you are worried about my performance hindering your intentions…"

Faina made token protestations, but Hermione with the quickness of the observant realized the lie. Faina was good, very good at pretending to things she did not feel—probably a side-effect of the profession—but Hermione, without boasting, was better. _I will never get anywhere if she dithers like this and insists on being high-and-mighty about her so-called skills in relation to my deficit. Damn it, if I'd known what a little-miss-haughty I was going to meet, I'd have worn more daring clothing! _Tired of the pretence—_I pretend all the time, every day. Must I really keep up the act when it only impedes my goal? _Dropping all subterfuge and posturing, Hermione said bluntly, "Do you require proof of my abilities to reasonably be _you _for several hours, several _days _if need be?"

Faina couldn't have been acquainted with such frankness, for she looked like someone who had just been introduced to the concept of _truth _after living in deception her entire life. _More's the pity, for the longer you live a lie the more that lie becomes the truth. _Hermione thought with a troubled mental sigh at her own experiences with living a double life. It had been so easy to slip into a life that, rather than real on both ends, morphed into something more like a façade covering a completely different person…_I am Hermione Granger, the spy and Order member now, almost completely, and very little of the Hermione Granger, bookworm and best friend is left, _Hermione thought sadly. _I still love Ron and Harry like brothers—how could I not?—but we're not joined at the hip like we used to be, and there's a whole side of me they never see, not even when they found out about me being an Order member. _

"Ah…Ms Granger…I did not mean to offend—"

"I'm sure you didn't, Faina, but I completely understand your concern for your reputation. What would you like a demonstration right now? I do not have any Polyjuice on hand, unfortunately, but I can reasonably pull off a character much like yours without your appearance for the moment. It is not necessary. Madame, if you would be as kind as to find several men to whom I may interact with for several brief moments…"

"Of course, dear. Are you sure you want to do this? I have a waiting room of men at the moment who arrived early for their appointments and thus must wait until their exact assigned time."

"Lead the way—although—" Hermione ignored the comment on her abilities, taking out her wand. It had been well-meant, although quite mistaken. _Hermione Granger will rise to the occasion, Madame, and by the time I'm done with these men you'll be wishing you could hire me! _Hermione had no illusions as to her appearance. She was no great beauty. Her hair was too mousy and frizzy, her face too small, her jaw too stubborn, her height too short, and her weight too unevenly distributed (despite the constant exercise and practice dueling, she _still _had a tummy...). But she had had her capabilities called into question, and Hermione was sick of appearing always unable, weak, or less than equal in any matter other than that of her mind. As such, she was going to do something she'd sworn she'd never do—she was going to take Hestia's tips on what men like and use them.

**--break--**

"You haven't seen the paper yet today, have you?" Danielle, mouth set in a grim position, asked Hermione.

Confused, Hermione shook her head and glanced over at Harry and Ron, both of whom were wolfing down breakfast with alacrity. "No, you know that we never get the Daily Prophet or anything that isn't brought by Order members. Hedgwig understands that she can't fly further than the closest village proper, and she hasn't been fetching the paper either."

Without replying to that, Danielle—who had come unusually early today, since neither she, Hestia, or Li ever came before eleven at least, and it was only nine—tossed a newspaper on Hermione's lap. She picked it up and skimmed the headlines, her eyes widening as she took in the large words proclaimed in black and white on the front page:

DEATH EATERS ESCAPE AZKABAN! ONE KILLED, FOUR IN CRITICAL CONDITION

"Whassa mattah, Hnnee?" Ron took a gulp of pumpkin juice to wash down the mouthful he'd been talking around. Hermione was too distracted to level a glare at Ron's atrocious table manners, so Harry did it for her and then craned his neck to try and see what Hermione was reading.

"Yeah, what rubbish has the Daily Prophet been publishing today?"

"I wish this were rubbish, even something by Rita Skeeter would be preferable," Hermione muttered, chucking the paper at Harry's direction. Sighing, she propped her head on her hands and groaned. _Curse it all, why didn't you know about this Severus? Better yet, did you know and not tell me? Was it one of those things that could not be helped? No, don't be a dolt Hermione—how can you distrust Severus after all that has happened? But oh Merlin, this is going to be bad for us, and a double blow after what they did at Hogwarts. _

"_WHAT?" _Harry's bellow told her that he'd read at least the headliner, if not the rest of the article. His next words informed her that he'd skimmed through the piece as well. "How did this happen? I thought Azkaban was supposed to be secure, but no, they just let Bellatrix and a whole bunch of Death Eaters waltz right out of prison.

"Incompetent blundering _idiots!" _Harry was red with anger, green eyes blazing. Ron was torn between his own dismay and Harry's obvious distress. Hermione could understand Ron's predicament because she felt it as well—that tugging on the peculiar bond she'd almost forgotten in the course of the past few weeks as Harry's internal turmoil threatened to overwhelm the boy.

"Harry, calm down," she said worriedly.

"How can I calm down when people like _Bellatrix _are out there roaming around and likely to kill or torture people?!"

"Mate, you really need to cool it. We can't change anything now," Ron contributed. But Harry had had enough, and with a final surge of some emotion that made Hermione feel like heaving the breakfast she'd just consumed, he stalked off in the direction of his room. Head spinning, Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and willed her stomach not to rebel. _Don't heave, don't heave, don't heave…_when she'd mostly gotten control over it again—and when Harry must have been far enough away that the bond to him didn't overwhelm her—Hermione shakily sat up from where she'd been slumped, and realized that Ron was looking just as green as her, his freckles standing out starkly in contrast to his pale face, and that Danielle was had somehow quickly conjured away the sickening smell of the leftover breakfast and was watching them concernedly.

"Are you two all right? Both of you practically keeled over at the same time, and it looked like you were both going to hurl."

Testing her voice, Hermione found it tolerably steady, although it started out a little squeaky. "Yeah. I'm okay. I think. I'm not quite sure what that was, but it had to do with how Harry's feeling right now."

"Hate," Ron croaked. He shook his head, winced, and reached a trembling hand to his cup. Danielle tsked and efficiently switched out the cup of pumpkin juice for a glass of clean, cool water instead, handing one to Hermione as well. The both of them sipped gratefully, and after a few moments, Ron continued, "What we're feeling—or I guess physical manifestation of what _Harry's _feeling right now—the nausea, I think that's pure hate."

"How do you know?" Danielle asked.

In response, Ron straightened himself from how he'd been sitting like someone had kicked him in the stomach. "Have you ever hated? Pure, unadulterated hatred un-tempered by any sort of common sense or truth or untruth—doesn't matter if it's justified or not, you still loathe that person with all of your being?"

Danielle glanced away. "Yes."

"Then you know how I know that it's hate that we're feeling from Harry," he said confidently.

"Hold on. Who have you hated this much, Ron? This—this level of hatred is so poisonous it's exhausting," Hermione frowned.

It was Ron's turn to glance away now. "It's not my most glorious moments, Hermione. I'm damn ashamed of it, actually."

"You're my friend and my brother, Ron. I won't judge you for something you obviously regret."

"Well…I guess so," Ron said reluctantly. "I know what Harry's feeling is hate because, other than the whole invasive to the point of throwing up thing, that kind of draining anger was all that I felt towards Dolohov when he hurt you at the Department of Mysteries."

"You—what?" Hermione blinked, wholly surprised. Ron grimaced, and ran his hand through the red shock of hair that was uncommonly messy and unbrushed.

"Dolohov. You know, big ugly guy, hit you with that silent curse, tried to take out Harry and Moody and Sirius while he was at it…"

"Yes, I remember him quite well thank you, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"Oh good. I thought maybe I'd have to ask Madame Corwin to check and see if you had any Obliviates performed on you in the recent past."

"Ron…"

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Ron did look sorry, which Hermione didn't doubt. Humor and jokes were just his way of coping with unpleasant things, Hermione knew. _This must be a hard conversation for him, especially since if he did read the article over Harry's shoulder, he'll have seen that Dolohov was one of the ones that escaped. _

"Anyway, when I saw him point his wand at you and you go under, I hated him in that moment so much that if he'd been in my reach, I'd have torn him to pieces and not cared at all. Despised the worthless little piece of shit for a couple months at least—all through summer, at any rate. You and Harry didn't notice, mostly because Harry was consumed with Sirius' death and you were consumed with recovering and with helping Harry, but that summer I must have spent all the time I didn't spend with you or Harry, devising actual plans on what to do with Dolohov. I went as far as to ask Dad what the policy was for treating prisoners in Azkaban. I didn't tell him that I wanted to dismember the fellow, but I recall that Dad gave me this serious look and told me to be careful of what I was nurturing in my heart."

Ron rubbed absently at his knee, staring off into space. Danielle had, at some point, silently eased her way out of the room, leaving the two to privacy. "I hated the bastard so much I couldn't think of much else," he said reflectively now. "It was like the git was even worse than Voldemort because Dolohov was _personal." _ Looking back up at Hermione, Ron smiled half-heartedly. "Did I ever tell you that it was him that killed my two uncles? Gideon and Fabian Prewett—my Mum's twin brothers. She's never really gotten over it, even when I was growing up I learnt better than to mention them or their pictures around the house because then she'd get all quiet and go to her room and shut the door. She was a wreck when she heard that it had been Dolohov who gave you that injury, Hermione. She loves you like a daughter and I don't know if she could bear losing someone else to that bastard."

Hermione dared not shift, not even to take care of the growing cramp in her right calf. Instead, she watched Ron as he related some of, no doubt, his most personal thoughts. _We haven't really shared secrets or our real feelings like this, not in forever, not since we were all children. Maybe we should start it up again—Harry sure could use a healthy outlet to express his real emotions, and it looks like Ron could too. And me…well, just because I'm a working Order member doesn't mean I don't need my friends for support! _

"When I saw him and heard someone call him Dolohov, and I saw you go down to him, and I thought about my Mum and the uncles I never got to know, and how I was damned if I was going to let that murderer hurt my best girl or anyone else I cared about, for that matter, ever again. So that summer I spent learning all I could about him, all I could about what I could use to maybe kill him in prison—poison, or something. It was eating away at me by the time it was the last two weeks before school began, and then Mum pulled me aside and gave me a long talk about justice and love and what was really important in life. We talked for a long time." Ron smiled now, a smile full of warmth and rare love that illuminated his face and made him the handsomest man in the world for not being afraid of showing his love for his mother.

"She knocked some sense into me that day. I can't say I immediately turned a new leaf and forgave the git, but—" Ron shrugged expressively. "It didn't matter so much anymore, not as much as enjoying life and my friend and family."

And there was really nothing she could say to that but to get up, despite the slight wobbliness she still felt, and give Ron an engulfing hug. _No matter what happens, if we can rely on each other—I can't see how we could lose. It isn't possible, not with so much love on our side, and Albus may have made several serious errors but about the big picture he was never wrong about the true power of real and enduring love, the kind that absorbs, forgives, absolves, and heals—the kind that our side has. We can't lose—not with that kind of power. We just can't. _

**A.N.: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! **


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

Prince Manor, Severus decided, was promising.

Well, it would have been promising if it didn't have upwards of a thousand spiders, two inches of dust, and roughly six or seven Death Eaters—most of them fugitives of one country or other—dwelling in it's hallowed halls.

The Princes hadn't been especially known for it's Dark inclinations. By all standards, they'd been a quiet, respectable family reputed for their particular skills in wandcrafting. The current Ollivander's grandmother had been a Prince, and there was quite a tradition of Princes marrying Ollivanders. There was even Prince blood in Gregorovitch's line—if one traced some hundred and thirty years back in time, one Arabella Prince had wedded Caspian Gregorovitch in a simple affair. The Princes were snobs with a decided prejudice against all things Muggle and Muggle-born, but they could almost be excused for it seeing as how, when they had been in their heyday, so had the anti-Muggle sentiment. Even the Longbottoms and the Potters, famous Light families, had expressed their own preferences for at least Half-blood status—leave the Muggleborns to each other, and perhaps in several generations they'll breed as true as a minor Pureblooding line. Thus, Severus found no unpleasant surprises or traps set around the large house, merely the stringent wards of a normal Pureblood ancestry.

There were three floors proper, with an attic filled with the clutter of the Prince years gone by, and a basement that had once been used as the main wandcrafting room. Not that it would have been quite so evident to anyone who had not been so educated in any sort of wandlore as Severus suspected was the case with just about 99.9 of the population. Wand-makers and their family guarded their secrets more carefully than goblins their gold. It had only been by dint of his blood and his relation to Ollivander that the old man had been persuaded to teach him just enough about wandlore for Severus to gather his own ingredients that would respond well to him in a wand, and how not to be cheated when buying a new wand. The actual process of crafting of the wand, of course, Severus did not know as it was not to be shared to anyone but the apprentice, and not revealed in entirety until the apprentice had taken the strictest oaths not to abuse the knowledge or to share it but with _his _apprentice…

So, it was up to him to act as if he didn't see the purpose of the unusually long tables placed all over the room, tables unsuited for just about anything, with the unusual feature of not being made of wood but of _stone, _the ancient iron-cast cauldron tucked in the corner, or the wall entirely of cupboards. Bella, and by proxy, the Dark Lord, really didn't need to know that Severus knew more than most about wandlore. It was with satisfaction that Severus once again viewed the basement three days later. It had taken that long for him, with the help of Mippy and Mippy alone—he refused to allow Bella or any of the other Death Eaters to get their sticky hands into his potions store or see what he kept on hand, or interfere in any such way as to distract him from the perfect set up of his very own private lab, fully equipped.

"You're an obsessive little bastard, aren't you," Bella sneered after he'd finally hexed her in a fit of fury the fourth time she'd tried to poke her nose into the basement.

"If I am, you certainly give me reason to be, Bella," he retorted, finding perverse satisfaction that she would be unable to take off the charm that had caused her to break out in blistering boils all over her face and arms (and further down her body, but he really did not wish to verify his accuracy and strength in casting that hex).

"Well, keep your little potions lab to yourself then," she hissed. "I for one shall be glad that I don't see your ugly mug and skinny arse lurking in the shadows around this place."

"You would do well to keep in mind, Bella, that I do _own _this house."

"It is the Dark Lord's to give and to take away," she said mysteriously. Severus thought that both the unintended reference to the Muggle Bible and Bella's attempt at pulling a Sibyll Trelawny were rather ridiculous. Nevertheless, Bella finally took herself off—possibly to sulk and think up repugnant ways to regain the favor of the Dark Lord over Severus.

Yes, on the whole the house would have been rather satisfactory living quarters—_luxurious _living quarters, considering both Spinner's End and his quarters at Hogwarts—but for the unwelcomed company and the fact that it had been a gift from the Dark Lord.

No use crying over what had been done, however. As Severus traversed from basement to his room, which was situated in a tucked away corner of the first floor in a shadowy corridor quite easy to miss, he bumped into Dolohov. Antonin Dolohov was one of the recently freed, had only just arrived early this morning in fact, around 3am, unshaved, clad still in his prisoner's garb, and wearing the look of an intensely gratified man. _Damn sadistic monster. _The problem with Dolohov, Severus thought now as he politely stopped and greeted the man who looked much better than he had this morning, abruptly crashing through the Floo, was that the man was just too damn intelligent. It wouldn't have been so bad if Dolohov had been as stupid as Crabbe or Goyle, either Jrs. Or Srs., it didn't matter. But Dolohov…now, Dolohov was _smart. _He was just as wily as Lucius, perhaps even more so for having less money and influence and having had to use his wits more than the conventional bribe. It hadn't saved him from Azkaban the first time nor the second, but it _had _placed him so high in the Dark Lord's regard that the Dark Lord had been persuaded to free certain Death Eaters from the Wizarding prison. Only a few, of course. _I wish I'd known beforehand—that he'd told me so I could somehow let Hermione know to prepare the Aurors! _

That was the hard part about being a spy in the midst of such filth—that he was not able to learn everything, not able to prevent everything—_oh, Albus—_

"…but we all know that our Master depends on you for the highest quality of every potion you make for us, so we disregard her."

Scrambling to catch up, Severus nodded gravely and bluffed his way through the conversation. "My thanks, Dolohov. I hope you find your room to your satisfaction?"

"Very. Much better than the accommodations at Azkaban," Dolohov said with an ironic lilt. "I was just wondering when dinner might be served—after Bella's encounter, none of us wished to disturb you but it is getting rather late…"

Oh—right. _Thank Merlin for Mippy, I'd never get anything real done if I had to host all these oafs without him. _"Mippy!"

Mippy appeared, looking formal and blank-faced, dressed in a starched black towel that covered his entire body and had a silver _S _stitched in the corner. They'd had a fruitful conversation after Hermione had left, with him telling Mippy the entire truth and giving him a choice of freedom from service or accompaniment to a virtual prison, and Mippy declaring hotly that "Master needs Mippy to look after Master, or Master will become so thin and worked out that he will vanish into the wind!" and resolving to follow "Master" to the ends of the earth if need be. Touched, Severus had solemnly told the little house-elf of the necessary deceptions and the house-elf had actually been excited at the prospect of "tricking the tricksters," as he had neatly put it. For a house-elf, Mippy had quite an eloquent tongue.

Now, it seemed as if Mippy and Severus were made for each other—the house-elf took to acting a part as easily as the master fooled everyone around him. _Hermione is right—it is indeed a game in which one outwits another, and the objective is to be the one outwitting, not outwitted. _"Mippy, organize dinner for everyone when they wish it—separately tonight, I think, I am not fond of formal dinners. Yes, separately, and bring Mister Dolohov's dinner to him straight away in—where would you like it?"

"My room would be fine, if I may have use of your library to borrow one or two books?" Dolohov enquired.

"Make use of the library and all it's contents as if it were yours," Severus affirmed politely. _You won't find anything of use though, you sneaky old goat. Mippy and I sorted out the books and made sure only the relatively harmless, dull, and dry tomes are still on the shelves. The rest of them have been taken to Hogwarts by Mippy, and his sister Minny will hide them and guard them for me until such a time when I can retrieve it or need to make use of one of the books. There were some particularly interesting books in the Prince library—the Dark Lord will have seen them, unfortunately, but I refuse to give access to them to anyone else unless he orders, and he will certainly understand and approve of my prudence in removing valuable volumes from the availability of casual perusal…_

"Thank you, Snape. I hope you excuse me—I am rather in want of a shower first, before I take part in my meal."

"Of course. Go, Mippy. I shall see you around the house then, Dolohov, and I hope you are recovered from your unpleasant stay in Azkaban soon."

They parted ways, and Severus strode to his room, lost in thought. _If I _have _to host this rabble of Death Eaters, then at least Prince Manor seems to have shaped itself to my needs, _he mused as he slipped into the narrow corridor to his quarters, which consisted of a living-room which led to a bedroom and a bathroom. The first floor held only the library, the kitchen, and his own rooms. The second floor was all bedrooms—four of them, where Dolohov, Bella and Rodolphus, Rabastan, and MacNair were staying. Bella and Rodolphus were in the largest of the rooms, a large sunny stretch that had been the Prince nursery. The third floor held two more bedrooms and three studies. Pettigrew and Mulciber occupied those bedrooms, and the studies remained largely unopened although Severus had, in a fit of haste, cleared out any relevant objects or information and placed them in the attic, which was then warded in just as heavily a manner as he had done with the basement. Thus, Severus' 'domain' had been claimed as the very top floor and the very bottom. _If I were in the sarcastic joking mood, I might point out how very much that could tie to my situation among the Death Eaters at the moment, for I am ascendant for having killed Albus and being in the Dark Lord's esteem, but also for that same reason and more besides occupying the lowest rung of their little hierarchal system of preference among themselves. _

But he wasn't, and what Severus was more inclined to think rather than ironic little thoughts such as those, were the defensibility of his position, what situation he now found himself in, and so on. His rooms were hard to find and hard to penetrate, and he had already discovered that it was fairly easy to escape through the bedroom window or bathroom window if need be—although he'd also made sure no one could come _in _that way. No one else dwelt on the same floor as he, and in event of a hasty retreat, he would be outside in the same time it took for them to come down the stairs. In contrast, if he was trapped in the upper levels, he could retreat to the protections of the attic and escape by way of broom through the small window near the slanted roof of the ceiling. The old Firefly model stashed up there still looked to be in working condition, although it certainly was decades outdated.

His room was a restful blend of glowing cherry wood furniture, deep blue-carpeted expanses of floor, and a more subtle blue set of curtains. Neither were the brash blue that he associated with Ravenclaw House, for which he was grateful—one got rather sick of seeing the four House colors after a decade of teaching, no matter what House he'd favored or disliked or been indifferent to. Even green…

Overall, a quite tasteful color scheme and a comfortable air, and since no Death Eater, not even the Dark Lord, would dare enter another's personal quarters in their own ancestral home—no matter whether the Dark Lord had gotten it for him or no—Severus could almost forget that he was living in the same house as the people he'd watched torture and kill Muggles and Muggle-borns and other dissenters for "sport".

_It is even harder now, I suspect, since before in Spinner's End I was only half-comfortable at all no matter how much better Mippy made it. The memories were too overwhelming there, but they kept me on alert. Now I am in danger of relaxing, of letting down my guard because this room feels more like home than Spinner's End. Not quite as much as Hogwarts, but that is merely by the dint of my being used to Hogwarts. Yet I could get used to this place so easily, so very easily that it frightens me that I could fall into complacency. A spy who does not notice his surroundings is a dead spy. That can't happen. _

Sighing, Severus looked at his watch instinctively—the one that didn't exactly tell time. It had become a force of habit to look for it in case of a contact he'd somehow missed, and even now as the wards of Prince Manor bore down its considerable weight on the small piece of equipment, leaving it barely able to function, he still looked at it several times a day. Not that the device would transmit any real message now—perhaps a low-frequency alert, but he suspected that the temperature changes, the most basic of the functions, might be the only thing left unaffected and able to work around the protections of the place. Not surprisingly, there was no message. _Ask for Milena. _Against his will, Severus wondered what Hermione would dress like, look like, act like…a picture of Lily with her glorious cascade of red hair and vivid green eyes and porcelain complexion came into his mind, but he set it aside firmly. _I loved, I lost, I endured, _he thought grimly. _She found love somewhere else, something beautiful and meaningful enough that she would die for it. You'd think you'd have gotten over her eons ago, Severus. Honestly. _

Would Hermione be Russian, as the name she'd picked suggested? 'Milena'—a wholesome sort of name with a touch of the exotic. It certainly seemed a possibility that she'd appear as a big-boned, pink-cheeked peasant-girl from Russia (to borrow from a stereotype). Or perhaps a girl from the other end of Russia, where Asian influences and peoples had swayed the Russians into a more slim, dark-haired, oriental slant—although it was unlikely, since the names on that border had been more influenced by Asian language as well and Milena was wholly European.

Would she bow to the overwhelming stereotype of the buxom blonde? He hoped not—he had nothing against such women that existed naturally, but he could not imagine Hermione blonde, nor acting the silly manner that befitted such a stereotype in a call girl. In fact, he might just want to hurl if she began acting in such a coarse manner completely disrespecting the intelligent mind and quick and sensible wit he knew she possessed, as well as all her other skills and strengths. _I do not wish to see her degrade herself, and be degraded by others, to such a level as that of a call girl. I do wish we had found a different solution—no matter what she says, it cannot be a pleasant prospect for her, not with her former teacher and the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, not to mention the age difference. In addition to that, she places herself in a precarious position and one in which she must endure humiliation of the worst sort to her virtue and her abilities—Merlin, what kind of world is this when young women are forced into playacting sexual over-maturity to contribute to the war effort? _In this unsatisfied frame of mind, Severus went to bed. _Merlin help us, help us all endure what must be done. _

**--break--**

Draco had been moved from his safe house.

It had been compromised, a brusque Order member told him—the silent, brawny man who'd been his only contact with the outside world and his tutor for what the Order deemed necessary for him to learn. In what way, Draco didn't know and didn't bother to ask—the man, Sean, would not answer anyway. He was about as communicative as a stone wall.

Thus it was that Draco—with Skye's spirit hovering right next to him—were transported to a new place. The first thing that hit him, as he stepped out of the Floo, was that he was outdoors and it was damned _hot. _The second was that he was most definitely not in England or, for that matter, anywhere near it, at all. The third was that there were several curious faces regarding him with some interest.

"Mister Malfoy?" A young woman—perhaps in her mid-twenties, a fresh and sunny blonde, stepped forward. "I'm Natalie Wood, the primary OPFP here, and I'll be taking over your training as well. We've been expecting you." She ushered him away from the—brazier?—that he'd just Floo'd through, and Draco took in his surroundings in awe. The sun was brazenly bright, the sky a hard, polished blue, and he was standing in a small courtyard paved modestly in stone. Clumps of hardy-looking shrubbery adorned the walled in courtyard, and a house—and an enormous building right behind it, with unusual architecture—loomed over him.

"Hi, Natalie," he responded after the initial pause. "Any relation to Oliver Wood?"

"Cousin," she smiled.

"You don't look very like."

"No—he got his mother's looks, and we're related through his father's side," she informed him cheerily. "Now, before we get any further, I have to warn you that this is an unusual safe house you've arrived at. The Order tells me that with the safe house you were at compromised, there is a lack of space at the moment and too many people to keep hidden. So you've currently arrived at what we like to call our 'out-post', because we're not directly involved in the war here—this is where all the people who aren't actual Order members and aren't actively helping in the war go. So you're a rather new and interesting addition to our little cadre."

"Oh." Draco looked with trepidation behind Natalie, where an array of perhaps six people stood, all scrutinizing him. "I hope I'm not too much trouble—"

"Oh no, of course not," came the perky reply. "We're glad to have you here. Just because we cannot be part of the effort back home doesn't mean we don't support the Order in any way we can, including housing one of their trainees."

"Okay. Um, thanks." Intensely and acutely uncomfortable, Draco tried to refrain from shifting from one foot to the other. Skye had floated off to examine their perimeters and peek outside the walls surrounding where he stood, so he could get no suggestions from that quarter. _Talk about awkward! This is almost as bad as meeting Skye's aunt! _

Thankfully, Natalie seemed disinclined to let the silence grow, and she piped up again. "Here, let's do introductions. We all know your name is Draco Malfoy, and that you've just joined the Order. I know a little more, which I've told my group here, that you're still in school and you defied your own family. We really don't know much more. But here—I'm Natalie, I've been on assignment here for three years for the Order."

And around the circle it went. "Emmeline Vance, I've been here a year after having to fake my death."

"Temperance Burbage, I've been here since the start of the summer. My sister, Charity—she teaches—_taught—_Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, Mister Malfoy." The woman's voice was subdued and she choked over the past tense of the verb.

"Conley McDougal. Was a reporter, dug too deep into the first war for someone's liking, had to disappear before they did me in."

"Jasper Sullivan. Muggle, but my fiancée Beth is a witch and a Pureblood and her family weren't too happy with me. We came here two years ago."

"Maybe you remember me, Draco? I'm Bethany Pritchard, we met when I was still speaking with my family. My brother is starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, Graham Pritchard. I'm Jasper's fiancée, and we're finally getting married this summer!"

"I'm Jane Granger, this is my husband Daniel. We're Muggles—I believe you know our daughter Hermione?—Death Eaters decided to demolish our work place and we faked our deaths and went into hiding—oh, about a year ago."

"You're Granger's _parents?_" Draco's jaw dropped, and he did a double-take of the couple. The woman was a mild-eyed woman with short brown hair, the man slightly taller than average and broad-shouldered, wearing black-framed glasses. Upon closer examination, Draco could see that it was the man's facial features, feminized, that Granger had inherited, while receiving that hair from her mother.

"Yes, we are," Jane Granger confirmed.

"We shall have to have a talk soon," added Daniel Granger pleasantly. "We haven't seen our daughter in a year, and she's been so busy that her letters are sporadic and infrequent. Natalie gets some news about her, but not much."

_Damn it. _"Uh, well I don't really know her that well and I haven't seen her since school let out," Draco equivocated, panicking. _These are the parents of the girl I've ostracized and humiliated at every chance since we were eleven! The supposedly _dead _parents of Granger. I don't think they'd be too happy with me if they knew that. _

"You've still seen her more recently than us," Jane pointed out.

Stuck, Draco searched in vain for something, anything, to say to the Grangers. Luckily, Natalie, whom he was becoming to like just on the basis of the fact that she talked so much that she steamrollered over any awkward moments, broke in cheerily once more. "Well, I'm sure you'll all have time to get acquainted with each other soon, but for now let's go inside! We'll get Draco—is it alright if we call you Draco?—settled into his room and give him the grand tour of the grounds."

"Thank you, Natalie," he said, trailing after her as she herded the small group of people towards the entrance of the house. A movement caught his eye—Skye, drifting past and giggling as she swooped up the steps and waltzed right through the closed door ahead of the group.

"It's gorgeous!" she cried, and her voice echoed back to reach his ears as he approached the steps to the front door. "I like this place so much better than our last safe house! You've landed us in the honey-pot, Draco my boy!"

Shaking his head slightly at Skye's exuberant gaiety, Draco bit his lip to keep from smiling inadvertently.

"Welcome to the homeland where one of the original seven wonders of the ancient world once stood," Natalie said grandly, throwing open the doors of the house and leading him in.

**A.N.: Any guesses on where Draco and the Grangers are? There are some clues in this chapter and while I won't tell you specifically where they are, if you guess correctly I'll tell you that you did. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: I don't make thousands. I'm not famous. I'm not JKR.**

"The contents of this library was once the admiration of the world," Mister Granger—_Daniel, _he'd insisted on Draco calling him—said with an oblique glance at Draco. They were walking through the building that Draco had seen behind the first smaller house, a building that Draco had discovered, was filled with thousands and thousands of ancient texts.

"I can see why," Draco responded, looking in awe around him at the rows and rows of bound books, some looking rather worse for the wear, all housed comfortably in snug dark wood shelves. Metal ladders, the concession to progress and technology, dotted the interior of the vast library. "The only thing I can't see is why they didn't declare _this _one of the wonders of the world too. Unless they didn't want to claim two wonders in the same city?"

Daniel Granger laughed. It was a pleasant baritone sound. They were the only two in the library—It was Jane Granger's and Conley McDougal's turn to make dinner, and the others had scattered to do whatever they did during the day, and after the tour of the house and having been shown his room, Natalie had left to Floo back to whoever she was in contact with at the Order and report Draco's safe arrival. Daniel had gravely offering to show Draco around the extensive and historical library, and Draco had been unable to say no. Faintly, he heard Skye's off-tune humming as she skimmed the shelves of books the floor above the one he was on.

"I will confess, my wife had to literally drag me out by my shirt collar in my first few months here," Daniel admitted. "The lure of knowledge has always been a siren's call for my family. When Jane wasn't dragging me out of the library, I was doing her the same courtesy. No doubt my daughter would have done the same if she got the chance to visit."

"Yes, I can see Gr—uh your daughter, doing that," Draco said uneasily, wondering if Granger had told her parents about him and if so, how much.

"In case you're wondering, Draco, Hermione did tell us the full extent of her rather dysfunctional relationship to you," Daniel remarked, as if he'd performed Legilimency on the boy effortlessly. _Don't be ridiculous. They're Muggles. _

"Oh." Draco winced. "I'm sorry, Sir…"

"Sorry? Don't be silly, Draco. And I'm Daniel, remember? No, you have nothing to apologize for. My daughter knows full well that children are a product of their environment. We discussed it in length the first time she came home with tales about a pale blonde boy who was calling her names and making fun of her and her friends. From what I hear, you had no proper examples from the adults in your life who should have been your earliest models for behavior and values. She bears no ill will towards you as a person for anything that may have occurred between you and she."

During this rather remarkable speech, Draco's jaw had been steadily dropping lower and lower to the ground, and he was unable to keep silent anymore. "What, so she just forgives me for years of bullying and being enemies? You aren't angry at me?"

"Of course not. Perhaps a little in the beginning, when our little girl was coming home with tales of mean boys, but that is hardly a new occurrence in Hermione's life and she has survived bullies before with grace and honor and self-esteem intact. Besides—" here Daniel raised an eyebrow, peering down his spectacles at the shorter boy. "Besides, I do believe that she gave as good as she got, and that makes you mutual enemies, not bully and victim. You may have started the feud, but she is hardly any less to blame for continuing it. We had quite a talk when she wrote home and announced that she had punched Draco Malfoy and it felt just as good as slapping Bobby Madden in her day school when she was nine."

Draco felt his cheeks warm, and a giggle from overhead told him that Skye was listening intently to the conversation as well. _Interfering eavesdropper. I am going to make you regret that when I get some time alone! _"I guess I was being rather priggish and deserving of a punch," he confessed, remembering what he'd said to provoke the normally calm, prim and proper girl into a rage.

"No doubt," the man answered, "But we have tried to teach Hermione that physical violence is not a solution and should only be used in defense. Of course, with the war going on we are rather glad of having ensured that she could protect herself physically, as it seems as if our girl is throwing herself in the way of eminent danger everywhere she goes."

"Potter's doing," Draco muttered. "She's best friends with a living target."

"She mentioned it." Daniel sighed. "I cannot ask her to turn her back on everything I have taught her about truth, loyalty, and justice, and yet I sometimes wish Hermione were not so much like her mother, so ready to hurl herself into the fray in any way possible to help those she loves."

Draco could find nothing to say to that. Daniel did not seem to require a response, but rather clasped his hands behind his back as they reached the end of the building finally and turned to stroll back to the doorway that connected the library to the house proper. _"The house and connections were built at the same time the books were hastily conveyed here for safety from the looming dangers of looting and burning that follow every conquering army," Natalie had informed him on entering the house. "From that time forward, at least one witch or wizard has stayed in the house as the keeper of the library. _

"Is she in the Order?" Draco asked on a whim. "I don't know when she turns seventeen, but I assume when she does she'll be asked to join…?"

"Actually, she is already in the Order," Daniel said solemnly. "She is a full Order member now—they just moved her from trainee status. Jane and I received a letter from her just yesterday." He pulled it out from the pocket of his cut offs—and Draco realized with a start that the man was wearing Muggle clothing. _Mighty comfortable they look too, much better than these bloody robes that seem to trap all the heat! _Draco eyed Daniel's casual khakis and t-shirt with envy as he tentatively took the piece of parchment that the man held out to him.

"Are you sure you want me to read this? It's private correspondence, not any of my business."

"Read it. There's no big secret in there that you don't have the right to know as an Order member, which I am not even. Jane and I won't mind, and perhaps it will help you gain a better understanding of a different view of things than what your own parents modeled for you, now that you must find your own way."

"Thank you," Draco said, oddly touched at Daniel's gesture of kindness. _Granger has no idea just how lucky she is to have Jane and Daniel as parents. I would give anything to have my parents think like them. _

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I am so sorry that I haven't written in oh so long. You will have heard about Albus Dumbledore's death, I suppose. It was horrific—Harry, Ron, and I got there just in time to see him fall, and Harry completely snapped. He went into shock and wouldn't come out for several weeks. We finally got him back, and then did something to protect him further—I'm sorry I can't share any particulars with you because it's top secret, but I do wish I could have your insights on it. It is such an interesting phenomenon, and I can already see the religious influence on the earlier forms of magic that was used that we've all but eliminated from contemporary wand magic. _

_However. Harry, Ron, and I are now in a safe house. Harry and Ron have finally be initiated into the Order, and are official trainees! They were so furious when they found out that I had been in the Order before them, and before I was seventeen, but they came around faster than I thought they would. Mum, you were right—boys _do _eventually grow up! _

_Speaking of the Order—I don't know if Master Li or Natalie has told you this or not, but I have been moved up in rank, from trainee to an actual active Order member. I have my own assignment, an important one that I can't tell you about—but it terrifies me. How can I do the things they as asking of me? There are many more who are more qualified than a witch not yet seventeen and not out of school yet—which they are rectifying as well, by the way. I am studying my seventh year curriculum and writing my formal thesis, and taking my NEWTs at the end of the summer. Minerva wants me to teach at Hogwarts next year instead of taking classes!_

_On one side, the life of someone I consider a friend and respect immensely—not to mention, is significant to the Order—hangs in balance, and if I slip up it could mean his death. On the other side, I am uncertain how I will take the sudden switch from student to teacher in the space of a summer. How can I teach students my age when I feel as if I've barely touched the tip of knowledge, even with all my reading, even with all our debates and everything you've taught me—still, I feel vastly unprepared._

_I wish I could discuss this with you more extensively. I could particularly use your advice on some issues. The only thing I can do is ask if you have come up with why electronics don't work in magical environments? I think the internet would be a wonderful source for research, not to mention I feel absolutely horrible for not having written Julia and Sofi at all since you 'died'. They probably think I've abandoned them. I haven't had a chance to talk to them or get out to a Muggle post office or email them at all, and I feel awful. _

_Hestia is coming now to discuss some aspects of my job, so I will close this letter now._

_With much love,_

_Your daughter Hermione. _

Draco handed the creased letter back to Daniel, who smiled down at it fondly, smoothing it out gently before folding it and sticking it back into his pocket. "You have an eloquent and open daughter," was all Draco commented.

Daniel was more perceptive than most wizards. Was it because he was a Muggle, or simply a character trait? Draco wondered idly. Whatever it was, it gave him the certain wisdom not to jump straight in and continue their conversation where it had left off. Instead, Daniel merely beamed and said jovially, "Well, we raised her to be honest and as expressive as she could be in any medium." Then he turned to the entrance, which, during the course of their walking, they'd arrived back at. "Well, I've kept you quite long and I'm sure you're longing to unpack and get properly settled into you room. Not to mention Jane will be wanting my company in the kitchen. Do you know the way back to your room, or shall I show it to you?"

Draco assured him of his memory, and soon he was watching the all-together puzzling Muggle walk calmly away to meet his wife, having just shattered about a million of Draco's preconceptions in a single meeting.

"Are you just going to stand there, or can we get back to the room and start unpacking?" Skye interrupted his stunned disquiet, and Draco turned to look at the girl who had first been a constant reminder of his own guilt, then a voice of conscience, and somehow had morphed along the way to a friend he respected and would die for, if it came to that. _Die for. _It was a pretty thing to promise, and a harsh thing to face. Draco might talk about death, about oblivion being much easier than the task of living, but when it came down to it, he truly wanted to _live. _Death was a distant, nightmarish ghoul and he had no wish to become further acquainted with it. _But if I had to, I would, to save Skye, _he realized with a sickening shock. _Dear Merlin, what has she done to me? I have never, never, felt that way about anyone before—to act like such a Gryffindor. _It was like falling off a cliff, freefalling, tumbling in the cold, whistling thin air as gravity inexorably drew him closer to the face of the earth hundreds of feet down, as he twisted and desperately grasped at tree roots, rock ledges, anything that might catch his fall.

"Draco?" Skye's voice, the silver-ish tone as familiar to his ear as his own now, wove itself into his scrambled, hyperventilating thoughts.

"Oh—yeah." Stumbling a little as his mind reeled with an overload of information, both from Daniel Granger and from his struggling to reevaluate the friendship between he and Skye, Draco dazedly maneuvered his way up the stairs and to the left, where a plain door marked the entrance to his room. Fumbling it open, he stepped into the Spartan bedroom—a comfortable and impersonal room, except for the homemade touch of some sort of flower that Draco didn't presume he knew the name of in a small vase on his bedside table.

"Is there something wrong?" Skye asked a little hesitantly. "Have I done something wrong?"

"What? Ah—no! Nothing's wrong," he assured her hastily, still trying to gain any sort of foothold on uncharted territory. A strand of hair fell into her eyes, and as she brushed it impatiently away, Draco stared at it, strangely fascinated and impulsively longing to reach out to touch the lock of hair.

"Well, if you're sure…" she didn't look convinced, but was willing to drop the matter. "I browsed through some of the books of the library, and I think that we might be able to find something to help me return to my corporeal body."

"Really?" Draco shakily slung himself onto the closest object, which happened to be his bed, glad to be off his trembling legs. "Tell me about it!"

**--break--**

"And you can't be sure that it won't happen again?"

"I'm sorry, no—it seems to be wholly the doing of the intrinsic magic itself, which decides when the person it's protecting—Harry, in this case—is being too detrimentally affected and transfer-share whatever is hurting him to the rest of the people in the bond. That's why we were all affected when Harry's hatred became all-consuming and bad for himself."

Molly Weasley grimaced at that, and unconsciously rubbed at her stomach. The entire Weasley clan, Ginny excepted, plus all the others who had participated in the Blood Rites, had descended upon Minerva directly after Harry's outburst. Now, four days later, nothing had really been resolved, not with Harry's steadfast refusal to speak of his attitude towards Bellatrix and his avoidance of everyone else in general. Of all the Blood Rite participants, Hermione and Ron seemed to be suffering the worst. Both had, the course of the past few days, suffered symptoms ranging from severe nausea similar to motion sickness, throwing up, weakness, and literally blinding migraines (_"Occular migraines," Irma Pince read flatly from a book she'd pulled from the Hogwarts library. "They affect your vision for around five minutes. There's really nothing you can do, I'm afraid). _

The others reported an uneasy stomach and inability to bear the sight of anything but plain soup and some crackers, slight dizziness at times, and lethargy. Minerva didn't know if it was because of the distance factor or because Hermione and Ron were simply so close to Harry as friends than anyone else was that they were taking on greater share of the physical pain of Harry's emotional turbulence.

"Ginny wants to talk to him. Have Hermione or Ron been able to get through to Harry yet?"

"No one, I'm afraid. Do you think Ginevra would do him any good?" Minerva asked the matron of the Weasley family.

Molly pursed her lips in genuine thought. "I think, no offense to Hermione or my son, but if it's anyone who might be able to knock some sense into that dear boy's head, it'll be my daughter. She's a sensible head on her shoulders and a way with words that no one ever accused Ron of." She smiled ruefully. "He's a brilliant boy, but there seems to be a communication problem between what he knows in his brain and what comes out of his mouth at times."

"He's grown significantly wiser this year," Minerva commented. "You should be proud of your youngest son, Molly. He's truly become a wonderful young man, supportive, loyal, responsible—I noticed several times that he was purposely employing humor to cajole his friends into better moods."

"Yes, he learnt that from the twins," Molly laughed. "I'm glad that you mention his growth, Minerva, it feels as if it were he and Percy that were the overshadowed boys in our family and I worry that I might have made the same mistakes with Ron that I did with Percy…" Molly looked down, twisting the sleeve of her robe. She didn't like to speak of Percy, and Minerva could understand—when the boy you'd raised from the womb turned against the family and completely cut all contact, it would tear your heart right in two.

Attempting to bring Molly's mind back to a happier train of thought, Minerva continued hastily, "All of our children have grown vastly this year, but I feel none more than our Hermione in particular."

"That poor child…" Molly swelled up again in a warm indignation. "I wish we'd known that she was to be inducted at such a young age, she'd have had a warm welcome from the Weasleys at least! To think of her ordeal with so few familiar friendly faces, and then the Order fast-forwarding her training at such speed—she's barely had time to be a child and they're already demanding what most adults are unable to do!"

"We needed her particular skills too badly," Minerva sighed regretfully, wondering whether this was how Albus had felt every time he was forced to make a decision that sacrificed a pawn to move a step closer to checkmate. "I hate to say it, Molly, but the Order is dwindling rapidly in size and talent both and it's been the trend for—oh, the past sixty years at least, maybe more."

"But—I thought—" Molly gestured her confusion. "The Order—it seems to large, and we are never able to all meet at once—"

"Oh, when you first take us all, it seems large, but if you truly look at who is an active member, who is doing merely secretarial work, who has been identified by the other side as an Order member and made ineffective—Molly, I can't give you an estimate of our formal count of members, but I can tell you in you took all the members of the Order who were actually involved in the type of battle we're fighting, we would perhaps have fifty fighters all told. Voldemort has at least ten Death Eaters in his inner circle, thirty in his second, and we estimate that if he were to draw on every man he owns into service all at once, from all the countries some of them are dispersed in, he would be in direct control of perhaps a hundred fifty adults. Those are just Death Eaters. If we counted sympathizers and supporters who would be willing to help Tom Riddle's cause, the numbers would swell to perhaps three-fifty."

Molly looked astounded. Minerva wearily rubbed at her temples. _Oh Albus, we need you more than ever. Just why did you have to be such a stubborn fool with too much faith in our abilities without you? _"That's our situation as it stands, Molly, and with the Death Eaters following up their victory at Hogwarts with a number of blows that have weakened our hopes and thinned our ranks while adding to theirs, we're constantly losing ground to them."

"And Harry isn't making it easier either for anyone connected to him to work." Molly noted, wincing as she straightened in her chair, a hand going absently to her stomach to rub at it—a habit every single Blood-rite participant had picked up, it seemed, to try and ease their nausea. "Well, with your permission I'll send Ginevra over to speak with Harry tonight."

"That would be a blessing, if she managed to make him see reason," Minerva murmured. "Go ahead—you have my official authorization, anyway, if anyone asks."

"Thank you, Minerva." Molly departed after some more exchange of chitchat, and Minerva McGonagall sat back on a colorful Gaelic oath, her head throbbing more than ever. _If only I had someone who could think like Albus, _she thought despairingly as she stared at lists and numbers that signified the Order and the Death Eaters. _I am good at strategy, but not good enough to do this alone! _The problem was that no one in the Order had a head for strategy other than her and Li, and Li was much too busy with the organization of the Order departments to add another thing to his plate.

_Perhaps one of the trainees—not Hermione, she has her own job to do and I know while organization is a gift for her, actual battle strategy is not. _Minerva sighed and made a note to herself to talk to Li. _He interacts with the new trainees more than I do, on a general basis. Perhaps he can suggest someone who could be trained. _Turning back to her carefully listed details—of information brought back by various spies and sources, of information about the Order itself, of Ministry-related rulings and atmosphere, of the situations in various parts of Britain—it was going to be a very long night.

**A.N.: So, my professor just told me (in politer terms) that my writing is crap. I wanted to hurl my essay at his head. I prefer writing this story anyway. So...in the light of his comment, I want to thank every single reader for your continued interest in my story! And to all my reviewers, anonymous or not, a special thanks!**


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: I borrowed them, I'll put them back more or less neatly when I'm done with them…**

Her heels clicked satisfactorily, smugly, on the marble of the dark interior of the vast house she'd arrived at (in style by portkey, covered for by the client of course). A first, fleeting—_very_ fleeting—glance may not have distinguished her from any other woman, except for the impression of extraordinary beauty and an exuding aura of sensuality: she was all woman and she knew it like the back of her own hand. But she carried herself with just enough self-assurance to make others take the trouble to look again, and that's when reactions got interesting. The first man she encountered as she did a slow twirl to take in the place she'd arrived at was a rough-bearded tall Death Eater—one she recognized very well, for she still bore the scar he had gifted her with ages, or so it had seemed, ago. If she had been Hermione Jean Granger, she would have already been holding a wand to his throat. But she was Milena, just Milena, and she was here on a mission.

His reaction was quite amusing, for he stopped, did a double take, and took two hasty steps forward before he regained some measure of his former composure and cleared his throat, trying to look nonchalant. "Who are you and what business do you have here, Ms…"

"Milena." Hermione—no, not Hermione. _Milena _smiled, lips a pink bow on her lovely features. "You may call me Milena. I am here for a Severus Snape, if you might tell me where he is, sir?"

"Milena. It is a pleasure to meet you. Severus, you say?" Dolohov strode forward more confidently now, sliding his large beefy hand up to catch hold of her hand and shake it.

A strangled sound interrupted them, and Milena half-turned, smiling an invitation at the two men who had entered side by side and were now staring, boggle-eyed, at the stranger—at _her. _"Gentlemen. I'm enchanted to make your acquaintances. Are you all housemates of Mister Snape?"

"S- s- Snape, yes, it's his house," stuttered the shorter one, and as if from miles away Hermione stirred in momentary anger at the traitor who had betrayed his best friends to save his own hide and lived off the Weasleys as a rat for so many years. Milena locked Hermione away ruthlessly. This was no time for that person to make an appearance. Milena must present a completely united, unflawed persona.

"This is Milena, she's here for Snape," explained Dolohov, still not letting go of Milena's hand. She let him hold it for the moment. Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened, first in shock, then in blatant envy. The man next to him—_MacNair, Buckbeak's would-be executioner, _supplied the Hermione-information—raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing.

"_Ahem." _

All of them—the men starting in surprise and slight guilt, the woman with complete equilibrium—turned to face the newcomer, who had entered through a doorway on the opposite side of the large first floor. "I believe, Dolohov, that I did not give you permission to…_touch…_the woman I have paid quite a sum to enjoy the company of," the dark figure said sardonically.

Dolohov reddened, but refused to let his lingering hand leave Milena's, and it was Milena who acted, casually slipping hers out of his and moving fluidly, languidly, forward. "You must be Mister Snape," she said. No, _purred. _"It is certainly an exquisite honor to make your…_acquaintance, _sir." She took his hand with both of her soft, manicured hands, drawing the taller man close enough to be just slightly socially inappropriate between mere acquaintances before she leaned up and lightly kissed him twice, once on each cheek.

"Milena. Every inch the lovely beauty Madame Merri promised, and much more I dare say. You have met some of my guests, I believe, but I did not invite you here to bewitch my…colleagues. Would you like a tour of my personal quarters and a glass of the very best firewhisky, perhaps?"

"That would be delightful, Mister Snape. Your fellow peers are a charming bunch and quite a gallant crew I confess! If this is the company you keep about you, I shall thoroughly enjoy our tête-à-tête. Good evening, men, perhaps I shall see you again?" Slanting a seductive side-glance through her luxuriant eyelashes at her captive audience, Milena took the solid black-clad arm offered to her and smoothly swept off with her man, reveling in the feeling of three sets of stares glued to the curves of her body from her back. Hermione coughed embarrassedly from the little compartment of her mind she'd stuffed herself into. Milena mentally glared at her until she finally blushed and nodded her understanding of the necessity of completely compartmentalizing and separating the two personas. _You have two choices—either go Severus' route and blend yourself with your projected personality, rather like you've been doing all year at school, or completely separate the two identities and keep one set on a trigger and the other dominant the rest of the time. You didn't want Milena's open sexuality and selling of it to bleed slowly into your own self and personality. So give up on the complaints already and let the Milena-self take charge! _

She completely missed the clandestine entrance to her client's quarters, but when he stopped and guided her down a shadowy corridor and pushed open a door to reveal a beautifully decorated and comfortable set of rooms, both the spy within her and the Milena-self without thoroughly approved. _Quiet, far away from the rest of the suites, more safety, more _privacy_, it's not likely we'll be bothered by the others here. _

"You have sublime taste in décor, Mister Snape," she murmured, releasing his arm to take her seat but making sure to brush past him in brief physical contact as she took a seat, perfectly at ease in his rooms. He inclined his head in acknowledgement as he moved away briefly to close the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. His back was to her so she couldn't see his expression, but after a moment his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Turning smoothly back to her, he barely looked at her but his voice was abruptly curt as he said, "It's safe now. My quarters are spelled entirely to my privacy and protection, even from the Dark Lord. He does not know that much, at least—that I was able to slide in under his eye with the Prince family wards. We will not have to act within these rooms."

"Thank Merlin," _both _Milena and Hermione sighed, kicking off her ridiculously high heels and rubbing her ankles and feet in irritation. The next instant, Milena-personality had been discarded by the wayside to wait until they left the room. Well, except for her physical appearance. Hermione grimaced at that. Sure, it was great to be so physically stunning that she had that much of an affect on men, but it just didn't feel…right. Not like herself. She didn't like it at all, wearing Milena's form.

"I don't understand how you women are able to defy gravity to totter around in those shoes," Severus muttered—was Hermione imagining it, or was his voice a trifle hoarse? _If it is, he's being far more polite in reacting to this damn body than the others were, _she thought sourly. _Salazar's toenails, if even _Severus _reacts hormonally to this body I shudder to think of the power the real Milena/Faina holds over her men, since she has so little scruples. _

"I'm not most women," she murmured disagreeably, rubbing her aching feet a little harder than necessary. "I _don't _wear these stupid death-inviting _things _if I can help it. The last time I did, my mother had forced me to wear them for some benefit auction of historical artifacts and I nearly destroyed the fine porcelain bowl from China's Han Dynasty when I tripped over myself."

That seemed to break Severus out of whatever brown study he'd been going into while his eyes fixed themselves on her bare feet. He uttered a short, surprised laugh, his eyes coming up to meet hers squarely. "I assume your mother never forced you into the…atrocities again?"

"Not a chance," Hermione grinned, wondering inwardly as she did whether Faina had _ever _cracked a good smile that wasn't for seductive purposes or not, because it felt curiously unnatural on this body… "I take after my father in my inability to take any sort of change to my center of gravity. Unfortunately as a male and a Muggle, he has not had to deal with either of the two banes of my life, heels and flying brooms."

"I noticed your slight dislike of that method of transportation," Severus said wryly, striding over to the single armchair across from hers and sinking down into the cushions. "I must say you had me just about convinced I'd asked for the real thing by mistake, out there. Congratulations, you've just invited the attentions of several unsavory men. Do you have a way out if they ask for you?"

Tucking her feet up under her, Hermione replied, "I worked it out with the girl whose body I borrowed and with Madame Merri. She won't be taking any customers from the Death Eaters—at least, the ones we know about. Can't do anything if one that slipped through the cracks makes an appointment. I hope the Order has vast resources, since she's demanding a mighty sum for all the lost clients. She has no problem with servicing criminals and fugitives of the law, as long as they don't involve her in their schemes and plots and as long as they pay through their nose."

"The Order can manage the funds easily enough, with what personal accounts they've access to," Severus dismissed. "They have several extremely wealthy benefactors within the ranks, as well as alliances to those who wish to contribute but do not wish to act. It wouldn't surprise me, though, if sometime further in the future they might go to Potter and ask him for a contribution from his own inherited account—the Potter family have tied their family fortune to the Order for longer than anyone can remember, but Albus—Albus wouldn't hear of taking money from a minor when he came into inheritance, even though as Potter's primary legal guardian in the Magical world, he had the right to it."

Hermione didn't know what to say as the man became silent again, and she irrationally wished she could reach over to give his hand a squeeze. But even _she _wasn't going to be as rash as to _pat _Severus Snape's hand. He would probably flay her alive, both with tongue and magic. Luckily, it was Severus himself who broke her uneasy musings. Businesslike once more, he leaned towards her. "What news from the outside world?" he demanded. She couldn't give him much except for the grim acknowledgement that the Order had been consistently losing at every turn to the Death Eaters, and the latest blow was the escaped prisoners of Azkaban—

"Whom, I am sure you noticed earlier, I am currently hosting," Severus said dryly. He paused for a moment, then murmured, "I do have some news for you." She sat up intently, looking at him. His gaze seemed to blur for a moment, almost _waver _downwards—_oh. Gods above, curse this robe and the body underneath it! _Sitting up straight had had some…unintended consequences to her appearance, flattered further by the midnight blue silk robes. To his credit, Severus did _not _allow his gaze to drop, and his eyes cleared rapidly, the entire ordeal lasting perhaps only seconds. Still, she felt her cheeks flaming and in this new body Hermione's usual control over her blushing was certainly not as good as in her trained body—which hadn't been very much control in the first place, since she had only had perhaps a fifty-fifty chance of successfully avoiding displaying her embarrassment in her cheeks.

Severus was carefully not-looking at either her eyes or below her neck-level, and he seemed to have focused his attention on an invisible point on her forehead as he cleared his throat and continued, "As you know all the escaped Death Eaters are currently housed in my manor. The Dark Lord has been noticeably absent since he gifted me with my…family inheritance. He did not mention where he would be going, but yesterday night, Bella was gloating at being the only one told of his location. I provoked her enough to get more information than she knew she was giving away. Her information, combined with the books she was searching for in my library—which she did not find, of course—has given me some slight idea of what he might do in the future."

He paused, and this time it was _definitely _for dramatic affect. "Well?" she urged impatiently.

"The Dark Lord seems to be researching immortality once again," he said slowly. "He is somewhere in Eastern Europe at the moment on his own personal quest and does not expect to be back for a full two months. That means he has to have either left off altogether on harrying the Order and Britain in general, or he has left the battles and tactics in the charge of someone else. My guess is that he did the former, considering his growing need to tell no one of his plans in fear that someone else will somehow become more powerful or more in control than he. That means we have some breathing room for now, but that this quest for immortality once again is extremely dangerous—no needing to explain why," he finished sardonically.

"Gods above," she whispered in shock. "That means—we'd all assumed that he was immortal already, with the exception of Harry and only Harry. This means that he _isn't _immortal in the traditional sense…"

"At least not yet," Severus ended for her. "Yes. We've been working under the presumption that only Potter could vanquish him for good. But this suggests a new change of strategy, Hermione. We need a different approach."

_He called me Hermione. Without prompting, without frequent reminders, _and _with this blasted body of Faina on—he called me by my name! _With difficulty, Hermione pulled herself back to concentrate on Severus' words, faster-flowing now as ideas began form. "Prophecies are blasted unreliable things. They can mean something entirely different from what they seem to mean, or be an incomplete view of the future. If we can do anything to tip the odds to our favor and give that dunder- _Potter, _a better chance of finishing off the Dark Lord, we need to prevent him from getting hold of true immortality and solidifying the prophecy as we see it. If he manages to achieve true immortality, he'll be a virtual Achilles, invincible to all but his one heel—Potter. Right now, he is not unassailable from other people, and if we had the power we could all weaken him to the point of not being able to defeat Potter in any way for long enough that the boy can strike the killing blow."

_If he can bring himself to cast the Killing Curse, _Hermione thought to herself. She wasn't blind or deaf—she'd seen the reticence Harry had shown after her duel with Danielle. "Can you find out _how _the Dark Lord plans on attaining this true immortality?" she questioned.

"Lucius might know more," Severus mused. "I think it is perhaps time for my old _friend _to pay me a visit in my new home." He hesitated. "Have you heard anything on what has become of Draco? The only thing I know for sure is that he is safe and sequestered by the Order."

"I don't know anything either," Hermione confessed. "The Order has me working overtime with all the seventh-year work, and with maintaining contact with you, as well as the fact that living with Harry and Ron and spending time with them tends to swallow up all your free time plus time you haven't got to spare." Severus snorted, but refrained from making a derisive comment. "How are you adjusting to all the changes?" she asked.

"Acceptably," he answered. When he seemed disinclined to expand, she sighed and decided it wasn't worth it to go digging around with more questions. If Severus didn't want to tell her something, it wouldn't get told no matter how much effort she exerted extorting him. Instead, she stretched her legs out before leaning comfortably back into the soft sofa.

"Do you—ah, would you care for a cup of tea in lieu of the firewhisky I suggested earlier?"

Startled by the sudden question—in another man, it might have almost sounded as if he'd blurted it out, and that was completely unlike the sharp drawl of wit and sarcasm that she was accustomed to from Severus—Hermione blinked and her mouth opened slightly for a brief moment before she remembered how to use it. "Oh—yes, please, tea I mean. If you wouldn't mind—"

"No trouble at all," the man said hastily, turning from her to call for a house-elf. "Mippy!"

The elf appeared. It was the same one, she recognized, as the one she'd encountered in Spinner's End. Had he acquired any more elves? She didn't think so—all the books she'd read had been explicit about their value and how hard it was to acquire one. It was illegal to sell or buy house-elves in Britain, but it was not illegal to possess them—if you could afford the phenomenal amount of money to purchase and transport one from the country that had a monopoly, apparently, on the house-elf trade: Romania. Not to mention that one had to have the right influence within the upper circle in Romania to even have a _chance _at a house-elf that wouldn't die within the first year of purchase…

It made Hermione sick, the way house-elves were similar in almost every way to the blacks of America not too long ago in the history of time—as slaves, lower than animals. The difference, perhaps, was that house-elves themselves insisted that they enjoyed their servitude. Did they? Hermione didn't know, but after Minny and the Hogwarts house-elves had confronted her, she'd given up her Gryffindorish crusade. If she was to ever give them some measure of freedom, she'd have to think and work the way they did—which, at the moment, she had no time to do. _Blasted war. Blasted Dark Lord—Voldemort. Blasted Death Eaters with blasted notions of prejudice blinding them to the real world. Blasted Ministry. Blasted…well, everything. Life. I had to prioritize, and placing the house-elves on a lower priority rankles like a sore tooth. _

"Hermione?"

She looked up out of her reverie, and realized that Mippy must have come and gone and brought back the tea already, because Severus was holding out a steaming cup with a questioning quirk in his eyebrows. "Thank you." She took the offered tea, and blew gently on the surface of the liquid before sipping. _Mmm…whatever Mippy did to the tea, it certainly eases the constant ache of Harry's anger. Thank goodness Ginny managed to talk enough sense into Harry that the vomiting and migraines stopped. _Those days had been awful, with Harry sequestered away and unwilling to talk to anyone, and Ron and Hermione spending their entire time either in bed or hunched over in the toilet, allowing their innards to turn inside out. Now only a dull ache that Hermione found almost similar to low level menstrual cramps lingered, Harry's suppressed fury—he'd certainly not dealt with his bitterness or rage, simply dropped it and blocked it from even himself out of concern for his friends. _We're going have to deal with that sometime too. I'm glad Molly is more than willing to let Ginny visit Harry every day. If Ginny talks to him daily, maybe one day what she says will actually penetrate his brain and stick. _

As Hermione sipped gratefully at the hot tea, a peaceful sort of stillness fell between the two, and Hermione found herself actually relaxing, drifting just slightly. It was more comfortable than she would ever have expected, sitting in the simple company of Severus Snape, drinking tea companionably in silence—not awkward but rather, natural, a shared enjoyment of the tranquility that had been increasingly infrequent and rare in their lives. _Certainly not something I'd ever have imagined doing with the fearful bat of the dungeons, etc etc two years ago…well not even last year, really! But then who would ever imagine the way my life has turned out to be? It's a good thing Mum and Dad don't know what exactly I'm doing for the Order, or else I'd be locked up in the highest and most remote tower they could find, with double-locked doors—or none at all, a la Rupunzel! _That made her smile fondly, if a little sadly. _Oh Mum and Dad, if you only knew what your little girl has done already and will do in the future! _She hadn't told them about her ordeal and side-trip to a different parallel existence—nor of what she'd done there. She was sworn not to reveal it to anyone and besides, how do you tell your parents, who had potty-trained her and taught her how to read her first letters even before she began to go to school, and had seen their little girl slowly grow up, that said little girl had killed her best friend coldly and without remorse albeit an enormous guilt for the younger other version and what had been or could have been? How did you tell your own parents that you'd seen people not only _die, _like Sirius Black's sudden fall into nothing, eyes wide with cut-off shock and glazing with death, but atrocities like men literally being whipped to death in the streets of another universe or your friends' severed heads staring blankly from their mounted position on the wall of the tyrant king's abode?

_Rapunzel had it easy. She had a loving, if controlling 'mother' who kept her safe until the prince came, and then she only had a short while of torment before she was reunited with her love and lived happily ever after. I would willingly be locked up in an unassailable tower and shut away from the world for the next decade or two if it guaranteed a happy ending to this gods-curst war. Oh, Mum, I wish you were here to give me a hug and tell me that I didn't need to take on so much responsibility and then poke Dad to say something comforting. I wish you were both here. I may be an adult now, but that doesn't mean that I don't need my parents anymore, far from it!_

"Hermione?" She looked inquiringly at Severus across the coffee table. He hesitated, and then injected a tone of dark humor as he commented, "Is my company really so boring as to bring that frown to your face?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she realized that her brows were furrowed together and her expression, indeed, very close to a frown as her thoughts had taken a more serious turn. "Oh. No, it's not you," she assured him. "I just…was thinking, that's all."

"Is there anything wrong?" he wanted to know.

"No! Not really, nothing that I'd trouble you with," she hastily cried. _Don't ask, don't ask, _she mentally chanted. Her sudden homesickness for something _ordinary, _something Muggle and commonplace and familiar and reeking of _home _and reality was not really something she wanted to discuss with anyone at all. _Oh, he'd intellectually understand my need for a grounding, for the love and security that my Muggle attachments and my family provide—he's the one that taught me to always have a secure place and people to retreat to for reassurance and recharging if I wanted to remain sane in the spying business. He might even empathize with my need for my family. But…I can't tell him. Or anyone. It will make the distance and the obstacles between me and that ordinary life and my parents and even Julia and Sofi seem more solid, more real, and greater than if it remains unspoken, in my head. _It didn't make logical sense, and Hermione hated the illogical—but it was the truth, and the truth was not always straightforward and willing to fit into boxes.

"If you are sure…" Severus raised an eyebrow. She remained firm.

"No thank you."

"Very well. I would advise you to eliminate whatever has you worried. It is a distraction, one you can ill afford and may well cost you your life or the lives of those around you." His voice was sharper than it had been their entire meeting, and Hermione drew back, slightly wounded. _But then this is Severus Snape. What did you expect, Hermione, that after declaring that we could be friends he'd miraculously become a charming, pandering flatterer made of fluff and fairy dust? _She had to smile at that image. _Severus as a sparkly, cuddly teddy bear! No, Severus is Severus and unlikely to change his harsh words or personality just because he was foolish enough to give in to the offer of friendship. And I wouldn't have him if he did change—he wouldn't be _my _Severus anymore. _Hermione caught herself there. _My? Hermione, just because you're his handler doesn't mean you're allowed to call him "yours!" Down girl, he's no person's property. _

"It's not something I can easily 'get rid of,' as you so casually put it, but I will see that it does not cause any grief or problems," she replied to his reprimand.

"Good," he stated curtly. "See that you do."

Unsure of what to say in response, Hermione looked down into her almost finished cup of tea, the dregs of it swirling and littered with tiny particles of black bits—the leaves of whatever plant had supplied the flavor. An image of silly Trelawney unexpected popped into her head as she gazed at the undecipherable mess. Divination…what a load of rubbish! _At least, the way she taught it. Besides, I'd rather not know the future—it would make me feel like I'm being directed like a limp puppet on the strings of fate, or the gods, or whatever deity or non-deity you ascribe yourself to. Like you're being controlled, helpless and unable to make a movement of your own ever! How horrible—and—_and Hermione had the suspicious inkling that her roundabout thoughts had brought her back to the man sitting in front of her, staring just over her left shoulder at the tightly shut curtain of the window behind her with a veneer of opaqueness. _Severus. I'll bet half of Harry's inherited galleons that that's how Severus felt. His life has been spent serving either one master or another, or both at the same time. What has he done that wasn't done with the express permission of at least one of those masters? He's given up more than anyone else—his friends, his reputation, his personal life, his own values—and yet he retains that spark, that aspect that makes him him and not…some faceless Death Eater or traitor or nameless spy. _She felt a surge of protectiveness for her mentor and more recently, her _friend. _No one would jerk him around like some doll again if she could help it, least of all herself!

Sometime in her musings, Hermione had missed the low tone of Severus' voice—not that she'd really _missed _it, as his unique timbre never failed to register and resonate in her bowels—but she'd failed to react or really pay attention to what the voice was saying, and it took him three tries before she came to. "Oh, sorry Severus, I was in another world altogether. Could you repeat what you just said?"

He gave her a quizzical glare, somehow just as patently puzzled to Hermione as it was recognized and feared by students in Hogwarts as the _pay-attention-you-moronic-imbecile _look. The one that usually came just before he took twenty points off your House—unless you were a Slytherin, of course. Out of habit, Hermione suppressed a shudder. _How queer, the glares he uses around school don't usually give my stomach vertigo, _she thought absently. _Must be Harry's temper. I hope Ginny gets through his thick nut once and for all tomorrow, it's getting annoying to deal with when I have better things to concentrate on. _

"You are really quite unfocused today. I _said, Miss Granger, _that you should finish up your tea in the next few minutes and conclude our official discussion. It is past time that my…_guests…_would be expecting to see you walk out the door," Severus informed her snidely.

"Oh." Hermione's heart solidified and fell with a _clunk. Already? _"I'm done with my tea, thank you. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?"

"No—but we do need to set up another appointment, Milena."

He was already retreating into his glacial and uncaring _Other, _retreating back to the pretence. Hermione stifled a keen regret, pulling herself up primly and bending over to pick up a vivid gold stiletto. "Sure. Do you think you'll need to meet before a week from today?"

"Better not to establish a routine," he murmured, and Hermione, straightening momentarily after fastening the first shoe to her protesting foot, caught his shadowed eyes fixed on the shoe. Or at least she assumed it was the flamboyant footwear that he was staring at. The intensity of the _look_ that Severus bestowed on her foot—no, on her stiletto—sent a current of adrenaline down her spine. Hastily stooping down again to pick up the other heel, Hermione listened without looking as she industriously slid her other foot into the second slipper. "It makes us predictable, easier for them to judge what we will be doing if they suspect something. It is impossible to be wholly unpredictable, but we shall have to try. Let us set the appointment exactly eleven days from today."

_That's too long! _"Fine, I'll tell…the girl," Hermione said to her toes.

When she finally sat up, wiggling her feet unhappily, Severus' gaze was on her face appropriately, with no indication that he'd been ever engrossed in the godforsaken gold heels. _Who wears shoes that are _gold _coloured? It's extravagant, splashy, and overdone. Even if they do make my…Faina's…feet look good. _"Very well." Severus paused, and then said slowly, his eyes never leaving Hermione's, "You will have to amend your appearance, Hermione. Most women do not leave a bed looking that perfect."

_Oops_. Hermione tried not to giggle—Merlin forbid!—at that. Shrugging, she shook out her hair, tousling it vigorously as if she had just stepped out of the shower. She adjusted her robes to be slightly askew, and then looked up inquiringly. "Is that okay?"

Although his eyes widened slightly, Severus nodded and stood in one lean, conservative movement. "Come along then." She took his offered arm, cursing under her breath as her legs tried to remember how to walk in high heels. At the door, as he reached out to open it, Severus turned once more to Hermione. "In a minute, we shall have to put on a convincing show, even more so than the beginning," he told her. "Please go along with anything I do, and forgive me for any liberties I might take."

Before she could answer, he had swung the door open and pulled her gently with him out and down the hall.

Sure enough, there were hordes—or so it seemed to Milena—of people now lounging semi-casually in the receiving room that they'd had to pass through earlier. Certainly many more than the impromptu greeting party. She recognized the visages of Dolohov, Pettigrew, and MacNair, but added to the group were at least three other men Milena didn't recognize—and Bellatrix Lestrange. Unconsciously, Milena instantly contoured her body to best show off her curves, and she relished the instinctive dilation in all the males' pupils with a smirk playing around the edges of her lips at the lone other woman's reaction.

It was satisfying to see the older woman's mouth part just slightly, to see her chest moving more erratically with each breath, to note the fists by Bellatrix's side white from clenching. Milena inwardly raised an eyebrow and poked her metaphorical elbow into Hermione's equally figurative side. _Bellatrix, depraved and crazed Death Eater and hated and feared to all of Great Britain, is _aroused _at _your _body! That's useful, isn't it? Now you know she swings both ways and file _that _away for your future reference. Maybe it's a weakness you can take advantage of later, to neutralize her. _Revolted, Hermione tried to shut out the Milena-personality that had suddenly taken a life of its own.

It was Dolohov again who spoke first. "I presume Severus gave you no trouble, Ma'am?" His tone was overly solicitous.

"No, he was a perfect gentleman." Milena sighed with content and a hint of mischievous breathiness, a brief flirt of her gaze to Severus. "Quite perfect indeed."

"And you the best company I've ever kept." The inky-toned drawl, rich as chocolate cake, alerted her seconds before his hand slipped from her arm and soothed its way up the small of her back, glazing over her spine up and up until it hit the base of her neck, and then stopped before abruptly plunging itself into the depths of her hair. A tingling sensation followed in Severus' hand's wake, and Milena arched a little and tilted her head up, heavy-lidded and languid to his touch. _Oh…_

The pair to the wonderful hand that had, with a simple stroke, left her like a lump of malleable clay, reached out to cup Milena's cheek. It was curiously erotic, despite the innocent placing and gentle, casual motion. Dry skin rasped against her cheekbone and stuttered under her chin—and then both hands raced down her shoulders, over her arms, to clasp both of her hands in his.

"I shall call on you again, Milena. I hope you are acquiescent with this?"

Somehow, Milena managed to reply with the skin of her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her nerves a gibbering mess. "I shall be waiting, Severus."

**A.N.: You guys are the wonderfullest, magnificentest, brilliantest, bestest people in the world! **

**Seriously, I was not expecting such an outpouring of support about my real life woes, and I cannot thank all of you enough for boosting my self-confidence and reminding me just **_**why **_**I continue to write. If you reviewed and left a note of encouragement for me, I'm giving you the best gift I can think of at the moment, which is Severus Snape in all his glory and a side of chocolate syrup and ice cream. :) If you don't like Snape—well, I assume no one doesn't like him here simply because he is a main character, and if you prefer you can just take the ice cream and chocolate syrup and leave Snape for me. :) Anyway, everyone who reviewed and those who didn't but continue to read my updates, my sincerest and most grateful thanks. I hope you enjoyed the anticipated meeting between 'Milena' and Severus!**


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me but my own OCs and imagination, and a DNA clone of Severus if the scientists can manage that so that I can have my very own Severus Snape. **

By all that was revered by mankind, did the girl have _any _idea of how close he'd come to kissing her—to doing a hell lot more than _kiss _her? He'd been prepared for the game of seduction, the subtle play of words and the give-and-take of woman and man, ready to rescue her persona if need be. He had _not _been prepared for either the Veela of a witch Hermione had found to impersonate, nor the sudden confidence and wickedness she'd suddenly acquired.

Severus, having escorted "Milena" to the door, watched her Apparate to an unknown location to (he hoped) throw off the trail before Flooing or flying back to the Order and her safe house, and glared sufficiently at all the insipient panting men (and woman) back in the receiving room, had retreated to his quarters again. He was pacing the floor of his bedroom, the _thwish thwish _of his robes demonstrating just how agitated he was. _Shit, Severus, stop acting like a hormonal dunderhead! _

_It had been a combination of that body and the realization that Hermione had really the ability to…act? Seem? Talk?—that way. That she did have a sensual, sexual side to her personality, that she had been able to reduce him to the last shreds of control with a few words and a flirt of those ludicrous gold-hued shoes that exposed more than it covered of her slim ankle and moonlit path of skin running up from there…_

Severus groaned aloud. "Not her body, even," he reprimanded himself. "That's not even her own form. Just how doubly disgusted _and _hurt Hermione would be if she knew or guessed…both from the insult of my fantasizing about her in someone else's body?"

The last, spoken out loud, brought him back to his senses. For it _wasn't _Hermione's true appearance he had overreacted to. It wasn't Hermione's body that had taunted him with the unsatisfactory urges he now suppressed. The only evidence of Hermione _in _that was her formidable mind—and damned if he was going to disrespect what he held in importance above any merely physical fleeting beauty. He would suppress this absurd hormonal surge once and for all—for the good and overall happiness of _all _concerned!

_Still, the way she'd instantly responded to his touch, pliable and warm to his palms, so trusting…_

Severus swore, and threw himself onto the edge of his bed to begin meditating with ferocity. It looked as if he would have to manually force his mind to separate Milena from Hermione, a process that _should _have taken place just about automatically from long practice.

**--break--**

Hermione accosted Ginny the moment the girl stepped through the Floo. Heedless of Harry's and Ron's indignation and of Li's bemusement, she practically dragged the shorter girl to her room and ensured their privacy.

"So…what's got your cat birthing kittens, Hermione?" Ginny inquired in amusement, settling cross-legged on Hermione's bed. Even in her agitation, Hermione noticed that Ginny had definitely dressed up today—her robes were simple but skillfully transfigured (indeed Hermione would never have noticed the spellwork if she hadn't recognized the particular cut of the robes, which were Ginny's favorite "always look's good no matter what" outfit) into a shadowed forest green that complemented her pale coppery hair. She raised an appraising eyebrow at Ginny, teasingly and obnoxiously giving her the traditional boy's stare—traveling up and down. Ginny blushed but stuck her chin out and muttered, "Well I'm not above using my feminine charms to get Harry out of his funk, that's all."

Shaking her head at Ginny, Hermione plopped herself down on her bed across from Ginny. The springs squeaked a little as the mattress gave obligingly before her, and Hermione sighed. She still hadn't gotten around to figuring which spring was uttering the noise so she could fix it. "Two things, Ginny. First is a request slash demand. Second is some advice I need from you—you know, girl things. I just _can't _talk about it to any of the older Order members. Not even Hestia Jones, and she's really open. But she's older than me by at least a decade, and she's not my best girl friend." _Well, if I could I'd talk to Sofi and Julia but that's another headache altogether… _

"Why then, spill," Ginny grinned and leaned closer confidentially. "My lips are seal—_Mother of Merlin!" _She interrupted herself, jumping up in shock and tripping over herself in uncharacteristic clumsiness as she lunged for the side of the dresser where—oh. Where Hermione's gold stilettos still sprawled decadent and arrogantly gleaming, taunting her with their polished sheen. "Where in the seven hells did get the most gorgeous shoes I have _ever _seen?!"

"They're…uh, they're just transfigured, Ginny. They're just my house slippers a little glammed up with magic."

"No effing way! Why haven't you done this before? What was the occasion, _cherie_? How did you know what to transfigure them into? I've _never _seen shoes as sexy and showy as these around town." Ginny babbled excitedly, reverently picking up one gold heel and staring at it as if it were some sort of minor idol.

A little bemused, Hermione raised her eyebrow at Ginny but accompanied it with a lopsided grin. She'd forgotten that other girls actually worshipped these kinds of things. It was easier to forget when she was in the Magical realm, where everyone either wore plain draping robes or…well, plain draping robes. "One of my Muggle girl friends owns a pair like them. She doesn't wear them often, but when she does, she looks like a goddess. I didn't have time to find another design to transfigure my shoes into that I remembered well enough, and that would fit…the occasion. Which was a job and nothing more, which is one of the things I need to talk to you about, _later." _

Reluctantly, Ginny set the shoe down carefully, moving both sides to the best aesthetic arrangement she could think of, and then came back to plop down on Hermione's bed once more. "Damn, Hermione, I'd bet you a galleon that if you went into the business of designing shoes for the Wizarding world, you'd be richer than Harry and the Malfoys combined in no time. Why don't wizards and witches ever design decent shoes that don't look like they're meant for my old crotchety flabby aunt or some staid house-wife? Even Mum would love a pair of shoes like these, she's told me more than once that she wished some witch would take it into her head to design something _flattering _for the human body and not meant to cover it up. Say, can you find me a design and transfigure me a pair? For my birthday…or Harry's belated birthday?"

"I most certainly will not participate in your pursuit of Harry's, uh, innocence," Hermione uttered primly, pulling herself ramrod straight and looking down her nose at Ginny. Then she winked. "But I certainly will transfigure you a pair of torture devices if you want for your birthday. That's coming up, isn't it?"

"Yup, exactly six days." Ginny clapped her hands in elation. "You're the most wonderful friend ever!"

"That's great, Ginny. So, you'll do my favor right?"

Ginny immediately nodded vigorously, straight hair bouncing with the force. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Except Harry," she added as an afterthought.

"Ew, Gin, he's basically my _brother!" _

"Just joking, relax. Now, what's your favor?"

Hermione took a breath recollecting her thoughts before Gin had been distracted by the shoes, and then exploded, "You had better hope your feminine wiles or something works, because I am bloody _sick _of feeling like my stomach is a washing machine!"

At Ginny's confused look, Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "Muggle thing. To wash clothes—never mind. What I'm saying is that a stomachache for a couple days I can take. I'm Muggle-born. I've lived through the flu and food poisoning without the effective potions you have. I can_not _deal with a stomachache on top of _everything _else, and not a stomachache I _know _would be gone in an instant if the asinine _dolt _called Harry Potter simply _faced _his own damn issues and _grew up. _I love that boy like a brother, Ginny, but I would willingly strangle him if that's what it took to beat the sense into him. He's learning how to defend himself and how to attack, to take preemptive strikes, to stay ahead of the enemy, and _he's not acclimating it at all. _I see it, Ron sees it, the damn Order sees it, but we can't do a bloody thing about it. He just nods his head, masters the spell or move, recites it back to us and performs it if he has to, and all the while looks at me and Hestia with some superior sort of distaste because we're violent and we aim to deliberately wound, maim, or kill rather than sending a simpering little Stunner—like the Death Eaters will really be subdued by that. Harry's becoming a pacifist _and _at the same time, he keeps harboring this stupid obsession with Bellatrix Lestrange, and he's avoiding the two opposites, which just exacerbates our queasiness, and I have important things I have to accomplish where the uncertainty of my stomach's reliability under stress is not particularly welcome and quite distracting."

Hermione took a deep breath. Ginny blinked once, and then slowly a smile began to creep over her petite face. "Why Hermione, who'd have ever thought you'd admit yourself human?"

"What?"

Ginny shrugged. "You've always been so perfect—always on top of things. Your grades are the highest in all your classes without you putting any effort into them but you do anyway. You respect all your teachers, even—well. Mum keeps saying how well-brought up and polite you are. You've always been able to keep the boys in check—I doubt either of them could manage to survive or fend for themselves if you weren't there to remind them about a coming exam or prod them into being responsible or at least thinking about consequences before acting impulsively. Not to mention you're quite beautiful too. It's just nice and a little unexpected to hear you ranting like any normal person and not being perfect all the time."

"Whatever gave you the impression I was perfect? I'm no where near what you seem to think I am, Ginny," Hermione frowned. "I get better grades because I work my tush off, and my Muggle school before I came here taught us good study habits that I use—I've noticed no one here seems to have any concept of managing time or organizing work or priorities—not a conscious knowledge of it anyway, its either instinctive or not there at all. Any of my politeness is thanks to my parents, and certainly I slip up all the time—you've never seen me telling my teacher that he was wrong and looking it up in an encyclopedia to prove it, which I did when I was ten. When I first arrived here, I was so bossy and talkative that Harry and Ron hated me, as did virtually everyone who knew me. The only reason they listen to me sometimes now is out of force of habit, or because I won't stop nagging until they do. And Ginny, I'm certainly not…_beautiful. _Nice looking, maybe. Pleasant enough. But I am certainly not like…" _Not like Milena. _"…not like you, or Lavender, or many of the girls out there."

Ginny grasped Hermione's hand impulsively. Even their hands when compared brought no comfort to the girl. Ginny's hands were thin and elegantly shaped, soft and naturally warm. Hermione's were small, there was that—and it was the only good thing she could find about them. They were callused with years of grasping pens, pencils, and quills, rough with use, and no amount of lotions had changed the texture of her hands. Even her mother had commented on the unnatural roughness of her skin in that particular area.

"Don't think that, Hermione! You're gorgeous, and you should never think that you're not!" Fiercely, Ginny continued, "You have the neatest ankles and daintiest feet I've ever seen—Merlin, you would be killer with those gold heels on! You've got the curves, and the day we went shopping early last summer and you tried on the really nice purple-black dress, I noticed that you have this sexy line dipping down your back that I wish _I _had. Your eyes are so changeable—one minute you've got this dreamy misty look, and the next they're bright and focused and intense. And your hair…"

"My hair is frizzy and dull brown," Hermione muttered.

Ginny shook her head stubbornly. "Your hair is _voluptuous _and it's caramel-coloured."

"I'm rather flattered, Ginevra—it's a good thing I _know _you like men, or I'd be backing away right about now," Hermione joked, a little uneasy with the vast compliments Ginny was bestowing on her.

"Oh, you—" Ginny swatted at Hermione's arm, and then settled back again. "So, beat Harry if I have to but make him grow up? Looks like I have my work—_and _wiles—cut out for me. What was the second thing you wanted to talk about?"

Hermione fidgeted a little nervously. _Should I be talking to Ginny about this? She's not even in the Order! _

_Only because she's not of age yet, and they didn't need her as desperately as they did you, or else they did and didn't ask because she has an entire army in her family bent on keeping their little sister or only daughter safe. The Weasleys are no easy foe to content against! _

_Still, this is violating Order rules by breaking silence, even as little as I am planning._

_But you need her support and advice. She's in the same generation and your friend. _

_I could always ask to talk to Tonks, or talk to Hestia or Danielle like I contemplated doing…_

_They're much older, and have been out of school for a while. They've already settled into a comfortable place with themselves and their sexuality._

_They're in the Order._

_But Ginny is the only one here in the Magical World I really feel comfortable with spilling all my secrets._

Hermione grimaced at her internal struggle. _Oh Hermione, just get on with it already! _Ginny was already starting to give her that _you're holding out on me _look, and Harry and Ron would be impatient for the long delay, not to mention her lessons with Li were supposed to be taking place right now and she was wasting his time very rudely.

"Um…so…I'm not supposed to tell you this," she began awkwardly.

Ginny pounced on her disclaimer. "Is this Order stuff or personal stuff?"

"Well, sort of both."

"Even better. I swear I won't tell a soul—not even the empty field. Your ass' ears won't get out," Ginny stated, giggling a little at the end.

Hermione eyed Ginny skeptically, but knew that Ginny wouldn't do what she said she wouldn't. Discretion, a tendency to be scarily omniscient, and an ability to be Slytherin in wit and word, not to mention thought, were her strengths. Possibly half-nurtured by the fact of living in a family of so many, where secrets were almost non-existent and privacy therefore cherished and the ability to read people extraordinarily well was a skill to develop in order to deal with so many siblings all the time. The Slytherin side Hermione guessed was half from having to outwit so many older siblings to stay on the top and not get squished or lost, and half from her unfortunate experience with Tom Riddle's diary…

"I didn't know you were in the Order. Your birthday's not till September," Ginny commented.

"Always sharp, aren't you? Yes, they made a special exception. And, well, they've already assigned me a job," Hermione confessed.

"_Already? _I thought they wouldn't let newbies near any sort of independent task!"

"Yeah, well…" Hermione shrugged, unwilling to tell Ginny that not only had she been inducted _much _earlier than this summer, but that she had, in much less time than it took most Order members, risen out of trainee status to official member. "I'm doing something top secret—not even Harry and Ron know what it is. Only Li and one or two really high up people I haven't met know the full details. Harry and Ron only know that I'm doing a favor for Li that relates to our lessons and research."

"It'll stay that way," Ginny promised, more seriously this time.

Hermione smiled gratefully, stretching a little and shifting position as she felt the first pricks of numbness in her limbs from staying too long in one position. "I'm meeting with someone who gives me information that I pass on to Li," she told Ginny quietly.

"You're a spy's _contact?"_ Ginny exclaimed.

"Not really…well. Um. Don't assume." Hermione tried to discourage Ginny from guessing the rest. "I can't tell you anything much. Just that I collect information and pass it on, like part of a link in a chain of links."

"Cool," Ginny said, and the glint in her eyes told Hermione that Ginny wasn't going to give up the romantic idea of her being a spy's handler—which in fact, she was, but it would _not _do for Ginny to find out!

"Recently, the circumstances changed and I had to…use polyjuice to be able to meet with him."

"Him?"

"Yes, him," Hermione said irately. "No, I am not interested in any way, shape, or form in him, and no, he is not in me either. We're just…people working together," she concluded.

"Then why are you bringing this up and asking for advice—asking _me _for advice on girl things?" Ginny questioned cheekily.

"Merlin, Ginny, curiosity killed the cat you know," Hermione grumbled.

"And satisfaction brought it back," Ginny retorted, unfolding her legs to stretch them out as well.

"Not if this is your ninth life."

"Way past that already. I'm immortal," Ginny quipped cheerfully.

"_Anyway," _Hermione emphasized, unable to think up another retort, "anyway, this person that I borrowed hair from is…very attractive."

"_Ah." _

"He's usually the image of professionalism, but my unorthodox appearance threw him off," Hermione said gloomily. "He reacted like any guy would confronted with a gorgeous mug, and it was awful—knowing that he wouldn't be acting this way if not for the damn polyjuice."

"I see. And…between you two, not withstanding your body, you're…good friends?"

Hermione huffed out a breath, blowing some wisps of hair out of her eyes. "I would venture to say so, although as I said, it's strictly professional and for the Order."

"But he was a drooling dog when he saw you polyjuiced?"

"Not quite a drooling animal," Hermione muttered in defense of Severus. _Honestly, Severus as a drooling beast—I'm not sure what would kill me first, the absurdity of it or Severus himself! _"No, more like a polite but voraciously hungry guest who is trying to restrain himself out of politeness and manner's sake while grace is being said—um, Muggle religious tradition of blessing the food before eating each meal—while a feast is laid before him."

"Very poetic," Ginny murmured. "So, he looked as if he wanted to devour you?"

"No! Well…I don't know. Sometimes it looked like he wanted to…I don't know, I would sometimes startle an expression of _something, _but it was always gone too fast, and sometimes he'd be distracted by my shifting or something."

Thoughtfully, Ginny nibbled on the skin next to the nail of her thumb. "Hmm. Interesting…did you wear the shoes?"

"Yeah."

"Ah."

"I don't know how to make everything go back to normal!" Hermione wailed.

Ginny sympathetically spoke. "You can't use someone else's hair?"

"No, it's impossible."

"Then…" Ginny furrowed her brow. "It must be frustrating to have the guy start liking you because of someone else's appearance on you. I think you have three options here. One is to go with it completely and just have fun with the guy…?"

"No!" Hermione shouted, disgusted. "I'm not- he's not- it isn't- just, no!" _First of all, it isn't _me _Severus is attracted to, it's Milena. Second, it's Severus! He's my mentor, and he'd _never _be interested in me as me at all. I may have wormed my way into friendship, but that's as far as we're getting._

"I didn't think you'd go for that option," Ginny confirmed. "Next option. You can pretend like nothing ever happened. Act as much as yourself as you can, even with the other girl's face on. Maybe the hormones and the awkwardness will wear off after a while."

Hermione _had _thought of that, but she regarded it with trepidation—how was she supposed to just keep meeting Severus like this, flaunting her body at the other Death Eaters, putting on an act for them, knowing Severus was struggling to control his own libido and she was testing him? The man would be miserable and his valued dignity and control would not allow him to let it pass unnoticed. _Not to mention _you _enjoyed it far too much. You _liked _having all that attention positively turned on you as the object of desire for once, admit it. You _liked _when Severus touched you…oh gods…_Hermione had blocked out the memory of Severus' hands on her cheek, on her back, on her neck, fierce in their gentility, fiery in their cool texture. She'd left in a whirl of fuzzy _sensation, _and when it had cleared enough for her to actually think, the entire episode had left Hermione both unsatisfactorily _wanting _in some way, and disgusted with herself at how fast she'd become a puddle in his hands. Not to mention the _wrongness _of the entire thing—he was her former _professor, _for goodness sakes—twenty years or so older than her, and a spy in a precarious position for whom she was wholly responsible for. In all the books and shows she'd read or watched, it had _never _been a good idea for the handler to fall in love with the spy, or vice versa. It only ended up in a lot of late night worrying and an emotional rollercoaster ride, and almost inevitably, heartbreak or death or both. _Relationship? I shouldn't even be _thinking _that far, _Hermione shrieked to herself. _He's Severus Snape. I'm Hermione Granger. It just isn't, that's all. And if he heard your thoughts right now, he'd call you a right silly chit and threaten to remove you from your job right now because it's interfering with your effectiveness to the Order and to himself. He's not even attracted to you, he's attracted to the physical beauty of Milena—well, Faina. Same difference. He _did _apologize in advance for the playacting. It was just playacting, nothing to be ashamed of. Just like being in theatre and kissing someone onstage. _

Resolved, Hermione tightened her lips. "I don't know, Ginny, it's a possibility but…it might not smooth out and the Order depends on us being clear-headed to be able to pass on the information impartially."

"Well then, you have the third option left," Ginny replied with a flourish. "You can confront him next time you see him and have a good chat with him, a long, honest talk to hammer out everything and resolve it to both of your likings."

"What? Ginny, I- I can't possibly…" Hermione stuttered, horrified and paralyzed with fear at the idea of _facing _Severus and talking about his hormonal reactions…to describe it as uncomfortable would be to say the least—Hermione could consider it almost suicidal!

"Of course you can. You faced so many things in your years at Hogwarts—surely you can have an embarrassing discussion with someone you consider a friend," Ginny teased.

"Ginny…"

"Well you wanted my advice. If I were you I'd choose the third option and get it all out into the open," Ginny stated matter-of-factly. "Either that or wear the purple dress I was talking about that you bought that you _still _haven't worn, and those sex-me-now shoes and jump him."

"Ginny!"

"Never mind," Ginny smirked, holding up her hands in surrender at Hermione's outrage. "Come on, Harry probably thinks you've murdered me and hidden my remains under your bed or something. Let's go beat some sense into that lackwit, shall we? I swear, I cannot comprehend how a boy so sexy has so little brains to grasp the concept of dealing with emotions."

**--break--**

"I'm pleased that you could make it, Lucius," Severus said smoothly to his guest. The blond aristocrat inclined his head graciously.

"I am very pleased to finally be able to view your new abode, Severus. You have done much to deserve this place, and it is quite exquisite."

"Thank you. Would you like a short tour?"

"I would be delighted."

The two men briefly visited each floor, conversing at length with the other Death Eaters inhabiting Prince Manor. Severus noted that Bellatrix looked put out when she saw Lucius, and that Lucius seemed even more superior than normal when he caught sight of Bella. Dolohov was particularly overjoyed to see Lucius again—they'd been particular friends in the past. The others were mainly indifferent, drifting away soon from Severus and Lucius, and Severus was careful to make sure that he directed their steps to the library to sit in the dark leather armchairs to talk rather than to his own quarters. Their footsteps here were muffled as they entered, the _clack _of shoes on the marble of the first floor changing to the padded _thsh _on the rich blue carpeting. Lucius immediately lit a cigar and the heavy-sweet scent was soon wafting among the staid books and assaulting Severus' nose. It was not a smell he was fond of, but he'd gotten used to it spending time in the company of the richer set of Death Eaters who could afford the luxury.

"Would you like a glass of Firewhisky, or wine perhaps?" Severus offered.

"Some Old Odgen's would not be amiss," Lucius allowed, waving away some smoke that curled in front of his face.

"Of course. Mippy!"

The elf appeared, sullen and subservient. He glanced apprehensively at Lucius, but accepted Severus' direct order and immediately vanished. Lucius' face tightened a little, but he did not utter a word and Severus relaxed a little, thankful that at least Lucius would leave it alone for now.

When the bottle of firewhisky had been fetched and poured into two small, squat glasses, sparking dark amber now and then in the fire-lit library, Severus leaned back and regarded Lucius. The man did the same, and they sat in companionable—more or less—in silence for a while.

Finally, the elegant pureblood blew out a small puff of cigar smoke and commented blandly, "You seem to have fallen on good times, Severus."

"Better off than when I first started," Severus said softly. He knew that Lucius would know what he was talking about—better than the gangly, dirt-poor halfblood with revenge and vendetta on his mind when he took an oath for life to someone and something he barely knew about. Better than the vulnerable and emotionally devastated youth Lucius had played and plunged into the depths of corruptness and darkness."

"I did promise you that wealth and power would be yours, as well as proper appreciation from your peers, did I not?" Lucius mused, sipping the alcohol in a long, slow burn down his throat.

"You did. I enjoyed the appreciation, but the other two promises were many years in coming," Severus replied—just a touch reprovingly.

"Through no fault of yours or mine, but the Potter brat," Lucius drawled. Lucius _never _did anything hastily. It was always with purpose, with dignified slowness. Even killing. The only time Severus had ever seen him actually worked up was when he was exchanging words with Arthur Weasley, his personal archnemesis (rather the way Potter was the Dark Lord's, Black his own—there was always _one _person who could inspire an all-consuming fury in everyone). _At least it wasn't Black that married Lily, _Severus thought bitterly. _Bad enough Potter the brave heroic Gryffindor married Lily. It would have been worse if it had been Black, the true black sheep of his family—the one who proved that one can escape one's family and the influence of the dark if one tries…the one who's very existence reminded me that _I _failed and he did not, that he was able to remain constantly loyal to his friends. I was the happiest man in the world when he was condemned for having betrayed his friends, for having failed…the only light in the whirling chaos of losing Lily to Death…_

"I suppose," Severus responded, pulling himself back to the conversation. "But enough of reminiscing. How have you been keeping, old friend?"

"Well," Lucius answered.

"Is Narcissa recovered from her shock of Draco's...actions?" Severus asked cautiously. It was a sensitive subject.

"She is…doing better," Lucius allowed grimly. "We have yet to find a lead on his whereabouts, but I cannot believe that my son would stray as far as to run to the Order of the Phoenix for protection. He is a Malfoy!"

_And the history of Malfoys are full of family betrayals and murdering each other, _Severus' inner voice commented. Out loud, he murmured his condolences and the requisite assurances that Draco would be found soon. _Hopefully not. Merlin and Morganna, protect my godson with all your protection. Let him be faring well…_

"The Dark Lord has seen it fit for me to remain here for the time being, so as you see I have little news of the outside. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Mayhem, turmoil, and general quiet unease," Lucius replied in a disinterested tone. Severus knew better than to think that Lucius was bored. He waited. "The Ministry is still running around like headless chickens after the escape from Azkaban of our brothers. The Aurors must be bone-weary by now, or likely to be in a week or so—they've been employed at full force to patrol the area and search for clues as well as being posted at various places of dubious repute, such as Knockturn Alley. It might be prudent to allow them a brief respite, just to make them think we've stopped, and then strike a devastating blow. I think perhaps an attack on Hogwarts, within the first week of starting, might be ideal."

_So, Lucius _was _left in charge of battle-plans. Thank Merlin for his boastful nature, he simply can't pass up an opportunity to flaunt any one-up he has on me, and considers me a non-threat because I am immobilized here in Prince Manor. That can only be good. _

"An idea indeed, it would echo memories of the recent year's closing events," Severus observed neutrally.

"My very thought, and perhaps this time someone else will win the honor of killing a highly placed Order member as you have accomplished."

"Indeed. I am sure you would have killed the old man just as easily as I, but it was not you who was under his thumb for so many years, to use and abuse and manipulate as he liked." _To forgive and love despite my awful mistakes. Forgive me, Albus, for having to sully your memory each and every day. _"They will be extremely careful, no doubt. They will probably have fixed the loophole young Miss Cain discovered last time. What do you plan to carry off victory once more?"

"Ah, it is a grand secret, Severus," Lucius laughed delightedly, the Malfoy crest on the gold ring winking obnoxiously as he gestured with his pungent cigar. "I cannot tell you and spoil the surprise now, can I?"

"I shall most probably still be ensconced here at the Dark Lord's request and favor," Severus announced, "so it would be preferable to know what you plan since I must live vicariously through my brothers this time."

"All in good time, but I promise you it shall be a lively tale," Lucius smirked smugly. "All in good time."

And with that, Severus had to content himself.

**A.N.: The ass' ears referred to by Ginny are part of the tale of foolish Midas written by Ovid in **_**Metamorphases**_**, who was given a pair of ass' ears by Apollo in anger for Midas having judged Pan the better musician of the two gods. His barber being the only one who knew the secret of Midas' ass' ears, couldn't keep the secret and so went to a field and told the ground, and when the crops grew and the wind blew through them, the entire field whispered the secret so everyone knew. **

**Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read!**

**A warning for next week—it is likely that the chapter for next week will either be abbreviated or delayed. Real Life has kicked in with a vengeance, and my Muse has bowed out for a more temperate weather location like Hawaii to go surfing and sunbathing rather than face the cold subzero winter I'm going to be in for. Hopefully the temp Muse will pick up the slack and I'll actually have enough **_**time **_**to write…**


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: Property of JKR. On to more interesting topics. Anyone buying Tales of Beedle the Bard this December? I might wait a couple months and then look online for a used copy…**

Harry stood motionlessly at the window, staring blindly at the spear of light piercing the glass to hit his shoulder and at the blur of mindless scenery beyond it. He did not acknowledge Ginny as she entered his room, nor when she closed the door quietly behind her and small footsteps signaled her approach. _Never a good sign if Harry's brooding, _Ginny thought to herself, wondering how best to go about talking to Harry. _Right now, he's miserable, he's ashamed for making everyone around him and everyone who magically bound themselves as family to him miserable, and he doesn't need me to heap more guilt or frustration on him. No matter what Hermione says, now is _not _the time to jump in on Harry. _Ginny truly loved Hermione like the sister she'd never had and most often, Hermione's logical and rational ideas and solutions were correct. She'd been right after all about just being herself around Harry and not being overawed or shy and awkwardly star-struck like she'd been the first years of their acquaintance. _Thank Morgaine for Hermione, or I'd never have realized that one has to be oneself before someone else can notice that you exist and are a real person and not just some two-dimensional character. And I'd never have been brave enough to last as Harry Potter's girlfriend. _Yes, Ginny owed more than she could begin to voice to Hermione's ability to evaluate situations and come up with a rational and sensible answer. _But this is different. This is Harry—this is the boy I love with all life, every last bit of me—although I don't think he's ready to hear it yet. Or maybe _I'm _not ready to _say _it yet. I'm still so young even though I feel old already. _

And in the very depths of the heart that belonged to the oblivious bespectacled boy staring out the window in front of her, Ginny _knew _that what Harry needed now was not another lecture or tongue-lashing or guilt-trip or even logical reasoning. A well-thought out argument might work for the organized and detailed Hermione, but it would never work for someone who operated solely on emotion as Harry did. So, stepping closer and closer to the boy-man whose back was still towards her, Ginny did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms tightly around him from behind, and began to sing.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy, when skies are grey_

_You never know dear how much I love you_

_Please don't take my sunshine away._

It was a song her father would sing to her, tucking her into bed at night—one of many lullabies for a girl he later joked was more difficult than all her brothers put together to get to sleep.

_The other night dear, as I lay sleeping_

_I dreamt I held you in my arms_

_But when I woke dear, I was mistaken_

_And I held my head and cried._

Ginny felt her throat close up with empathy and love for the warm body she held in her arms. Bravely, she continued, her voice wavering a little but remaining soft and firm.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy, when skies are grey_

_You never know dear how much I love you_

_Please don't take my sunshine away. _

A small sigh, a brief pause of silence so dense it felt as if they were the only two people in the universe—

Harry turned then, and Ginny caught a brief glimpse of his face, expressive eyes shimmering suspiciously, before he enveloped her in an embrace and she was soaring as high as threstrals, as high and free as dragons fly when comes the time for them to seek a mate—and dragons mate for life as she lay her head on his too-thin shoulder and felt his silent body shudder once against hers before it relaxed completely and allowed her to press herself even closer into her love's encompassing hold. _This is real, _she thought in wonder born new. _This is real. This is mine. I will not let anyone take this from me, no matter what may be! _And Ginny _knew, _in the way a woman in love intuits (for in the instant she had comprehended just how far-reaching her love for Harry was, Ginny had become a woman and not a girl), that _this_ was the time.

"Harry?"

"Gin," he breathed next to her ear, and the sensation shivered its way from earlobe to spread throughout every single nerve in her body and set them quivering.

"Harry, I love you," she murmured, and overcome with that nameless overflowing of the heart that didn't belong to her anymore, blood pounding in her ears, she was barely able to make out Harry's words to her.

"I love you too, sweet Ginny," he confessed. And then lower still, "I can't promise you a long and happy life, but I can promise that I will always love you. And I'd do anything for you, Gin."

Pulling back just a little, enough to make eye contact with her beloved, Ginny smiled blissfully at him, a smile of pure joy. "And whatever happens, we can face it together. We'll make it somehow, Harry. That's my promise to you. We'll make it somehow."

**--break--**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I can't _believe _what a coincidence this is! I received your letter telling me about Draco just when I was going to ask, on behalf of someone (and all right, you know me too well—my own curiosity as well) what had happened to him after the upset at Hogwarts. I knew he was somewhere hidden by the Order, but I never imagined you'd run into each other! _

_How is he? What has he been doing? I assume training as an Order member…do you know if he's planning to come back this autumn for school, or if he will remain hidden? I don't mind you showing him my letter, Dad, but don't do it with any really personal ones, okay? Or ones with important information in it. You probably shouldn't have even told him I was in the Order, but…well, that's spilled milk and I've already broken those rules too unfortunately. I can't stand not having a girl my age to confide in, if I can't confide in person with you and Mum, or with Julia and Sofi. _

_Speaking of family, Li has given way and granted me permission to visit you—finally! He is slightly unhappy at losing that time and effort to arrange the event, but I can be quite persuasive when I want to be, and I have been doing a good job advancing in both my…task, and my seventh year studies, if no further in my pursuit of mastering Vacuumency. It is as if, having learnt it a certain way, I can't think of it in any other light that Li wants me to view it in. _

_The tentative approximate date of my visit is in three weeks. Your Order member Natalie should be more precise about the time closer to that date. I'll most likely only be staying one day and overnight, and returning in the morning the next day. I wish I could spend more time with you two, I really do, but…duty and the war calls. Blasted snake-man obsessed with immortality and purity, hypocritical old…_

_Okay, I'll stop. I love you both. I suppose you may extend my cordial hello and welcome to the Order spiel, although I want Mum to tell him. I don't trust Dad to not make it more emotional and significant than it really is!_

_Love, _

_Your daughter Hermione. _

**--break--**

_I'm going to have to remember to thank Ginny for whatever she did with Harry, _Hermione noted gratefully as she realized, upon rising on the morning of the day she was to meet Severus again. Her stomach felt…normal. She had no headaches. She felt perfectly…_good. _As if the episode of the curdling innards were a distant memory scuttling away from her grasp like an embarrassed crab—if there were such things as embarrassed crabs.

She didn't know just _what _Ginny had done, but somehow Ginny had convinced Molly _and _the Order to let her stay at the safe house with them, and Hermione had seen Harry and Ginny practically glued to each other for the past week or so, staring starry-eyed and floaty into each other's eyes. One could practically see the valentine's hearts above their heads. Hermione shook her own head, half in cynicism and half in deprecation of her own cynicism. _Love. It's a great thing when you have it. I've seen it truly embodied in my parents. I would even venture to say that Ginny and Harry have the real thing and not just puppy love. I'd like to find it if I could find a soul mate like Harry and Ginny have, _she thought a little sadly. _But I somehow doubt that will be the case. Love is a long shot when you're fighting a battle with a deranged and dangerously violent semi-immortal man and his equally fanatical followers, and I have no illusions as to wartime romance. All the people I know are either much older than me and wouldn't be interested—not that I would be interested in them either, I think, for most of them—or married. Or people I just wouldn't want to date. Like Ron. Ugh, can you say incest? And if I do get out of this alive, I suspect I shall have seen too many ugly things to be able to just fall in love with someone who wouldn't understand or comprehend the scars this war and my own experiences have left. No, leave love to those who can find it, and I can do just fine with a life of accomplishment. _

It sounded cold and unsatisfying in her mind, but Hermione brushed it off stiffly and turned her mind to other things, such as what to _wear _for the upcoming "date" with Severus. Perhaps she could lure Ginny away from Harry long enough to get her opinion? Ginny _had_ vowed undying devotion to Hermione when she'd opened her birthday present, after all. One didn't come by beautifully transfigured soft chocolate leather heeled boots every day in the Wizarding world, after all. _Thank Merlin for Sofi's obsession with having more shoes than she can wear in a lifetime on one pair of feet, _Hermione chuckled to herself bemusedly. _She and Julia would have laughing fits if they knew that Hermione "practical" Granger was creating her own beautiful and completely impractical shoes? _The vision of her best Muggle friends, curled up in their pajamas on a large bed and giggling hysterically at something or other, shot through her mind and it was as if some impish pixie found a way to dive into her chest and burrow in tightly. It was a mix of homesickness, of an acute sense of guilt, and an overwhelming longing to just…_get away _from this magical world and epic war of light and dark she'd found herself in. _She _wasn't supposed to be part of this! _She _was just ordinary, just some clueless human who had found her way into the middle of one of her well-worn storybooks about magic and battles between good and evil!

Wide eyes stared, panicked, back at her from the mirror of her dresser. "Calm down and get a grip, Hermione," she admonished herself aloud, aware of the too-tight grip she had on the edge of the dresser and the ache in her whitened knuckles, not to mention her sudden light-headedness at having almost hyperventilated. "Stop scaring yourself already. Magic is real, evil is real, and you're in the middle of a real life battle, not a fairytale. Deal with it already!" Taking comfort in the simple routines of life, Hermione unfocused her mind on purpose and methodically marched over to her closet, yanked out the robes she'd transfigured for the first meeting with Severus, and laid it on the bed, pointing her wand with an angry slash.

Fifteen efficient minutes later, Hermione had a violently red dancing dress and glossy black pumps and was extracting one of the vials of polyjuice Li had provided her with from the locked trunk under her bed. Crawling up out of the alien world of dustbunnies and dirt and the odd book that had somehow slipped underneath her bed, Hermione grimaced and Banished the accumulated grime and looked outside her window. The sun was dangerously close to running itself into the wavering and unyielding horizon. _Just enough time to take a quick bath, I think. _

After emerging refreshed and with a renewed sense of both purpose and nervous jitters, Hermione wrapped herself in a ratty old bathrobe and glanced once more at her window to the world. The sun was sending out its last helpless cries of despair, bleeding oranges and reds up as the black of the earth swallowed it whole, soon to leave only the lingering light contrasted in the blue-darkening sky. It was time. Hermione steeled herself mentally, going over the logical plan of attack for talking to Severus that she'd come up with while showering. _So help me, Ginny, if you're wrong about talking it out between us making the situation less awkward. _Slipping the unneeded garment from her shoulders and allowing it to settle silently on the floor, Hermione walked barefoot over to her dresser and allowed her hand to close around the smooth, cool glass of the vial of polyjuice, turning and turning it around in her palm. And in one fluid motion, she uncapped the potion and swigged it, throwing her head back to get the full dose. _Urghkh!! _

The taste only had a moment of _gag, stomach contents threatening to rebel, _before the uncomfortable itching of her skin everywhere from scalp to toes signaled the beginning of her transformation into Milena, high class whore whose clients paid extravagantly for her company and were more than often denied because she held the power. _Because she could. _

**--break--**

"Milena, how good to see you again," Dolohov exclaimed gallantly, taking her elbow in a proprietary manner and guiding her further into the house. Milena raised a shapely brow to signal the big man that she _knew _he was behaving inappropriately, but responded in a manner that she was becoming used to.

"Antonin Dolohov, you have been keeping well I hope. As have your compatriots," she added, gracing the rest of the assorted company around them with a gleaming smile that whispered promise and potential and fantasy.

"You have me at a disadvantage, for you know my name and I do not know all of yours or any of your details, Milena." _His smile is a little forced, and his grip on my elbow tightened a little, and Bellatrix' eyes widened a little just then, _Hermione thought detachedly. Milena allowed the curve of her lips to spread just a little fraction farther, turning her smile from one of promise of pleasure to one of something more sinister, a predatory expression one would expect from one of the big hunting cats of a more exotic country.

"Oh, but I make it my business to know everything about any new client I take on," she said. "I never take on a client whose personal and professional life might at any time potentially threaten mine. Research is a very large part of what my job entails, my friends. I'm sure you agree, wouldn't you, Peter? Information…the right information at the crucial moment can destroy many lives with one blow. Power, in the hands of one wielder, one person…and Bellatrix, you would concur as well that power is always a good thing. Power is what all men—and women—seek unconditionally, is it not? In relationships, in careers, in affiliations and every act, humans always tailor themselves to grasp for the greatest power. It matters not whether they claim to desire the power for itself, or for the purpose of regulating and checking would-be tyrants.

Yes, power is the main motivator of human beings. Is it not so among my client's esteemed peers and guests? Is it not so among the…politics of today's world? Is it not so among schoolchildren who fight for ascendance to the popularity contest, the balance between man and woman…"

Milena gazed piercingly around at the men and one woman gathered around her, like moths to a flame, and with a twist of her red lips, mocked them all in a victorious, vicious smile, more like a smirk than a smile. In that moment she looked more like an avenging demon or nightmare than the seductress, the cruel unholy enjoyment of their cowed behavior before her, beaten by only her words shining in her eyes.

A shadow detached itself from the gloom of a faraway pillar and stalked with an even, measured step towards the silent group. Milena slowly drew her elbow from Dolohov's lax, sweating hand and walked to her man, taking his offered arm and departing without a second glance back. But the fiendish, triumphant expression did not leave her face and if you had questioned anyone in the future who had been present for the woman's display, all of them would have vehemently repudiated any thought or chance of getting to know the mysterious Milena more intimately if it was ever brought up or offered.

He had been affected as well by her speech about power, she knew—she could feel it in the stiff way he held her arm as if it were a foreign object akin to a murder weapon he was transporting in the line of duty. Milena reveled in it. Hermione was horrified and agonized, and it was with both relief and a sourish and lingering sense of regret that she entered the rooms that marked her privacy and transformation—mentally at least—back into just Hermione.

"What were you _thinking, _Hermione!" Severus demanded, voice as cruel as a whiplash.

"I'm thinking that I'm _sick _to death of being an object in this world," Hermione snapped back defensively. "I'm always the 'thing'. There's no difference between the Death Eaters out there thinking of me as a robot for sex, and the people at Hogwarts thinking of me as the robot for information. Stick a knut in the slot and listen to all the facts you need to know for Flitwick's exam tomorrow! Good when I'm useful, but never as a _person. _I'm just the girl who is useful for something, and no one ever remembers the tools when everything's said and done—they remember the ones who _used." _

"Damn you, Hermione, what's gotten into you? I _know _that," he cried back roughly, voice a growl in the lower register of his anger.

It was his harsh, flat tone that woke Hermione up out of the inner battle with her dark self, and she realized just exactly what she'd _said. _"Severus…"

"No, don't," he said abruptly when she would have begun apologizing profusely. He must have seen her intentions in her face. "I will tender my apologies to you for having been taken aback at the physical appearance of the person you chose to impersonate, but I will _not _apologize for being uncommonly attracted to the knowledge that the studious and intelligent woman I know also has a sexual personality and presence and the ability to flaunt it. A woman with brains and boldness is hard for any human male to resist."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, and then left her jaw hanging as the implications of his words sank in. _Uncommonly attracted…brains and boldness…_me? _Did Severus just tell me that I, Hermione Granger, am a sexually attractive woman that _he _is attracted to? _Realization was lightning bolt, or a flash flood, or a tsunami. Stunned, Hermione could only sputter. "I…wh…you…"

Severus looked both extremely uncomfortable and yet unwilling to renege on his words. Instead, he looked away under the force of Hermione's agitation before swallowing and looking away and down. Then his gaze came up again bravely to meet Hermione's eyes squarely. "Is it so nauseating to you, then, to have my attention towards your attraction made clear?" he queried softly, almost sadly.

Here, Hermione could finally find some shred of firm ground amidst the sinking sand. "No!" she protested quickly. "No, never like that, Severus. You're not nauseating—your attention isn't—I mean—" pausing to take a deep breath, Hermione tried to explain herself in a modulated and understandable fashion. "Severus, I have no illusions about myself. I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and a lot of males are repulsed by my propensity to talk to much and _know _too much." Here, she smiled wryly. "When I first realized that I would have to transform myself into the body of a woman who might as well have been a Veela for all her effect on the male sex in general—not to mention some females as well—I was not prepared for how horrible it would feel, to know that the sole reason someone is attracted to you is because you're wearing someone else's appearance—that you're someone else. That's why I reacted so strongly today, with Dolohov and the others out there. They didn't see _me, _they saw a beautiful woman, and I _hated _that what they most esteemed about me wasn't even _me._" Aware that she was starting to babble, Hermione made and effort, and shut up.

The dark man had, until now, been standing rigidly some distance from her, in between the closed door and where the sitting area began. Neither had taken the time to sit down, and Hermione, standing next to one of the chairs, began to wonder if it would be imprudent and impolite to seat herself at that moment. Her knees were starting to feel shaky and weak from the shocks and her own boldness. But Severus was looking down at her directly now and evidently preparing to speak, and she thought it would perhaps be best to remain standing for the moment.

"Hermione, I assure you that despite what those…men…out there see and act as, in here you are recognized not for your looks—or someone else's looks—but for your mind and yourself," he murmured deliberately, catching her eyes and holding them in his dark, enveloping gaze. A wash of warm sensation lapped at the edges of Hermione's consciousness at his earnest and genuine tone and expression. "Indeed, I must apologize if my…reactions towards your appearance was anything less than proper," he continued slowly. "It was completely debasing of your formidable intellect and identity. You perhaps might not realize it, but I do…know something of what you speak of, in being appreciated for something you are not."

_Oh, Severus. _How had she forgotten? In all the confusion of conflicting emotion, how had Hermione forgotten that this was just how Severus must feel, to be looked on generally in terms of being 'useful'—in one way, appearing only as the blackguard and murderer to the light, in another, epitome of faithful and competent evil henchman, and in a third only as 'The Spy' and not ever as just 'Severus'? _I'm sorry…_

She didn't realize she'd said the last aloud until he replied, and then she blushed profusely. "Don't be," Severus informed her in his rich timbre solemnly. "It is not any of your doing."

_Yes it is, for being part of the institution that treats you like a tool, seeing you how I want to see you instead of how you ought to be seen as a person, as a man, as a human. _Hermione contemplated that. _Yes, I have been just as guilty as anyone else for thinking of Severus as simply there for me whenever I needed him, as a listening, albeit reluctant, ear, as a mentor and tutor, as a soundboard for ideas, as my friend—as anyone but just himself. Mum and Dad would be disappointed. _I_'m disappointed in myself, for that matter. _

"In any case, it is better to have it out in the open to be confronted and dealt with, and no longer a threat to our ability to continue with this deception," Severus stated carefully. Finally, he took several steps towards the general direction of the sitting area, and Hermione took it as invitation enough to let her legs fold and deposit her onto the nearest seat available, kicking off her shoes carelessly to tuck her legs under her in the position she found most comfortable.

"True. Well, I'm still sorry for having…burst like that," she answered ashamedly. "It was stupid and childish of me, and shows I haven't really been dealing with stress well lately."

"Not childish—overwhelmed," Severus corrected. He looked askance at the chaise closest to _him _before lowering himself into it with a small sigh and a slight relaxing of the furrow of his brow told Hermione that he had been longing to sit down just as much as _she _had. _How ironic…_ "How is your Vacuumency?"

"Part of the stress," she replied shortly, rather relieved that they had moved off the passionate and dangerous topics now (granted it had been _her _fault they had been brought up at all). "Li is getting frustrated with me, but I just can't…_frame _the disconnect in the right way. He's had to snap me out of Vacuumency-state twice already because I went into it during our lesson and wouldn't come out. He keeps saying that I'm not viewing it in the right way that will bring me peace as well as the knowledge of when to _use _Vacuumency and when to not use it."

Severus shifted, and his eyebrow went up in a delicate arch. "You are admitting to failure then?"

"No! Well…I don't know." Hermione huffed in displeasure. "I already _know _I'm not perfect, no matter what other people may think of me—gods, Ginny already informed me of _that._ No, it's more of sort of knowing that this might be crucial and yet I can't grasp it—the way Harry felt, I suppose, when he first began learning Occlumency. Before Albus took over his lessons." Hermione managed to keep her voice straight and her gaze steady, unwilling to appear in any way Severus might take as accusatory.

He stiffened for a moment, but seemed willing to let the comment pass. "Perhaps it is the…limitations of the teacher, then, and not the student, that is hindering your progress."

_And that's about the closest he'll ever come to an apology about the way he treated Harry. _Still, it was more than she'd expected and she felt uncommonly gratified. "Master Li is a very competent teacher," she said doubtfully.

"Someone with the teacher's spirit would seek to form their method of teaching to the student rather than have the student struggle to conform to a learning style unsuited to their abilities," Severus said neutrally. Then he cracked an ironic, dark hint of a smile. "It is why I was convinced, twenty years ago, and am still convinced today, that Albus had gone senile when he assured me that I would make a fine teacher."

After a momentary pause of deafening silence at his—Merlin, dare she call it a _joke? From Severus?—_Hermione burst out into laughter, helpless to prevent the giggles that bubbled up from her gut and cascaded out ruthless and uncaring to the state of her lungs. "Oh…dear…can't…breathe..." she gasped out in between hysterical fits.

"I fail to see what is so humorous," Severus snapped blackly—but Hermione, peering at him closely, noted with a growing sense of glee that his eyes and the telltale crinkle around them gave him away. _He's enjoying this! _It sent her off into another gale of delighted and surprised laughter, and Severus merely tipped his eyes up towards the ceiling in exasperation, sighed theatrically, and settled further back into his armchair to patiently wait out Hermione's next bout of hilarity.

**--break--**

_Honestly, I don't know what to do with her! _Severus was back to pacing his room again after the flurry of activity that had signaled Hermione's—or rather Milena's—departure. This time at least, he'd seen that not one of his cohorts had been more than cordial and extremely respectful to Milena on her way out. She still incited passion and lust, no doubt, but it was of the fearful sort—the kind in which one might view any of the potent female vampires: having intimate relations with any of _them _was like dancing with the devil. Oh, the vampire might give you a good time and even leave you alive to enjoy the memory—or she might not.

But the woman he was concerned with was not a vampire, and not even Milena. The woman who called herself Hermione Granger was altogether a mystery. Women in general were creatures he rather considered to be alike to men in the human sense, in that they could hate, love, lust, dream, delude themselves, become obsessed, die. Women in a more specific sense were like a different language altogether—not just a different Romantic language, but one of a wholly separate mother-source from his, perhaps Japanese or Korean. And Hermione Granger, in the most specific sense of the female species, was like Japanese or Korean _backwards. _

Severus snorted. He was becoming maudlin and superfluous. "This is the effect you have on me, even my _thoughts _ramble now," he addressed the chair that Hermione had recently vacated. The dulled-black sofa didn't answer him. _I'm going crazy, talking to furniture and inanimate objects. Next thing you know, I'll be giving Bella tips on how to successfully pursue a romantic interest without fully scaring or killing her victim, er, person of interest. Or telling the Dark Lord that he has horrible halitosis and really should not shout so much in people's faces. _He could just imagine it now—the stunned expressions, the absolute silence—and then of course the inevitable _Crucio!—_shouted, of course. Severus decided that it was probably quite disturbing that he thought the scenario helplessly funny. And he found himself in the undignified position that Hermione had been just hours earlier, unable to quell the chuckles of amusement that escaped his lips.

"Is Master being okay?"

Severus, half-gulping for sufficient oxygen, looked down to see his bossy and efficient house-elf standing and staring at him as if he'd grown a pair of horns and started mooing. "Yes—_hah—_Mippy, I'm—_hah—_fine," he attempted to reassure his skeptical house-elf in between gasps of air. "It's nothing."

"Master must not _laugh _at nothing," Mippy commanded sternly, hands on his hips. "Master may laugh at someones, or somethings, or even _with, _but Minny says to Mippy, she says, 'laughing at nothings is being the fastest ways for elves to go silly in the head. People too."

_Oh Salazar and saints…_Severus inhaled sharply, closing his eyes tightly, and _concentrated _with all his being not to start laughing again. _Damn it, Hermione's laughing fits are catching. I will _not _scare Mippy more than I already have! He'll probably cart me off to the loony bin regardless of Dark Lords and Death Eaters if I laugh one more time at 'nothing'! _

Finally feeling reasonably calm and in control of himself once more, Severus opened his eyes and glared down at Mippy, who still stood, now with his arms folded and little mouth set in a tiny line of disapproval that looked oddly like Minerva's expression of disgust might be when confronted with something stupid a student had done. "I am fine, Mippy, and if I am going insane then it is a comfort to know that I will entertain myself at least," he said cheerfully. _Good Merlin, Hermione must really be Imperio'ing me to affect me as much as to make me _cheerful! "Ah, is there anything you wanted?"

"_Mister _Malfoy is wishing to see you," Mippy reported, clearly gleefully reveling in her ability to name her former master by a title of positive _disrespect. _

"Is he waiting out in the foyer?" Severus quickly gathered his shred of sobriety together.

"Yes, Master. He is talking with Missus Blackheart," Mippy replied. _Blackheart…oh, the elves' nickname for Bellatrix. It seems to be quite an appropriate name in this case. _Severus furrowed his brow in thought. "Is Mippy to be showing him to the library?"

"Yes Mippy. That would be best, I think," Severus murmured, half to the elf and half to himself, all instances of humor put aside as he began to enact the plans he'd concocted. The latter half of Hermione's visit, they'd discussed quite a bit of things of interest. Mainly that the Order, after so many devastating blows, was quite determined to strike back. Severus _had _managed to get enough information from Pettigrew about an outing some of the younger Death Eaters were planning (the rat had evidently been envious and sulking and ready to spill out his grievances of being cooped up in an old decrepit mansion and not out reveling with the others)—but the Dark Lord had ordered that Pettigrew not leave the grounds, even under his Animagus form, and Pettigrew was not one to cross his Master. It didn't stop him from complaining though, and Severus now knew that some of the free and uncaught Death Eaters planned to form an informal attack on some Muggleborn families. Lucius had not been informed, and Severus had no doubt that if he knew this was going on behind his back, his "old friend" would be quite put out…

But that was neither here nor there. Pettigrew had spent the better part of the day grousing over the luck of his younger compatriots—he had gotten to be quite good friends with the Slytherin Warrington, one of Cain's gang, and had been paid a visit by said boy the previous day—and Severus had discovered quite easily the targets and date the young Death Eaters were planning. _"In three days, Hannah Abbott's family," he told Hermione. _

_She chewed on her lip, and uttered, "The Order will be ready."_

_"Evangeline Cain will be there," he said. He meant it as both a warning and an encouragement. _

_"She'll pay for what she did to Parvati," Hermione replied flatly, and that had been the end of that as they turned to the issue of prying more details out of Lucius. _

Now was the perfect time. If Lucius was coming, of his own will, to a rival who was in favor with the Dark Lord and without Severus' extending a specific invitation first, it could only mean that he needed Severus' help in some way—and that meant Severus could ferret out more information that the Order desperately needed. Feeling his determination swirl around in him and transform him from the surprisingly light-hearted self he'd been with and because of Hermione, Severus reformed himself into _Snape, cold-blooded killer and ruthless intellectual, _and left for the library, Mippy having gone ahead to guide the man to that location. It was time for some answers.

**A.N.: I'm sorry, guys. I tried, I really did—the entire chapter was written one painful, forced word at a time and I was sweating bullets throughout the entire thing. It was not a pretty sight. So if the writing or plot seems faux or contrived or just plain bad, my fervent apologies. **

**On the other hand, feel free to tell me what you **_**did **_**like about the chapter or the story in general! Thank you for all your investment in my story, everyone who's kept reading, reviewing, alerting, and favoriting!**


	40. Bonus Chapter

**Disclaimer: JKR's. **

Ron stared in shock at Professor McGonagall, his mouth falling open and simply staying open. If Hermione had been there, she'd have reprimanded him severely for "gaping in that most unattractive manner—honestly, Ron, we don't need to see your tonsils!" Since she wasn't there, Ron had to settle for a slightly more pointed look of censure from his professor, and it proved to be just as effective and highly embarrassing, and Ron hastily picked up his jaw and hoped to dear Merlin that he had not displayed any leftover food from lunch in his mouth. "You…you want me to do _what?" _

"I want you to take over a portion of responsibilities in battle strategy and the general organization and distribution of our people and our resources," McGonagall repeated almost patiently. They were sitting in the Headmaster's—er—Headmistress' office at Hogwarts, and Ron had been wild with curiosity about the unknown favor/assignment that Master Li had been speaking of and asked him to consider. Harry's training had stepped up a notch today, Hermione was still in the midst of mysterious disappearances and tasks for Li not to mention she had left this morning for a visit to her parents', and Ron had been resigning himself to attempting to keep up with Harry's uncanny skills in defense and offense (despite Harry's pacifist leanings). Harry was a natural—Ron was not. Hermione had reassured Ron once already in the recent days when she found Ron extremely frustrated at how Harry merely had to see a new spell once or twice to be able to reasonably recreate it, while Ron had to spend days mastering a new skill.

"_I'm not a natural either," _she'd stated comfortingly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in commiseration. _"It took me weeks and weeks to even begin to be able to keep up with the people I was training with, and even now without the constant practice, I'd be easily beat by any of them."_

_"Who'd you train with?" he asked, hoping to pry out some more information on a friend whose life he was barely familiar with anymore. _

_Her expression instantly shifted into 'neutral,' but Ron knew Hermione well enough by now—even if he didn't know what was occurring in her life—to tell that Hermione was suddenly sad. "Just some people I knew," she answered vaguely. Ron didn't push. If Hermione wanted to tell—or _could _tell—she would do it in her own time. It had taken him ages to learn patience in that way!_

Oh, but how Ron's patience was being sorely tested in his determination not to be jealous of his best friend's natural talent. It was why he'd jumped at the chance Li offered to distinguish himself, to do something that only _he _could do—not Hermione, not Harry—just Ronald Weasley. And now…

"I don't know if I'm good enough," Ron said, panicking.

The stern-faced woman seated across from him, behind the wooden desk, softened and smiled in an almost sympathetic expression. "I think you'll do fine, Mister Weasley. You proved yourself quite capable of rational and realistic thought of the sort that Albus possessed when you played your way across the giant chessboard of mine in your first year. Hermione tells me you are the undefeated champion of chess in Gryffindor, and Li informs me that you are the best man for the job. I trust both of their opinions, and I trust my own observations—and while your academia may be lacking"—Ron wiggled uncomfortably in his seat—"you have shown yourself to be an intelligent and wise young man with the ability to use sound judgment and see strategies naturally, which is a gift not many have. It would be of the highest help to the Order and myself if you would take on this task. It isn't easy and will require many sleepless nights and hard decisions, but I believe you to be up to the challenge."

"Well—" really, what could a man say to that sort of gauntlet thrown down at his feet? Ron was nothing if not a risk-taker and adventurous soul. "Sure, I'd be glad to help."

**--break—**

Evangeline Cain was not having a good day. Staring down at her ragged nails—she doubted anyone would give her a wand to fix them, which was a pity—she cast her mind back to the unholy beginning of the nightmare. Her older brother Cassius who was working in Germany had showed up at the ungodly hour of 6am for a surprise "visit the family" drop by. Now, it was one thing when dear Cassius came only at Christmas holidays for the obligatory niceties and stayed out of the way. Evangeline did _not _appreciate any interruption in admiration of herself, like the unwelcome charm of her brother always did. Nor did she like having all her followers flock to Cassius in awe that should be directed at _Evangeline._ Or, if they must, the Dark Lord. She could put up with it for several days at the Yuletide with much planning and preparation of maintaining control over her adoring public and keeping the spotlight off of Cassius.

But here Cassius was, smirking in a perfectly innocent and dashing way, charisma radiating from the lean lines of his body as he greeted their parents and came forward at last to enthusiastically grasp Evangeline's dainty hands in his and kiss her on the cheek. _And _at an hour where she should still be in bed, and having been roused, did _not _look like herself.

"Mother, Father. Sister," Cassius murmured, voice mellifluous. "How wonderful it is to see you again. I apologize for the unannounced visit, and at such a time as well. And I will apologize even further in advance, for I have invited a friend of mine to come as well and he should be arriving in an hour."

"Cassius, it is always a pleasure to see you," Flavian Cain greeted his oldest child formally. "You are inconsiderate of your family's comfort."

"And I have apologized for it. Nor is it without reason," Cassius replied lightly.

"Well what is it, brother mine?" Evangeline demanded irritably, in no mood to play her brother's games or keep up her façade of gentility.

Her brother grinned teasingly at his younger sister. "Patience, Evie. Father, Mother, I beg your indulgence in my thoughtlessness but my arrival here is not all my doing. Our Lord requested my return home as soon as possible. He is traveling abroad, but took the time to contact me and ask certain favors, including my immediate return to carry out his bidding. My friend also retains orders from the Dark Lord that involve an indefinite stay in Britain, and I have offered him a place to stay during that time—if you sanction it?"

"Why did you not state this earlier? Of course you are welcome, as is your friend if he is loyal to the Dark Lord. Portia—"

"I'll have the house-elves air out Cassius' room and one of the guest rooms," Evie's mother said quickly. She gave her son a brief hug and hurried out of the room, calling for the house-elves.

"Welcome home, son." Flavian nodded regally at the young man in front of him. "Your mother will have your room ready in ten minutes, and after breakfast you and I will discuss business." He himself glided off then, and within seconds Evie and Cassius were alone in the stiff, beautiful parlor.

"So, Evie, I hear you distinguished yourself among your peers to the Dark Lord at the beginning of this summer," Cassius remarked whimsically, sprawling out messily on the uncomfortable Victorian Era furniture.

"What did the Dark Lord entrust _you _with?" Evie questioned with a sneer, a hint of jealousy in her tone.

"The Dark Lord requires a liaison who _knows _what his long term goals are and can plan accordingly and offer short term strategies to fit into the big picture, among other things," Cassius replied. He shot an endearing smile at his younger sister, but his angelic blue eyes and chocolate locks, flopping in his face, were lost on her.

"You never said that you were much in favor with the Dark Lord," Evie retorted accusingly.

"I did not feel the need to, unlike you, baby sister."

"You bore me—I'm going back to bed." Evangeline tossed her hair and was inordinately displeased when she realized that it did not have the same, determined whiplash effect it did when it was brushed and styled. The tangled mess certainly made no impression on her brother other than to bring an amused half-smile to his face—which only made him more attractive and only made Evangeline hate him more. _Damn him for being so perfect all the time. I bet he looks just as perfect and beautiful even in the sack, _she grumbled to herself as she snapped her body around and marched out petulantly.

"Oh, Evie, you should know that my friend is quite your type, dark and brooding and athletic, the girls fall all over him whenever we go out," Cassius called after her, laughter evident in his voice. Evangeline did not deign to answer and merely left him there with his own company, but when she reached the stairs and was out of sight of Cassius' prying eyes, she broke into a run. _Only an hour to prepare—Merlin, this wizard must be the epitome of attraction for girls to gravitate towards him rather than Cassius! _

**--break--**

Pink-cheeked and queenly, a much more settled and cool Evangeline greeted their guest in an hour. Ignoring Cassius' idiotic remarks, she concentrated all her charm and wittiness around the visitor, who was indeed quite as drool-worthy as he had been extolled and had the most adorable accent to boot. Unfortunately, her parents had decided to talk shop—or rather, to discuss matters of Most Important Significance Regarding Our Dark Lord—and "little Evie," despite having engendered the success of the triumph at Hogwarts, despite having killed for the cause, was not invited to the meeting.

It was with great reluctance that Evie parted company with her new love interest and went back to her room thoughtfully. _I need a plan. _Just over an hour at breakfast had convinced her that this was The One—the man she was going to bestow the honored Cain family bloodline to. He was tall, played Quidditch like a dream, spoke with an accent, and, in fact, _rarely _spoke. And when he did, all that came out of those kissable lips were also germane and intelligent commentary and not drivel. He was dark-haired, his eyes were piercing and bottomless pools of ink, and—from one or two murmured asides to Cassius that she hadn't been supposed to hear but had shamelessly eavesdropped, he was sarcastic and humorous. _The perfect man indeed! He can keep up with me and I won't have to explain everything to him, and it'll be a fun challenge to keep him in line and dancing to my tune. It'll take everything I have. _But she needed a plan—Evie never attempted such lofty goals without a written out strategy on how to approach things, and she wasn't going to start now. Extracting a piece of paper from her desk and plucking a quill off the surface of the table, Evangeline Cain got to work, her belief in a providence that allowed her to live an enchanted existence somewhat restored after having been challenged by her brother's unwelcome arrival.

But the day, which had started out bad enough, was fated to decrease her faith in that providence once again. After hours spent in industrious compilations of all she knew about the handsome hunk, the best approaches to his type of personality, and short-term and long-term goals, a knock on her door was her only warning to approaching bad news.

"Evie, what do you think of Severus Snape?"

"What?" She stared at her mother, who had invited herself into Evangeline's bedroom and now sat primly in one of the highly polished dark chairs that were part of a matching set with desk, dresser, and cupboard. "Professor Snape?"

"Yes, although he is not your professor anymore," Portia Cain reminded her daughter.

"He's a devoted servant to the Dark Lord and he was powerful enough to finally finish off the old man," she replied flippantly enough although her mild hazel eyes, framed by luxurious dark lashes, narrowed in suspicion. _Mother never mentions anything without a purpose, and certainly not something as random as this. What exactly is going on? _

"You were one of his better students," Portia remarked calmly, disregarding Evie's pointed look of _get-to-the-point. _

"I was the best in my class, and would have been the best in all of Hogwarts if the Mudblood Granger hadn't memorized the textbooks," Evangeline hissed, involuntarily clenching her fists and drawing little half-moon marks on her palms with her nails before forcing herself to relax. _Frizzy little bitch upstart! _Evangeline had not forgotten how the younger girl had dared to touch her hair and temporarily dirty the Pureblood by forcing a _Muggle _disease on her. _I wish it had been _her _at the end of my wand that day at Hogwarts. The slut deserves it! _

Her mother observed her lapse in control with impartiality, smoothing one elegantly thin hand over her expensive robes. "Your brother brought some news from our Lord which was rather surprising, to say the least."

"And this concerns me?"

"It does. The Dark Lord suggested a possible alliance between our family and the last of the Prince bloodline."

It took her a moment—but when the implications of what her mother had just said dawned on Evangeline, she surged to her feet in a panicked fury. "Mother! You can't mean to marry me off to Snape like some sort of baggage! He's old, disgusting, and vile-tempered, and I'm not a _thing _to possess! I won't! I refuse! You can't make me! How _dare _you suggest anything like _this _to _me?_"

"How dare _you _shout at me?" Portia's voice dropped lower and lower until it was a mere whisper, and her own eyes—the mirror of her haughty daughter's—blazed with wrath. "You _will _obey your father and I, whether or not we decide to create this alliance. Remember your place, _daughter._ Your brother is heir and irreplaceable—_you _are not." A sinister overtone pierced even the enraged Evangeline. "You will do as you are ordered, and you will do what is best for the family and its allegiances, Evangeline Portia Cain. Do you understand me?"

Evangeline had blasted smoking, ragged holes in her bedding and completely sliced up the pretty chair her mother had vacated by the time she'd half vented her spleen. _How can they even _consider _that…_bat _to be a prospective husband! It's unthinkable! _A thread of true fear wound through her all-consuming anger. She'd never considered, never once in her sheltered life, that her parents might arrange a marriage of alliance for her. Oh, she knew that it happened occasionally with the Pureblooding families—the Malfoys were a case in point. But her parents had never implied that _she _might have to do so. She knew her duty was to marry and marry _well—_she'd been more than prepared to do that. But to be _told _who she was to be shackled to for the rest of her existence, to share bed and bath, heart and mind—Evie found herself blanching at the mere idea of being bound to a man she didn't know and didn't like, who had no redeeming features but his name and favor in the eyes of the Dark Lord, a favor that could be retracted on a whim. The feeling of powerlessness—the helpless inability to control her own life—was sourish-stale in her mouth.

"Young Mistress has companys," a timid voice interrupted her silent contemplation of the unappetizing and uncertain future ahead of her.

"Clean up this room immediately and replace everything that needs replacing," Evie ordered without so much as glancing at the house-elf. She went over to her dresser mirror and glared at her reflection. _This won't do at all! _With a few subtle Glamours, she was once again presentable and the very image of the confident, commanding woman-in-charge. Taking a breath to compose herself, Evie stalked out of her room and downstairs to greet her guests the same way a queen might nod to her subjects.

**--break--**

"Your turn next. Drink up, _Miss _Cain," the hateful grinning woman with lurid pink hair said, handing her a clear potion.

"If I said no?" Evie tried to speak with a cool, disinterested tone.

"I would have to take a couple leaves out of my old mentor's book about extracting information from difficult prisoners," the woman replied cheerfully. A pause, and then—"Maybe you know him by reputation from the _last _bloody war your demented leader started. 'Mad-Eye Moody'?"

Visions of screaming men, broken fingers, and burn marks made deliberately danced in Evie's head and she unconsciously shivered. Reluctantly and as full of calm regality as she could muster, she took the phial from the vile Auror and downed it, shuddering in disgust at the taste and the bitterness of defeat. As the queer dizziness that accompanied the potion's effects swept through her body, Evangeline sat stiffly.

"What is your full name?"

"Evangeline Portia Cain."

"Who are your parents?"

"Portia Genevieve Cain and Flavian Cassius Cain."

"Are you affiliated in any way with the party calling themselves Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

**--break--**

"Are you sure they're home?"

"Shh! Not so loud!" Evie hissed back at Warrington. _Idiot! _She castigated the sloth-like boy silently as the little group peered over the shrubbery at the dark, ordinary little house in the quiet Muggle neighborhood they'd arrived at.

"Warrington's right, it's all dark and no one's moving in the house," Sarah Fawcett murmured softly to Evangeline. This time, Evie was forced to agree with the normally taciturn Ravenclaw.

Already in a bad mood and having had to sneak out of her own house for their planned 'entertainment', Evie turned on the boy next to her. "Bletchley, I thought you said that the Abbotts would be home tonight!"

"It wasn't me that got the information, it was Stebbins who told me that Hannah Abbott told him that their family never went out past nine at night!" the Slytherin claimed with a sidelong glance at Fawcett, who remained quiet despite the slur on her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Evie cursed. _That mousy Hufflepuff…I don't understand how he managed to gain enough favor from the Dark Lord to be inducted as a Death Eater! He looked about ready to heave during the Muggle-play at initiation. Scared of his own shadow, wouldn't even come to this! _She couldn't see why Fawcett continued to maintain any sort of relationship with the boy.

Just as their group was about to disintegrate in disagreement, Evie froze. "Shh! Look!" She motioned towards the house, where, in the topmost room, a dim light had just been switched on.

"Someone's home," Bletchley murmured gleefully in a singsong manner.

"Does that mean the plans are still on?" Warrington asked dumbly.

"Don't distract me," Evie snapped testily, staring hard at the house. Silence descended, and she was finally rewarded when, moments later, another light went on—this time downstairs. _Good. Someone probably woke up and got hungry and went to the kitchen for something to eat. _Gesturing with her right hand, Evie directed the little band to prepare themselves. "The concealing spells won't be of any use if you make noise or trample plants and leave a trail behind, so just don't," she reminded them. "I'll unlock the door, and we fan out—Fawcett, Warrington, you take the upstairs. Bletchley and I will cover downstairs and move upwards to meet you. Make sure to get Hannah's wand straight away—she's the only one who we need to worry about, the rest are just Muggles. On the count of three. One, two—"

They streamed silently up the path and a simple _Alohamora _took care of the front door. Once inside, they wasted no time but spread out in pairs. Evangeline and Bletchley headed for where the light had appeared, where she assumed the kitchen was, and threw open the door. She never saw the other side of it. Instead, an instant before darkness overtook her, Evie was held paralyzed before the grim and vengeance-lit face of a ghost she'd killed.

**--break--**

"We've caught you red-handed, breaking and entering private property, and we have at least a dozen viable eyewitnesses to the violence you wrought in Hogwarts prior to your departure. You'll be lucky if any of you see more than the insides of Azkaban ever again," the despicable Auror remarked casually, her flippant tone belying a deeper, tightly reined hatred. Nettled, with her tongue still not her own, Evangeline could only stare sullenly at the surface of the table where a lone, gruesome picture of a dead body lay as people screamed silently and a girl dropped to her knees and threw herself over the corpse that had so recently been a warm, breathing girl.

"Parvati Patil was a year younger than you. She had a real talent for Divination, enjoyed the Weird Sisters, and wanted to visit her native country India this summer to visit relatives. She was the older twin by four minutes and thirteen seconds. Her entire family is grieving right now because her _schoolmate _decided to carry a war that belongs to adults into what was supposed to be a safe haven for children regardless of affiliations and the outside world. She's rotting in a grave right now, never having fully lived, because one girl with a chip in her shoulder and a messed up view of the world decided she had the power to take a life. Her sister, Padma, was the one who captured you. None of us would have blamed her if she'd just killed _you _instead." Evie looked away and scrutinized her nails. They were chipped.

"Look at the picture."

She did not. The woman's voice became steel. "_Look at the picture." _Against her will, Evangeline found herself staring back at the stark photo that the Auror had placed before her. The vivid splash of red, the sudden blank surprise and emptiness in the Gryffindor's eyes, the utter desolation, dementia, in the wild abandonment of her identical twin sister and varying degrees of disbelief in the witnesses, all students—_the pungent smell of blood that struck just as I Apparated out—the surge of feral energy in the aftermath of the spell—_

"Your fellow Death Eaters will be serving time for conspiracy to attack with the intent of murder. They'll probably win themselves anywhere from fifteen to fifty years in Azkaban, despite their youth. No jury or judge would do less in the protection of the sanctuary of a school. But you—you'll be lucky if you aren't Kissed. Don't expect leniency from people who can picture very easily what they would have done if _their _child was one of those you threatened or killed at Hogwarts that day, or _were _those parents." The cold voice, emotionless and uncaring, finally ceased and footsteps told Evie that the pink-haired Auror had left. Finally allowing herself to crumble a little, Evangeline bowed her head, avoiding gazing at the photo that had been left. No, it was not a very good day at all. For lack of a better occupation—and because she would _not _think about that mad-eyed girl whose visage had been the last she'd seen as a free person, the same girl who wore the face of the girl she'd killed—Evie stared at her hands and thought random little thoughts. It was better than the alternative. _I wish someone would give me a wand to fix these nails. _

**A.N.: Surprise chapter! Please let me know if you see any mistakes, because I rushed this one on purpose for today and didn't edit as much as I usually do. I wasn't originally going to write this chapter, but jump straight to a later event and only hint through conversation what occurred here, but today is my birthday, and its also around the one-year anniversary of my joining fanfiction and this brilliant community of writers and readers! In the culture I was born in, it is customary for the birthday girl or boy to treat all his/her friends, so since I can't exactly take you all out to dinner, here's a bonus chapter for all of you wonderful people who have supported me constantly throughout this writing endeavor! **


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer:**

** Q- If JKR is not equivalent to me and her characters and universe belong to her, what do I own?**

**A- zip. **

"Mum!" Hermione barely had time to drop her bag before her mother had enveloped her in a warm embrace. "I've missed you," she muttered into her mother's shoulder, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. The unique _Mum _scent, the one she had never been able to quite label as something or another—not lemons or oranges but something similar—mingled with the dry smell of heat and sand, and Hermione fought to keep her composure enough not to bawl in front of half a dozen witnesses—well, some amount of people anyway that she'd only caught a glimpse of before being caught up in her Mum's arms.

"Hello, little miss know-it-all," a dear, masculine voice sounded next to her, and Hermione let go of her mother only to throw herself like a little child into her father's strong arms.

"Dad!"

"We've missed you too, sweetheart," her mum murmured to her.

"I've missed being able to win arguments," Daniel Granger retorted, his voice a rumble in his chest against Hermione's cheek. "It's about time little know-it-all here came back to support me. Did you know your Mum's on one of her crusades again?"

"Oh no," Hermione giggled, extracting herself with some difficulty from her father's broad arms. "What is it this time, Mum? Politics? Religious tolerance? Women's rights? The Labor Union?"

Jane Granger swatted her husband sternly. "Dan, you're impossible. No, it's not a _crusade _at all, sweetie. I merely told your father several days ago that the Muggle and Muggle-born liason office at your Ministry of Magic seemed rather inefficient and backwards from what I'd read and what the others tell me. Did you know that there are _no _Muggles in the Muggle-relations office staff? They deal with crises between wizards and Muggles, and they have no Muggles on staff! Don't you think that's rather odd? And the Muggle-born registry office is apparently so in disorder that the staff have to go to Hogwarts to find out the new list of Muggleborns in Britain?"

Hermione looked at her father, and her father sighed theatrically, taking his wife by the shoulder and gently steering her towards the building—a docile and calm looking house with a looming building in the back attached to it, Hermione noted. "Janie, perhaps Hermione would like to see where we live and maybe get introduced to the people here?"

With amusement, Hermione turned to introduce herself to the small crowd of people. "Hi, as you know, I'm Hermione Granger and I'm _their _daughter." She tossed her parents a look of humor. Her eyes widened but she made no comment when, at the very corner of her gaze, a flash of blond hair bleached whiter than even the sand she was standing on in this arid land she'd arrived in was. _Draco Malfoy, well, well, well. I know you intimately well as a wonderful friend in the world I left behind last December. I know you as the sniveling bully and Death Eater-in-training in the world of Hogwarts. Now the question is: which one are you more like, the friend or the foe? _Hermione thought of how Draco had obviously seen the stars, moon, and sun in Skye, and his almost undefeatable determination throughout the "months" that Hermione had known him as something more than a schoolmate and tormentor. There were the times he'd been the only one able to muster up enough acerbic comments to provoke Hermione back into life, the hours and days of patient work helping her build up her mental barriers enough so that the Vacuumency wasn't an immediate threat to her sanity and self, the grey eyes both sparkling with first love as he watched Skye and dark with stress, worry, and the innocence-stripping experience of pain, bloodshed, and life on the run. _He was almost like Severus in that regard, _Hermione contemplated, _almost like someone with whom I could pull equal weight with and never have to mince words or put on a face for show to cover up my real emotions. Ironic, since I am unable to show myself as the true Hermione around Severus anymore—only as Milena, or Hermione in Milena._

"I'm Natalie Wood, your parents' OPFP as well as to all these other good men and women," a young woman chirped merrily. "Welcome to our safe house, the only one outside of Europe!"

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Hermione muttered, and while Natalie gave her a befuddled _huh? _expression, Jane and Daniel Granger both grinned simultaneously.

"No, not quite," her father contributed, hooking an arm around his wife comfortably. "Hermione, this is Bethany Pritchard and Jasper Sullivan, Conley McDougal, Temperance Burbage, Emmeline Vance, and—I believe you know Draco here?"

_Just like Dad to put him on the spot like that. _The lanky boy was as uncertain as Hermione had ever seen him, and he half-grimaced, half-murmured, her name in greeting. "Granger."

She took pity on his obvious discomfort. "Malfoy," she greeted him politely. "I hope you have been doing well this summer."

When he was too busy staring in shock at her to answer, his eyes flitting in panic from her to her parents to an undefined spot next to him and back to Hermione again, Daniel Granger jumped in readily. "He's been capital company and amusement, Hermione," the man commented jovially.

"You should see them, if the boy's not in his room or in the practice rooms, they're buried in the library and it takes your Mum hours to pry them out of there," one of the other women mentioned with a wicked grin—Hermione thought it must be Emmeline Vance. Hermione had thought that she had adjusted to both ideas when her parents had 'died' and went to the safe house, and then again later when Severus had asked her to observe Draco and Albus had confirmed his initiation into the Order. Now she found herself reeling anew, and feeling rather foolish. _I wonder if this is how Malfoy felt when he first came here and met all these 'dead' people, especially my parents? _

"He's been practicing a lot and dueling a lot with Natalie, Bethany, and Emmeline," Hermione's Mum piped up. "They're all quite a sight to see, lights and special effects everywhere!"

"I'd certainly enjoy a demonstration," Hermione couldn't help saying slyly.

"We _have _to be good, when the final battle comes _I _for one am not going to stick around here in safety when we can use any pair of hands in the fight," Bethany said fiercely. Then she smiled apologetically at Jasper. "No offense, love—and to you, Daniel and Jane. No one would expect any of you to fight in a battle that isn't yours with a weapon that you can't use."

"That doesn't mean this isn't our battle and that we can't be helpful," Jasper replied, picking up the girl's hand possessively and bringing it to his lips momentarily. "You aren't going into any fight without _me." _

"Let's let Hermione have the penny-tour," Natalie interrupted anxiously. Hermione sensed that this was an old argument that everyone in the house must be familiar with already, and the glint of gold on the slender finger of the girl whom she assumed was sister to Graham Pritchard at Hogwarts told Hermione that this was most likely a marital dispute.

With Malfoy lurking around the edges of the group, Hermione found herself being escorted enthusiastically through the interior of the house. _Thank Merlin for cooling charms. _It was when they reached the connection to the library that her parents had alluded to so many times in letters and conversations that Hermione actually stopped and stared. _Wow. Just…wow. I didn't think the Library of Dreams could ever be equaled or rivaled. I can't decide which library is better—this one is _huge! _There are so many old books here…_

Daniel and Jane Granger stood arm in arm, and the man smirked down at his wife as their daughter, without a word to the rest of the expectant group, walked dreamily forward straight to the first bookshelf and began scanning the titles intently. "That's our daughter, Janie."

"Yes, and it'll take me even longer to get her away from the books than it takes me to get you and Draco to leave your 'researching' and come to dinner," Jane Granger sighed, but she smiled in pride nonetheless.

"He has interesting questions and a new perspective on magic and human science—don't you, Draco?"

"Ah—"

"Of course you do, my dear. But don't hesitate to tell my husband that not all young people are like Hermione, and even Hermione enjoys doing something outside of researching and reading and learning and debating sometimes."

"Uh, Jane, will your daughter mind if we just leave her here?" Natalie broke in apologetically. The others were beginning to look restless—the books and history of the place had much less of an effect on them. "It's just, generally when your family finds something interesting in the library…"

"We can't be budged or distracted for the world," Jane laughed. "Of course. Hermione certainly won't notice, and I haven't spent enough time in the library recently as it is, with trying to haul my husband and Draco out of it to eat meals. Why should they have all the fun?" She quirked an eyebrow at her husband before detaching herself from him and walking over to her daughter's rapt side. "What have you seen so far, Hermione dear?"

"She's right, I'm afraid," Daniel told the others. "Go ahead and do what you normally do. Draco, would you like to stay and perhaps after we tear away my daughter from her perusal of the books we can ask her opinion on the topic of your research? She would provide a good sounding board since she's got the advantage of both Muggle and Magical ways of thinking blended."

"Oh—I'm sure it'll be fine, you don't have to bother her when you have so little time to spend with her," Draco stammered nervously, shuffling his feet.

"No bother at all. If you haven't learnt by now, the way the Granger family bonds is through a united research project or debate," Daniel remarked before pulling the visibly reluctant boy along with him in pursuit of the women, who had migrated from the first bookshelf further into the booklover's haven.

"Dear, if you could contain your enthrallment for long enough, perhaps you could join Draco and I for a theoretical discussion?"

Hermione, with difficulty, tore her greedily dancing eyes away from the rows of books. "Sure, Dad. What is it?"

"Is this what you've been describing to me, Dan?" Mrs. Granger put in, looking intrigued.

"Yes, it is. Draco, why don't you tell Hermione about your research?" Mr. Granger asked, a callused hand gently propelling the tall, slouching boy forward. Hermione looked enquiringly at Draco, who licked his lips nervously and ran a hand through his hair.

"Um—well, it wasn't really important," he muttered, but at a sharp glance from Daniel, straightened slightly and spoke again. This time, Hermione caught a glimpse of the old Malfoy—an unconscious arrogance and self-ease in the way he held himself, the strange mixture of condescending overtones and subtler, worried undercurrents that signaled to Hermione that no matter what Draco Malfoy _said, _this was an important matter to his heart. And yet—yet. Hermione could _see _the Pureblood haughtiness in her classmate, but something had changed. Something…something had managed to really seize Draco Malfoy from the complacency of his existence and beliefs and truly make a salad of it. This Draco Malfoy reminded her more of the older man and comrade she had known and respected in another world, except younger and perhaps more unsure.

_Draco never said what changed him around, only that something had. I wonder if it is the same thing in this world that has gotten hold of him? _Keenly, Hermione continued to take mental notes on the changes that Malfoy had undergone since her last observation of her old rival, all the while listening to him blandly explain his topic of research and the slant he had taken. It was a queer topic, to be sure, one she'd never thought about. After all, what relevance did the afterlife and the in-between from full life and full death have on him that would make this personal? But her ears perked up when he stated slyly, with a superior glint in his eye, "My thoughts and my research thus far have led me to believe that this was the same direction of searching the academia that the Dar…that _He _made himself familiar with in his early quest for immortality."

"You think that the D—that Voldemort found something somewhere in his research into the space between life and death that allowed him to link himself to life and later on be brought back to a full, if cursed, life?" Hermione asked, for clarification.

"I believe so," Malfoy answered. "Look, Granger, I'm certainly on his black list now and anything I can do to take him out I'm willing to do. I know you probably don't trust me, but I am not the same person who hexed you endlessly in Hogwarts. I'm sorry for that. I know your reputation for research and your parents have been wonderful in giving me a new perspective on certain things. If you would, it would be helpful to have your mind for some of this research and theory and slogging through books."

_Well. _That was highly unexpected—the blunt, yet still somehow completely imperious and unapologetic despite the apology, if the paradox made any sense at all. During the conversation, Daniel and Jane Granger had, as if by magic, migrated to a bookshelf some rows down, and were far enough away to be murmuring among themselves. Hermione heard her Mum laugh, her Dad tease, and the married couple, still as much lovebirds as they had been the day they said their vows amidst the disapproval of family members all crying the refrain of "too young, too poor, too soon!", both turned their attention to the old book Jane was holding open between them.

Hermione regarded Malfoy for a long moment, during which time her suspicions grew. He was distracted, slightly agitated, and his entire being seemed to both entreat her help earnestly, one academic-lover to another, as well as dismiss her with the well-known air of "expendable nuisance Mudblood". Finally, after drawing out the silence, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, what avenues of research have you gone down? Who have you looked up, and what have you discovered so far?"

**--break--**

_"Tell her," _Skye hissed at him for the umpteenth time. He bestowed the girl who plagued both his waking and dreaming hours—in many different ways—with an impressive frown. "Come on, D, we've gone over this already. We need her help to get me back into my body, and we're not going to get it properly if she doesn't know what we're looking for."

"_We _don't even know what we're looking for," Draco snapped in frustration, letting himself fall back on his bed with a groan, closing his eyes in hopes that not seeing Skye would allow him some advantage of peace.

No such hope—even the sound of her nagging, sensible, expressive voice hit an already tender and bruised heart with unmerciful torment. Draco had fallen, and fallen hard at last, for a girl who was more than his equal—and he could do nothing about it. He dared not even begin to betray his true emotions. What girl in her right mind would want a coward like him? Even more so—why should Skye ever return his love when his blood and family had wronged her and hers so brutally, and for the express reason of that which Draco now dreamed of?

He had been dismayed to find his father coolly planning to affiance him to Skye Corwin without so much as a by-your-leave, but now—now, if it had been possible, if she would ever consider him, he would have been happy beyond his wildest beliefs. Unrequited love—the real thing and not the blazing flash of some passing fancy—had quite changed the rest of Draco that had already been well on it's way to evolving into a wholly different man than the boy had been. _Love—is it truly so simple as to call what I feel love? The constant dull agony, every time I want to touch her hand but I can't, and even worse, the knowing that if I could touch her hand, she' would not _want _me to? The blindness when it comes to the thrice-curst habits that I know very well are annoying, like her interrupting me in the middle of conversations with other people when I can't respond or react, or how she talks to me like I'm a child sometimes, how she can't get through a single day without scolding me about something or other. If it's not that I'm a vain dandy for taking too long at the mirror, it's that I am an uncouth animal for dripping sweat all over the place after a duel and not immediately cleaning it up. _And at the same time, he clung to those pesky human traits Skye displayed and, defying all rules of an orderly Nature, considered them to be endearing. He knew he ought to be irritated, and that a normal response to having to live day-in day-out with a very bored girl spirit no one else could see and converse with but he should have been for him to run in the other direction—but Draco continued to perversely seek out Skye's company and the torment that came with the pleasure to his own grievance.

"We know enough to know that we're out of our league here and eye-high in Merlin's paradoxes," Skye retorted tartly. She flicked her thick hair out of the way, allowing Draco to admire both the luxuriant, if translucent, quality of the tresses and the high cheekbones of the deceptively mild and dreamy face.

"She's busy with Order stuff, that's what her parents said," Draco defended. "She won't have time for any of this, and she ought to spend time with Daniel and Jane before she leaves."

"They'll spend all their time together in the library and you know as much as I do that what Daniel Granger said was true—their family isn't like anything _we _know either you or I. They bond over books and paradoxes," Skye replied. "You and I grew up in families that were traditional. My parents loved me, but we never talked about anything vaguely academic in the house—the closest we came was when we discussed my grades or what career I was thinking of."

"At least they loved you," Draco told her bitterly. He laughed, no humor in his tone. "Mine showed how much I meant to them by reminding me that children were meant to be displays of the Malfoy family superiority in genetics, not actual living human beings."

"Your parents must have loved you, even if they didn't know how to show it," Skye began, but she looked away, her eyes shaded by eyelashes flickering down, and doubt coloured her reassurance. Draco said nothing. "But you've been all out of sorts for weeks now, and I keep feeling this weird muffled emotion from you that I can't classify or understand, and I think that it would be good for you to confide in someone so that you're not burdened with me without being able to tell anyone or get help from anyone," Skye continued in a determined way. "You're my friend and if _I _can't help you, then maybe Hermione Granger can. She'll just have to make time, and something tells me that she won't be able to say no."

Draco had felt a thrill of fear when Skye mentioned that she'd been feeling _something _through their inexplicable bond. _Oh Salazar, don't let her figure it out, _he prayed—to whom he didn't know, just to any higher power that might deign to hear him and come to his aid. He instinctively reached for some sort of shielding—something, anything, to keep his relatively new discovery from the perceptive girl. _Occlumency—what did Severus say about building a wall around my mind? Maybe if I try that, and build one around my feelings instead, or at least some barrier strong enough to muffle and distort the intensity…_

"Just ask her," Skye cried in exasperation finally. "Or I'll make your life a living hell!"

"Like you don't already," Draco muttered sourly, and a flash of hurt adorned her face for the barest instant before disappearing. His heart twisted at having caused her pain, but he callously ignored it in favor of getting up and yanking the door open. "I'll talk to her tonight after dinner. She said she's staying for four days."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stalked in opposite directions, neither one willing to be the first to apologize—Skye openly blazing in unbending pride (_and they say _I'm _arrogant!), _Draco sullenly casting surreptitious glances back at the ghostly girl. When she was out of sight, he allowed himself to _almost _sag to the ground, gracefully sliding down the wall in a smooth movement that almost seemed purposeful to fold his meek legs under him in a mock parody of prayer. And indeed, the refrain running endlessly through his aching, walled-up head could have been considered a plea to some unknown god or deity or supernatural force, for over and over again sinuously sliding behind the raincloud-grey eyes, was the thought—_give me courage. Give me courage. Give me courage…_

It was, although he did not know it, a chant that miles away in his homeland, a ruffle-haired boy with dimmed green eyes shared fervently that night as he curled his thin frame around the one blessing of his life and realized that her entire well-being and happiness rested on his shoulders and loomed in the figure of a snake-like darkness. And just seven days later, it would be foremost in the minds of two spies in a very different way altogether, for personal matters of the heart require a different sort of courage.

**A.N.: Firstly, thank you all for your well wishes and reviews! All of you pat yourself on your back and take a gold star sticker for the next month! **

**Okay, next order of business—I am uber-busy for the next entire month. Just in the week and a half ahead, I have three essays due, and in the long term I'm looking at seven projects/papers, a major concert, and then finals hit without any mercy whatsoever. I promise I will do my utmost best to keep the chapters coming with some sort of regularity, but the every week thing is just not going to happen in the near future. I'm really sorry, guys. Blame the institution, not me! :) **

**Second thing—as this story gets closer and closer to finally getting our two stubborn characters together, I'm realizing something. I started this story as rated T because I wasn't expecting an epic to start flowing out of my fingertips. But I have a high readership depending on me, and true to the writer's curse, I'm starting to panic because I am NOT capable of writing M-style romances. Not to mention some of you might be too young for an M. Some of you might have expectations of where this story is going, and I can tell you right now that I won't be changing the rating, and I'm debating between really really vague descriptions and just…fading out. Or not including it in at all. Please let me know what your thoughts are on this matter, and I'll factor it into my decision, okay? **

**Thanks, and sorry for the long author's note and shorter chapter. Have a great week everyone!**


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: Do not own. Do not sue. **

Hermione frowned absentmindedly down at her fork as she listened to the conversations flowing and twisting around her ears. Even now, she found herself unable to keep herself from _listening—_taking in everything at once, sorting out which conversations might be relevant, which could be discarded to recede into the backdrop of what anyone else might label a babble of jargon and discordant conversation. Once, Ginny had commented on that skill—in more general terms, of course. _"Women," _she'd stated impressively one day in a quasi-lecture to Harry and Ron, _"are more naturally gifted. We multitask more successfully than you, it's scientifically proven." _Hermione had muffled an amused smile at that—it had been she who had told Ginny that little gem of a fact. _"That's why we are able to listen to so many ongoing conversations at once and hold an active conversing spot in each group without losing track of which topics go with who. We're just vastly superior to the male species in general." _To which Ron, for once in his life—perhaps having dealt with Ginny all his life, where Harry had not had to deal with a real female creature until his first year of Hogwarts—instantly bowed and scraped and hastily escaped before his fiery little sister could expound on the matter. Harry, on the other hand, was stupid enough to challenge Ginny on her reasoning, which resulted in Harry practically down on all fours begging forgiveness and mercy an hour later, having gone deaf half-way through Ginny's vehement argument.

Utilizing her "female superiority" now, Hermione caught snippets here and there.

"—mean it, Beth, I'm not leaving you alone out there."

"You're not equipped to—"

"Dinner was wonderful, Temperance. Thank you for the meal."

"You're most welcome."

"—and they really ought to have some of us Muggles in employ, for a bit of a reality check—"

"We aren't all helpless just because we don't have the power to wave a stick and make something float, love—"

"—never said you weren't, I just—"

"When the war is over, the first thing I'm going to do is get a pint at the Leaky Cauldron, nothing like their good old Ogden's…"

"If it's still standing, that is, what with the way the news from home—"

"—like more fish, dear?"

"No, thank you Mum," Hermione replied to the last. She dropped the fork onto her plate and picked it up to trot over to the kitchen, where she neatly _Evanescoed _the remnants of food and then, for good measure and because her parents were in the next room and had raised her entirely without magic, she ran the water in the sink and rinsed out the plate and fork, applying a Drying charm and then Levitating them back to their respective homes. Returning back to the dining room, Hermione smiled at the company and at her parents. "I'm done, and I'm going to the library," she informed them.

"Don't stay up too late," her father reminded her automatically.

"We'll stop by the library before bed to see if you're up still, and drag you to your room by your ear if you are, young miss know-it-all," her mum added mock-sternly with a glint of acid humor in her brown eyes. Hermione blushed, remembering several instances in which her mum had done just that, over the years.

"I'll be good, Mum," she promised solemnly.

Upon reaching the library, completely empty this time, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She loved spending time with family and around people, but sometimes...sometimes, she just needed to be alone and quiet, with no need to worry about appearance, actions, words that might betray one of the myriad of secrets she now kept from various people. Running her hand down the spines of the rough parchment of the books, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, easily falling into meditation now. If Li had not managed to teach her how to perform Vacuumency the proper way, at least he had taught her how to meditate, the pre-stage to every attempt in any sort of mind magic.

With the sound of her heartbeat beating an irregular pattern for her body, Hermione let her hands drift and still over a random book. Pulling it out of the shelf, she weighed it in her hands. It felt good. Hermione opened her eyes and traced her steps to the closest pod of reading chairs, glancing down at the title of the book she'd just picked curiously. _Death: Case Studies from the Edge__. _Not her usual reading material. _But it might pertain to Malfoy's research. I wonder if he's already looked at this book? _

Some time later—it might have been minutes, it might have been hours—Hermione heard a trail of footsteps, and looked up only to blink in surprise. "Malfoy?"

"Granger," he acknowledged, his hands shoved uncomfortably far deep into the pockets of his robes. "Can I speak with you in private for a minute?"

Hermione made a show of examining the empty, silent library before returning her gaze to the blond. "It seems pretty private here to me. Shoot."

She regarded him pensively as he sat down on another chair, clearly tense and reluctant. It was another long pause before he began talking. "Look, Granger, you're going to think I'm crazy. I don't even want to tell _you_. But she wants me to. She thinks you can help."

"Who thinks I can help?" She asked, confused.

"Skye."

"_Skye? _As in, Skye Corwin, your—ah" Hermione caught herself in time. _Wrong place, girl. _"As in the girl in the coma, right?"

Malfoy winced, but muttered an affirmative.

"And just _how _do you know what _she _wants, considering that she's been in a coma for months and hasn't woken once?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"How do you know who I'm talking about straight away, even though you weren't good friends with her in school?" Malfoy countered.

Hermione couldn't answer. Instead, she crossed her arms and waited, staring dangerously at the boy in front of her. Eventually, he gave in. "Fine, I'll tell you. _Shut up, _Skye—ever since a little after Christmas, she's been a ghost that only I can see."

"A _what?" _

"A _ghost, _a spirit, s disembodied soul that likes to make my life a living hell and drive me to insanity," Malfoy snapped peevishly. "Or are you just deaf, Granger?"

Hermione ignored the jab to herself, and instead jumped up and started pacing, her robes agitatedly flapping as she strode back and forth. "That isn't possible. Her body's still alive, just in a coma. Not to mention there are no such things as invisible ghosts."

"But it is true," Malfoy stated. "She's here right now, actually. Sitting over there." He waved a lazy hand in the direction of a third, empty chair. "I told you she wouldn't take it well," he added, addressing the 'ghost'.

_Has he gone loopy? Maybe the stress of being on the other side of the war from his family has gotten to his head. _Hermione cleared her throat, and in a soothing voice, cajoled the hallucinating boy. "Come on, Malfoy. Maybe you should go to bed now. I think you're overtired."

Amused, Malfoy only leaned back further into his seat, propping his feet up on the footrest. "You owe me two galleons," he informed the air gleefully. "I told you she'd think I was round the bend." Cocking his head to the side as if he were listening to a reply, his expression turned slightly disgruntled. "Oh, fine Skye. Damn it, I can't wait till you have your body back and I can escape from your constant nagging." He quirked a smug, lifted corner of his lips at Hermione, who was now standing stock still in distress at Malfoy's sudden oddity. "Skye says that she can prove it to you that we're not lying."

Slowly, cautiously, sharp brown eyes never leaving the earnest grey orbs, Hermione drew closer and sat back down again in her chair. "You have exactly one minute. Prove it to me."

"Last year, something awful happened to you over Christmas that no one, not even Professor Dumbledore and—other people—were allowed to discuss. For some reason, you seem to know Skye well enough to visit her in the hospital and talk about things she doesn't remember doing with you or anyone else you mentioned, for that matter. As an Order trainee, your mentor was Professor Snape, who was a spy. He taught you how to duel and how to utilize a spy's tools of stealth, and even though he killed…" he swallowed, but went on resolutely. "—killed the Headmaster, the order was to capture, not kill. And you're keeping secrets from Potter and Weasley," he added almost as if an afterthought.

By that time, Hermione was glad she had sat down. She'd been unconvinced throughout the speech, although it rang with truths. _But they could all have come from other sources, or his own astute observations, _her rational mind argued. But…but. "All of those could have been learnt a different and more probable way than an invisible ghost bound to you," she said cuttingly. "I need something _real _that you couldn't get somewhere else."

It was a long moment, as Draco stared at the empty chair he'd designated as 'Skye' and his forehead crinkled in concentration before his eyebrows rammed upwards in surprise and his jaw dropped. "_What? _You never- I didn't- I mean-" he blushed. It was a rather fascinating sight, and Hermione tried not to laugh at the incredibly embarrassed looking Draco Malfoy with reddened cheeks. It was too bad he was being embarrassed by…well, the torments of his own mind? "Fine, I'll tell her. You had better be right," he growled finally.

Hermione struggled against saying anything more acerbic, and waited. It didn't take too long. Malfoy turned to Hermione once more, this time slightly paler than normal and hesitant in his actions. "Um…well…Skye says…she says to tell you that when you visited her during the school year, you specifically said something about Skye being…uh..I think your exact words were, 'I hope that in this world you wake up and whip Draco Malfoy into lover-boy shape. If you could do it there, you can do it here. He's being utterly self-pitying right now and could do with a dose of your hit-'em-over-the-head advice.'"

_That's impossible. This isn't real, _Hermione thought in shock, stiffening as she stared white-faced at the still-red boy. _He couldn't have known that—no one but the specific people in the Order know _anything _about the other world, about Draco and Skye in the other world—except for if Skye was really aware then and listening to me. That room was warded by Danielle to death, no one could have listened in if they tried. _Clumsily, she turned to the 'empty' seat—the seat where, apparently, the spirit of Skye Corwin resided at this precise moment. "S- Skye?"

"She says hi, and nice to finally say thank you for visiting her body and for helping her Aunt Danielle cope, although she wants to know how exactly you seem to know her," Draco reported cheerfully, completely back to normal except for the two small burning spots still apparent on his fair complexion.

"I…uh…Order secret," Hermione murmured in a daze, still staring at the chair. She clutched her hands together, then grimaced when she realized that her palms were nasty and tacky with the aftermath of dried sweat. _That's funny, I don't remember sweating. _"Suffice to say that I know a different version of you, Skye. I can't tell you the details, but I can prove it just as well as you've just proved your contradictory existence in a plane of reality that should not be stable. When you were young, you were deathly afraid of turning out to be a squib because you were eight and you hadn't done any magic yet. Your mother took you aside and told you that a human being was a human being, and that just because someone could sing and another person couldn't didn't make the person who was born able to sing better or more superior than the other. The next day, you performed your first magic without even thinking about it when you changed the radio station from news to classical music."

**--break--**

_"This meeting will be the last for at least several weeks. I'm going to visit my parents tomorrow, and then Hogwarts starts straightaway. Is there anything else?" Hermione had reached a level of comfort in her new body enough to arrange herself carelessly on what had become 'her' sofa without noticing that this particular week's dress had a particularly high slit up her leg. Severus was conflicted—ignobly, disrespectfully glad that she _hadn't _noticed and fixed it, that she trusted him enough to reveal the tantalizing glimpse of white skin, but equally ashamed and irrationally angry at her for taunting him so with a body that wasn't _hers _and an offer she didn't _mean. _But he swallowed all his revulsion at himself and replied her calmly enough, nothing betraying more than a placid, set front._

_"You know of Lucius' plans for the first day of school already. Can I be assured that the Order has this under control?" _

_Absently, the self-possessed woman fiddled with the quill she'd filched off his desk, staring down at her lap where a scroll of parchment half-covered in notes lay. "Yes," she answered firmly. "We've planned for everything we can that you've told us about and everything else that could be a risk variable. Minerva says that Ron is a blessing and that he's gifted with strategy the way Albus was, and all he needs is a little training. Ron looked like he still couldn't believe that he was being consulted on battle plans before either Harry or I. He's been closeted in with Minerva and several Order members for the past few days coming up with plans of defense and attack and contingency plans as well."_

"_Spare me the intimate knowledge of Weasley's trials as a leader," Severus drawled dryly. _

_Hermione grinned, but—in a smart move—remained quiet on _that _subject. Instead, she continued on. "The loophole in Hogwarts is so well-publicized by now that if he were to try that entry again I think Lucius would find no willing participants in welcoming him into the gates of Hogwarts, not even his own followers, because it can very well lead to their own discovery. To be on the safe side though, Minerva will be taking a mandatory oath from every student before they step back onto Hogwarts grounds that they will not knowingly invite a Death Eater onto school grounds."_

_"Worded specifically, I assume?"_

_"Very carefully," Hermione assured him, not having missed the warning tone in his voice. Magical oaths, even the most simple and breakable, could harbor nasty and sometimes dangerous consequences if the wording of the vow was too lax or too stringent, or said something and missed another point. _

_"Then I will see you on Saturday night the second week of term barring any emergencies," he declared a little coldly, unnerved at the thought that the woman before him—both in body _and _mind, which was all Hermione Granger—was essentially still child. Still two decades younger than him. Still supposed to be enjoying her childhood and innocent flirtations and worrying about her NEWTs. Instead, she was doing an adult's job in a war that had already taken its toll on her, and she had already seen death—killed, even. And she would be basically taking his place in Hogwarts, the position he'd both needed and hated with all his strength, as a teacher and spy—for he'd been endlessly useful there as he was not here in a way to repent for all the bloodshed he had wrought whether personally or indirectly, and he'd been haunted, burdened, and bitter in a profession that suited no one who was still vestigially human in emotion._

_"Hopefully by then we will be able to share a private party in here for the successful defense-counterstrike of Hogwarts," Hermione said fervently. She raised a glass of the tea Mippy had brought them earlier. "A toast to a victory with no losses," she said solemnly, her eyes—so vividly _not _the soft brown he had come to associate with the bright girl she was—dancing with determination and a hope that was still beautifully untouched by all that she had gone through in the past year. _

_"To victory," he murmured, lifting his own cup of tea in a gentle, approving motion, for once neither business-like nor sarcastic. "May it be sweet with no aftertaste of bitterness."_

Severus regarded the place where he and Hermione Granger in someone else's body had sat, argued, shared tea, discussed the war and their lives, and where she'd—_he still didn't believe it himself—_hugged him briefly before she left to no doubt get ready to see her family again. _Hugged me—Hermione Granger voluntarily touched the nightmare of the dungeons, the monster that had murdered Albus Dumbledore and countless other people! _Disbelievingly, Severus allowed his black eyes to rove over the too-silent sitting area of his quarters. It had been two days since the incident, and he still could barely fathom it.

She'd carried it off so naturally. One moment he'd been formally wishing her well on her visit and the beginning of her teaching career, the next she reached up and squeezed his tense shoulders before releasing and smiling, thanking him for the well wishes and his information and hospitality as she always did each time they met. And before he could process what had just happened, they'd been outside the safety zone and she was once more Milena the sexual dominatrix and he was Snape the Death Eater, sneering at Dolohov as he bowed without any greeting to the pair before beating a hasty retreat, uncharacteristically clumsy as he nearly tripped on his own feet up the stairs.

_Note to self: be sure to rub it into Dolohov's face after Hermione leaves! _

Sighing, Severus spun and walked away from the sad, quiet, lonely living room. Pehaps Mippy would be up to playing Gobstones.

**--break--**

"I can't believe this is happening. The chances of this being a stable equation enough to allow for this to happen is so slim that it should have been practically impossible." Hermione tossed down her pen in exasperation, glancing over at the bed where Draco and—so she had been told—Skye were sitting. Draco had his nose buried in one of the books they'd hauled up from the library, and another text lay open on the mattress that he would turn occasionally, generally after he'd uttered some form of complaint for, apparently, an elbow in his ribs that wouldn't make impact but was unnerving anyway.

When he looked up, she tossed the scroll of parchment at him in a fit of pique. "There, read it if you have any knowledge of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

It was a combination of the two disciplines. Hermione had immediately seized upon the task of defining just what had led to the paradoxical possibility of Skye's invisible presence which, she argued, would be essential in the task of then finding a way to join soul and body together again and waking the body up. She'd drawn on both Muggle and Magical theories and lines of thought, and the slowly emerging series of runes balancing each other out in a strange sort of arithmancy equation and factoring had left her utterly incredulous.

Draco lifted a pale eyebrow as he scanned the page of scribble. "Granger, I understand the individual runes and I understand the basics of the equations and your mathematical procedures, but I don't see how they go together or what they mean like this."

Sighing dramatically, Hermione levered herself out of the chair she'd been offered upon being invited into the "Dragon's lair," Draco's room, for a more comfortable perusal of the research. She made her way over to the bed and put her hands on her hips. "Skye, I don't know where you are but you ought to get out of my way in the next three seconds so I can explain this to your slightly-lacking-in-brains-companion." She paused exactly three seconds, and then unceremoniously plopped herself onto the bed as well, taking the roll of parchment from Draco's hands as she did. _He has calluses, real fighting calluses, _she observed. _Proves that he's really been training. Mum says that he wants to come back to Hogwarts this year. I still haven't had a chance to challenge him to a duel yet, so I don't know how he is but if his background and his calluses are anything to go by, he might stand a chance of living despite having painting a big red target on his back _and _front. _

"Here." She pointed to the top line of symbols. "These on this side of the equals sign is the situation that led to Skye's landing in a coma. On the other side, those runes and numbers stand for the temporary outcome, which is her spirit being separated from her body and being visible to only one person. That's the first equation. Lancaster's theorem on the planes of being—one for the ghost, one for the corporeal being, several for the mind, tells me that what most likely is occurring is that Skye, you landed yourself somehow managing to move your spirit to a level not corporeal, somewhere in between life and death. You're caught in a perpetual suspended motion in between. Normally, your spirit would have just remained within your body until it either decided to move on to the peaceful realms or healed enough to waken. But in this case, a miniscule gap opened within the planes of the mind that you somehow managed to maneuver yourself through. I don't understand it completely, but it's almost as if you simply made your connection between your spirit and your body a long, thin string and stretched it out as you willed yourself at the other end of the string—and because of the circumstances, you managed to do so. Partly because you'd had such trauma—Harry did something similar in almost losing himself after the initial shock of the Headmaster's death. Partly because it was full moon when you recovered enough strength and consciousness of mind to attempt escape. Partly through complete chance and luck, I'm guessing, though I doubt we'll ever know what really allowed it to happen."

Hermione took a breath, shoving her burdensome hair back from where it was tickling her face and the corner of her mouth. She noticed that Draco was staring intensely at the parchment, eyes narrowed in concentration and tongue slightly poked out just a little—the same way his older counterpart had been when tackling a particularly difficult task in the other world. Hermione shoved away the wave of longing for friendships lost. _This _friendship had a possibility of blossoming and becoming similar to what she'd lost.

"Here, that's where I scribed the unknown variables. They're the factors that ultimately allowed what I believe happened—Skye, I believe that you weren't consciously separating your spirit from your body, you were trying to gain control over your body and wake up and the circumstances allowed it to propel not just a momentary dislodging of the spirit, but a complete severance. Skye, in that instant you willed yourself to move, your spirit leaped to the end of the 'string' it was tried to and broke free. If Draco hadn't been relatively nearby, you most probably would have died then—a soul floating free isn't particularly stable. You'd have gone insane within a week, and either dissolved into nothingness or hung around as a mad semi-ghost. But Draco, I believe that at that point your own spirit was sending out…well, the most accurate term I can think of is 'distress signal', and Skye's spirit immediately pounced and bound a tiny scrap of itself to _your _soul, Draco, so that it had a sort of anchor to the physical realm and a possibility of returning to its body."

Draco and Skye immediately went into full-blown argument mode.

"You're leeching off of me?!"

"I do not!"

"Why can't I read _your _emotions then, tell me?"

"I mean it, Skye!"

"—you—"

"Damn you, I don't need you telling me—"

"Yeah, well thanks to you we're now quite effectively _soul mates!" _

"Both of you can shut _up!" _Hermione bellowed harshly, interrupting a one-sided argument—to her own ears anyway. She glared at Draco, and then at where she assumed Skye had to be based on where Draco himself was staring bloody death at currently. "I'm not done. You can discuss implications of that soul-connection later. You see here?" She shook the parchment at Draco, pointing a rough finger at the black ink line halfway down the space. "_That _equation is a new one, taking the information I got from the first one and plugging it into the final preferred solution, namely that Skye detaches herself from Draco and reenters her own body and wakes up with no ill effects. I haven't worked out all the factors yet, but the ones so far that I've pinpointed all say that it is critical for Skye's spirit to remain anchored to Draco's soul until _after _it's been reattached to her own body, and even then if you cut the bond that's formed, it may cause irreversible damage to both Skye and you, Draco."

**A.N.: A chapter just before I go on thanksgiving break—hopefully it won't be too long of a wait to the next one, although I don't hold much hope for that considering the piles of work still undone. Sad…**

**Thank you all for your continued support. You're all brilliant, wonderful people. Thank you to all my reviewers, particularly since some of you didn't leave emails and I couldn't personally reply and thank you. **

**Atreyu Abraxas Black- I think doesn't allow email addresses, because yours didn't show up so I'm sorry I couldn't respond to your review. Thanks for reviewing, though!**

**So, you were all quite firm that my story could do very well without the M rating, thank goodness. You're all great, and I will keep all your suggestions in mind when I finally get to the much-anticipated scene which, unfortunately, won't be for a while considering how slowed the updates are becoming…**

**That said, be happy- Twilight the movie is finally out (my verdict: cheesy but cute) and it's Thanksgiving in several days! Happy Thanksgiving, even to all of the international readers. Any excuse for a celebration, right? **


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: I do solemnly swear that I do not claim ownership of Harry Potter and Co. Or **_**Hávamál either.**_

It was with some bemusement that Hermione regarded her relationship with Draco Malfoy now. It had been four days since he had approached her with his crazy, improbable story about Skye being an invisible spirit—and since then, she'd witnessed a person who, despite immaturities and insecurities still, was already showing definite signs of becoming the man she had known, back in a world that seemed as far away and distant as—as, well, at the moment, the end of the war.

_…is the most complex form of Transfiguration. It involves the Transfiguration of the physical self to something else. However, the law of animate and inanimate objects remains. One cannot Transfigure a live object into an inanimate object—the essence of life is fundamentally different from that of un-live things, and thus, it is impossible to use the law of similarity to change the live to the inanimate. That this is nonreciprocal and that it is possible to change inanimate to animate is not an issue in human Transfiguration— _

_Thwack! _

"Dammit!"

"Shut up!" Hermione yelled, not taking her eyes off the page of the seventh year Transfiguration textbook. "I'm trying to study!"

"I can't find anything!" came the muffled but clearly frustrated reply from the next room over, where Hermione had exiled Draco—and, of course, Skye considering she went wherever Draco did—after he had distracted her one too many times.

"Well I'll never be able to pass my NEWTs the way this is going," she sighed in exasperation with a touch of asperity. "If you would kindly keep your imbecilic impressions of the first-year antics of trying to get my attention to a minimum, perhaps I might be able to finish reviewing this book faster and get back to _your _research. Sorry, Skye."

"You sound like Uncle Severus," came the reply. "All acid and no understanding. This is the _umpteenth _thick and undecipherable book I've looked through on the treatises of the Great Beyond and cross-referencing Arithmancy, and I'm getting nothing but a headache. I _hate _research. I'd much rather be doing something productive where I can see the results, like—I don't know, beating the stuffing out of the enemy or brewing a potion. Not this conceptual stuff!"

_Pause. _"Hey, that's low even for you, Skye!"

"What did she say?" Hermione asked out of curiosity.

"I'm not telling you!" Draco answered indignantly. "What, you must think I am insane and weak in the head if you think I'm giving you fodder for more beat-on-Draco days."

"More reason for you to let me alone so I can finish reviewing and get back to giving Skye back her body and her own voice, so she can tell me all the sordid details," Hermione retorted, her finger marking her spot on the page.

"I don't see how it's fair you get to take your NEWTs early and _teach _next year," the masculine voice whined petulantly.

"Because I am needed in the war and because I'm smarter than you and less of a revenge target than you are," Hermione answered. "Now hush!"

There was silence for perhaps a minute. Hermione bent her head back to the text. _Most human Transfiguration takes place as the changing of the human form to an animal form. This is known as the ability to become an Animagus _(See Chapter 10). _More rarely, a witch or wizard can develop the powers to become not just an Animagus but a Shape-Shifter, able to assume more than one animal form at will. This takes a tremendous amount of will-power and magical—_

"Hermione, what does 'find the derivative of the numerology of the 157th stanza of the poem _Hávamál _in its original Norse, place it to the exponential of the runic form associated with it, and substitute it into the equation of the tree of life' mean?"

"Oh for _Merlin's_…"

**--break--**

"Told you she'd be good for research," a smug voice came from behind him. Draco half turned to glance over his shoulder at the girl he had come to treasure as a rather didactic, sarcastic "good angel", who was currently perched on top of the set of drawers and swinging her feet back and forth. She was breathtaking, Draco thought. Skye glimmered slightly, and her skin always looked as if she were standing in moonlight. Her eyes looked like liquid silver, her dark hair had an ethereal glossiness. She had an odd quirky smile on her face.

"What, do I something on my nose?"

Her sharp query rocked him out of his reverie, and he hastily turned back to the book he'd been rifling through. "No, nothing. Yeah, Granger's good for the research I guess," he said dismissively.

"She did tell you to call her Hermione, you know," Skye pointed out, unruffled by his tone. "It's confusing with her parents here too."

"She's always been Granger," Draco replied without looking up. "It's hardly going to change after six years of the same." Sticking a finger at his spot in the book, Draco flipped several chapters down to look up a cross-reference.

"I wonder what exactly is so classified that she couldn't tell us how she knew us without us knowing her," Skye mused thoughtfully. Draco didn't answer, but Skye didn't seem to mind. Instead, she went on contemplatively. "I've only really known here for these few days, but she seems awfully nice. She didn't have to help us out at all, not with all the work she's already pulling. Can you imagine, she's a full Order member?"

"Yeah. Mmhm."

"You weren't so complacent when she kicked your ass in that duel yesterday," Skye teased. Draco grunted, but when he didn't respond further she tried again. "The expression on your face the third time you got dumped on the ground and then when she Banished the wand right out of your hand was priceless!" Draco grit his teeth, but remained immersed in the text—well, pretended to at least. "Fine then." Skye jumped off the dresser and wafted over to Draco's bed, flopping down on it. "I'll just pretend to take a nap and let you grunt and wallow in self-pity and doubt then, shall I?"

Now his head snapped up. "How…what are you sensing from me?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "Oh, you know. The usual. Mayhem and murder and depression. Honestly, Draco, I'd think you would trust me a little by now. I don't exactly go looking for your emotions. It's not my fault my spirit went on a little stroll and got bonded to you."

Stung, Draco snapped back. "Well it wasn't exactly _my _choice either. I didn't plan on finding a soul mate or anything. It complicates things."

"No joke," Skye muttered incredulously. "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"Shut up, will you, and do some of your own research."

"Shut up, will you, and take that stick out of your—"

"Language, Skye Corwin!"

"You're one to talk, Draco Malfoy. At least I don't name the body parts of old dead wizards when I swear."

"Oh, do shut up."

"You shut up."

"No, you shut up."

"No, you."

_"Draco Malfoy, stuff a sock in it and put up a Muffling Spell or I swear, I will make what I did to you yesterday at our duel look like small potatoes!" _A shriek from the next room had Skye smirking as Draco winced at Hermione's fury.

**--break--**

Hermione looked forlornly around the bare room. All her possessions were currently in the one trunk sitting next to the door of the room of the safe house that had served as "home" for the summer. _This is where I had a panic attack attack about Milena and Severus. This is where I tripped over nothing and nearly broke my toe, and had to get Danielle to teach me some advanced Healing charms after she too care of it. Over here is where Ginny decided I had a career of shoe-transfiguration after defeating the Darkest wizard since Grindelwald. _Hermione walked through the memorable occurrences, eyes alighting on each spot of the room where the event had taken place.

"Hermione!! Time to go!" Ron's voice, bellowing from downstairs. Ron was eager and nervous to get back to Hogwarts—the defense and counter-attack strategies for the Death Eater attack had been much-formulated by his ideas.

"Coming!" she answered, flicking her wand with purpose. Her trunk eased itself into the air, and trailed along behind her like a lovesick puppy as she made her way downstairs where the others were waiting. Ginny was wrapped up in Harry as per usual now, and aside from the slight grimace in Ron's expression—which could have been attributed to his anxiety for the upcoming confrontation—he seemed resigned finally to the whole concept of his little sister and his best friend. Ginny had a Cheshire cat grin on her face, and Hermione decided it was most prudent not to think of what had put it there. Instead, she smiled and nodded at her friends. Next to the fireplace, Danielle Corwin threw in the powder and the fire flared to its green life. "Go ahead."

Ron went first, with a whoop. Harry separated himself from Ginny long enough to allow her to leave first, before stepping into the Floo straight away after her. Danielle stopped Hermione before she went in as well. "Hermione, you've been briefed about the plan for the Death Eater attack, correct?"

"Yeah, I have," Hermione answered.

"Just…be careful, yeah?" Her smile was tight. "I don't think I could handle losing someone else."

"Oh, Danielle." Hermione wished with all her might she could tell the Auror about her interactions with the witty and very much alive spirit of Skye, but Draco had sworn her to secrecy before she'd left their safe house. "I'll be careful. But this is a war, and we're all an active part in it," she reminded the taller woman, reaching up to hug her. "You stay safe as well."

"I will. Thank you, Hermione. It's been a pleasure. I'll be seeing you again soon in the line of duty, I suppose." Danielle drew herself up and tossed another handful of Floo powder into the now-yellow flames. "You first."

"Thanks." Hermione stepped forward, and let the green of the fire whirl her away.

**--break--**

"Do you, Harry James Potter, solemnly swear that you will not knowingly, intentionally, or otherwise in any way aid or look away from a known Death Eater's attempt to enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and said school's grounds?"

"I swear." Hermione gave herself a little shake as she watched the shivery tingle of a magical oath falling into place run through Harry's body in a quick shudder. Glancing at her fellow teachers—_they're my coworkers now, not my teachers!_—she moved away from where Minerva was taking oaths from all students and teachers—_that _had been a controversial decision, all right, and some first year students had gone abroad to another school rather than take a magical vow. Vows were risky business. But the majority of students who had already been going to Hogwarts returned, and only a few made several token protests. It was a subdued lot on the whole who entered the castle once more.

_Warmth, like a fuzzy blanket placed carefully around her hunched shoulders, or like a fire toasting her feet comfortably—_Hermione grinned. _Hello, Hogwarts. I've missed you too. _The castle's presence settled, like a cat, all around her with an almost-sigh of relief. _You like having the students back, don't you?_

_Flashes of empty corridor, more empty rooms—_a sense of boredom, of loneliness, enveloped Hermione. _I'm sorry you were lonely. I don't doubt this year will be hectic and exciting for you, although I can't make up for Albus. _

_The Headmistress' office, and a sudden zoom in. _Hermione fought the urge to become motion sick. _There was a new portrait that hadn't been there the last time she'd been inside—a bright, acrylic painting with vivid splashes of color that stood out from all the other staid, regular paintings on the wall. There was a man sleeping soundly, peacefully, on a low couch set in a glade, filtered sunlight coming through the tall trees, and a flash of fire in the depths of the painting told the presence of a phoenix. Fawkes? Was it possible for a phoenix to appear in a dead man's portrait? _Hermione blinked away tears from the corners of her eyes as the image eased away from her. _Thank you, Hogwarts. I'll go visit the office tonight and see it for myself. _Collecting herself, Hermione cleared her throat and walked over.

Joining Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Lavender—who looked much more serious and was murmuring something that evidently concerned her or worried her—she had a tiny wrinkle between her eyes, on her forehead—to Ron, who was listening to her gravely. Harry was laughing at something Ginny had said, and his beautiful clear eyes were lit with the life that Hermione had almost feared would never truly come back to him after Sirius' death. _Ginny's good for him. And Lavender's good for Ron, _Hermione realized with some surprise. _But I suppose I'm not giving enough credit to either, really. Ron's really matured a lot the past year and this summer, else they wouldn't have trusted him with helping Minerva with battle strategy, and Lavender—well, the robes she's wearing aren't new like they've been each year, and I think that losing Parvati like that really must have affected her. She, Parvati, and Padma were close. _

"Hi," Ginny called out as she approached the small group waiting for the rest of the students to go through the Headmistress.

"Hey everyone. Glad to see you all got to Hogwarts in the normal manner!" Hermione smirked at Harry's and Ron's abashed faces before smiling politely at Lavender. "Hi, Lavender. I hope your summer went well?"

"It was okay," the girl said cautiously, eyeing Hermione with some trepidation. _I do believe she still thinks I want Ron! _Amused, Hermione decided not to aggravate the girl any further, and inclined her head at the rest of the group. "So, with all my friends paired off, I suppose it's a good thing I'm not allowed to have a relationship with a student anymore, yeah?"

"I don't know, _Professor Granger, _I somehow can't imagine you talking it up with any of your _coworkers," _Ron teased.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the redhead. "Careful, _Mister Weasley, _I could take points off of you for that, or give you detention. You wouldn't want to scrub out some cauldrons with a toothbrush now, would you?"

As Ron protested and Ginny and Harry giggled helplessly, Lavender gaped at Hermione. "You're a _teacher? _But you're in our year!"

"Ron, you prat, did you never tell your own girl about this?" Hermione mock-frowned at much-put-upon boy. Then she turned to Lavender. "Sorry about that. Yes, Min—Professor McGonagall asked me before summer began, if it was at all possible for me to complete the coursework for seventh year over the summer and take my NEWTs early. I'm officially the first apprentice-teacher Hogwarts has had in roughly twenty years."

"Sweet Merlin, I knew you were a brain but I didn't know you were that much of a swot, Granger," exclaimed a nearby voice.

"Careful, Creevey, she can take points off of you now and give detention," piped a small boy from further off. Lionel—Hermione smiled at the pipsqueak with real pleasure.

"Hello, Lionel. Creevey. Yes, I'm officially done with my schooling and I'm going to be teaching first to third years," she added.

By now a good-sized group had gathered around her, and Ernie MacMillan—a shiny Head Boy badge pinned to his chest—asked the question that was on everyone's faces. "What are you teaching?"

"Potions," Hermione replied, and a stagnant sort of silence ran like electricity around the students as a collective whole.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened her mouth to defend her position, when a very familiar voice drawled from behind the crowd. "Well, well, well. Looks like the brain passed her NEWTs."

Students whirled around, some gasped, others started, and a few shouted in half-surprise, half-anger. Beside Hermione, Harry went rigid with anger and Hermione quickly turned to restrain him if need be, but it wasn't Harry that she had to worry about. Ron was hanging on grimly to a red-faced and furious Lavender Brown, whose eyes smoked and if they could kill, Draco Malfoy would have dropped dead ten times over already.

"You bastard! How dare you come back? Your precious Daddy and Death Eaters killed Parvati, and killed the Headmaster! You Death Eater, I'm going to _kill _you!"

"_Silencio. Petrificus Totalus_." Hermione coldly twirled her wand once, lazily. "Ten points from Gryffindor for language and violence, Miss Brown. Does anyone else wish to argue with the Headmistress over who is allowed back into Hogwarts?"

"Hermione!"

"Professor." Hermione glanced over at Ron's angry expression. "I'm sorry, Mister Weasley, I did make this clear before I left for Hogwarts a day earlier than you. As a teacher—even an apprentice-teacher—I _have _to maintain professional neutrality, and drop all of my personal life when I'm working. Miss Brown was out of line. Do you think, Miss Brown, that I could take the spells off of you and you would listen calmly to my explanation of Mister Malfoy's presence here at Hogwarts?"

She released the Silencing spell, and Lavender directed a dangerously sparking glare at her general vicinity, unable to move to directly look at her. "_Fine, _but it better be good," she growled.

Hermione nodded and briskly undid the spell, allowing Lavender to move once more. "Very well. I assume you all want an explanation of Mister Malfoy's return to Hogwarts this year." She looked around at the silent, restless student body, swallowing when she realized that it was—quite literally, with the exception of the first years who were being boated across the lake at the moment to wait for their turn to take their oath—the entire student population of Hogwarts. Even the other professors were silent and watching her. Minerva had finished the last of the students, and she also looked at Hermione.

"Would you prefer to answer this, Headmistress?" Hermione deferred to Minerva. However, the prim, formidable woman shook her head. "Go ahead, Professor Granger. I believe you are best equipped to explain the situation."

"Very well." Hermione turned back resolutely to the waiting students. "For those of you who don't know, My name is Hermione Granger and was supposed to be a seventh year this year. The Headmistress asked me, out of necessity, to take my NEWTs a year early and become an apprentice-teacher for the space of a year at least in Potions, thus I am now apprenticed to Horace Slughorn who will be teaching potions levels four and up, while I take the first to third years. It was discovered, through extensive Auror investigation during this summer over the attack of Hogwarts at the end of last summer that Draco Malfoy, although a branded Death Eater, had not had any pre-knowledge of the attack. Furthermore—_furthermore,"_ she said loudly, as the muttering and the 'I knew its' swelled, "It has come to light that Mister Malfoy here was in actuality a Death Eater only in name. He went to Albus Dumbledore and confessed his participation in the initiation, but that he since then regretted his decision and wished to leave."

It was impossible to hear anything but exclamations, hisses, and furious discussions all around now. Hermione looked at Draco, and noticed that he was at his most impassive, grey eyes veiled. In fact, his only admittance of his tension was his tightly clenched fists and the set of his shoulders. Determined, Hermione placed a spell on herself and her next words reverberated around them to disperse into the air. "Quiet, please all of you!"

When the desired effect had taken place, she concluded, "Mister Malfoy is now known to the Death Eaters as a traitor, and is in great danger of his life. He returned to Hogwarts at his own peril from an undisclosed location, and I expect all of you to treat him with the utmost respect. It takes immense courage to admit one's own failure and risk one's own life in the process, and a wise man we all knew once said, 'It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies; but a great deal more to stand up to your friends.' I hope all of you keep his words in your mind when you are evaluating Mister Malfoy." Canceling the spell to make her voice louder, Hermione gave a final stare at the student body before she nodded and motioned towards Minerva. "Please, give the Headmistress your utmost attention."

"Students of Hogwarts, you may enter freely, and take your seats," the witch said formally and shortly. And without much more pomp, the doors to the Great Hall were opened and students from all four Houses poured in quietly, to take their seats and wait for the arrival of the new firsties. Without looking at Harry, Ron, or any of her other friends and peers, Hermione stalked to the professor's table where she found herself sitting next to Remus and Flitwick—_er, Filius, _she corrected herself. _You're roughly equals now with all the professors and they all gave you permission to use their first names. If you don't start using them you'll never gain the respect a teacher needs, not in class and not with your fellow professors. _Straightening in her seat, Hermione smiled briefly at Remus. "Hello, Remus. Are you glad to be back?"

"I will admit, I'm not certain," he answered with a returned smile. "The DADA position remains 'cursed' and the last time it kicked me out of the job, it was a highly unpleasant experience."

"Yeah, everyone already knows that you're a werewolf, and you're all legal and everything already," Hermione pointed out.

"I would still rather not endanger those around me, especially children under my care," Remus muttered.

"Don't worry," Hermione reassured the tired-looking man. "You and Minerva made sure that the Shrieking Shack had new protections placed on and around it, and all the house elves know to check and make sure that you're inside well before the moon rises each month. Minerva and I will take turns subbing for your days off, and we're still on the lookout for a secure Wolfsbane brewer. Although I don't envy you the pain of transformation still, and the not keeping your head."

Remus sighed, and Hermione patted his hand condolingly. "I'll make sure Poppy has lots of chocolate and pain-relieving potions on hand."

"Thank you, Hermione."

"No problem at all."

"Oh look at the cute little ones," cried Trelawney—_Sibyl—_in a quavering, high-pitched voice from several seats down and across the table. Hermione winced, but looked anyway. They came in, led by Minerva, awestruck, gape-mouthed, and tiny. _When did the first years start getting so small, _Hermione wondered idly as Minerva made her way over to the head of the table and began her welcome to Hogwarts speech.

Finally, after much about missing Albus Dumbledore and carrying on, it was finally time for the Sorting. Minerva looked over at the ripped, dirty-looking hat sitting forlornly on the chair and waited for the Sorting Hat to begin its traditional self-introduction.

And waited.

And waited. The Sorting hat remained quiet, and the Great Hall was deathly silent.

Finally, just as Minerva's expression turned from one of mixed bewilderment and sorrow to one of resignation, just as she opened her mouth to say something—Hermione didn't know what, a tiny peep interrupted the hush.

"Hogwarts."

Almost as if it had to gather its strength, the Hat fell silent before the rip that served as its mouth began to speak again—no, sing, softly, in a tune that was achingly recognizable as the phoenix song Fawkes had sung at Albus Dumbledore's funeral, just before vanishing into the distance."

"Children of Hogwarts, greetings tonight.

Children in my eyes, teachers and students alike,

I watched as innocence was lost and experience gained

Now there's not much to say—nothing remains.

'We sort too soon,' a wise man once told me

That wise man now dead, murdered mindlessly.

And I agree. For children are yet unformed

When the arrive, and waiting to learn

What their fate is, and how they will be judged in turn.

Many a fearful head has sat where I sit today

Many a time that head belonged in all and none.

For Slytherins are cunning, sure

But they soar to greatest heights.

Their ambition so despised

Will Victory secure.

And Ravenclaws their brains are famed

And little else, it seems.

But of what use a life long lived

Without a mind to dream?

Hufflepuffs are loyal friends

But dense as logs they say

Who the fool then if in a fray,

A friend's steadfast faith betrayed?

A Gryffindor is brave and bold

And reckless, full of pride.

Yet without the risk, without the fight

The battle lost, no cause to hold.

There is no real division

There is no real divide

Without the other's help

Each one cannot survive.

A war approaches, grim and dark

The fate of man to mold

And death and certain chaos mark

Unless the whole unite.

You are all my children,

You of Hogwarts bred

You are all my warriors,

United we can stand.

Together we can raise the heart

Protect the young and old

Together drive out the dark

That threatens a future cold.

I will not Sort my children this year

I call on all to see

The young are all the House's care

Everyone's responsibility.

Let Slytherin meet Gryffindor

Let Hufflepuff eat with Ravenclaw

For when the Founders united four

No enemy could but fall.

And three are still, one gone his way

When difference turned to hate.

But ere one left, a promise made

If there be threat to Hogwarts raised

The Four would rise again!

Let cool Water with hot Fire love

And Earth and Air to dance

For when the Houses harmonious stand

Then Hogwarts' Heart will glow."

The entire Great Hall sat stunned, and Hermione out of habit swept a discerning eye over the faces before her even as her own brain processed the defiant song the Hat had just sung and tried to unfreeze her body to do anything but remained locked in an attitude of shock. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all wore the same expression of surprise mingled with a sharp realization of the implications, differing only in degree. Many of the others—of all Houses—seemed unable to make up their minds between indignant fury at the insults and political messages the Hat had hurled at them, or pleased surprise at the reinterpretation of their respective Houses. Draco, sitting right at the end of the Slytherin table and surrounded by empty chairs with no one wanting to be associated with a known traitor of the Dark Lord lest they suffer the consequences, had an openly triumphant light in his eyes. _I wonder what Skye thought of it, _Hermione thought irrelevantly. Many of the Slytherins had blank faces, although none as unreadable as Severus' of course. Hermione noted that by body posture, most of the table seemed uncomfortable, outright angry, or very confused and mixed up right now. _I'll have to find someone to talk to them—maybe they'll listen to Draco now? It would be a good time to approach them about their views concerning the war and their family's stance on the political issues. Goodness knows Slughorn won't do any good. Blathering, blustering dolt. _

Her fellow teachers didn't seem to know what to think. Various expressions ranged from pure shock to vehement agreement to uncertain disapproval and anxiety about what to do. The first years stood huddled in a clump, wide-eyed and unsure of themselves or what was happening.

Staring at the Hat, Hermione gingerly prodded for Hogwarts. _Hogwarts, did you know the Hat was going to do this?_

There was no answer, not even the tickling of a non-answer at the back of her head. It was as if the castle had never talked to her in her life.

_Hogwarts! What did the Hat mean by your 'Heart'? Is that a metaphor, or does it mean more? _

Nothing. Hermione gazed blindly over the sea of disoriented children and adults, and wondered if Severus had been one of those scared heads under the Hat formed by the judgments of others without being given the chance of growing up without a stigma against himself already. _And for that matter, was Harry? Was Albus Dumbledore himself? Was Tom Riddle? _

_Was she_?

**A.N.: Another chapter to tide you all over until I make it to Christmas hols! **

**The Hogwarts song is my own composition, hence it might be slightly incomprehensible or lower quality since I Don't Do Rhymes. Hope you at least got the gist of what the Hat meant. **

**The reference: **_**Hávamál**_**is a Nordic poem revolving around the god-figure Odin in the **_**Poetic Edda, **_**which was a collection of old Norse poetry and mythology. The 157****th**** stanza is in particular thought to be a description of a runic-ritual spell to raise the dead. Here is the Hollander translation:**

_**That twelfth I know, if on tree I see**_

_**a hanged one hoisted on high: **_

_**thus I write and the runes I stain**_

_**that down he drops **_

_**and tells me his tale.**_

**Thank you all for your reviews and support, all of you have truly been the only thing keeping me writing this story at times. **


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer: _Note to self- do not plagiarize other people's work and claim as own. Consequences generally not pretty_. **

**Warning: There **_**is **_**a description of a war wound here that isn't pretty. I don't think its that bad, but if you're queasy at the slightest mention of blood, then just skip the last half of the chapter. I'm fairly certain its within "T" rating stuff.**

"Is that it then?"

Everyone sat in an attitude of abject weariness or looked bleary-eyed. Pomona nodded at Minerva, who looked every bit as bone-deep-tired as the rest of the group. "I think so, Minerva. I think that was the last of the rearrangements."

"Thank Merlin," The new Headmistress of Hogwarts murmured fervently. The Hogwarts staff were exhausted—it was approximately two in the morning, and no-one had gotten any sleep. Instead, they had stayed up late, first making emergency last-minute accommodations for the new first years, all of whom would be staying together in an unexpectedly discovered new dormitory right next to the Head Boy and Head Girl rooms. Hogwarts had, at least, provided for the House-less firsties. After that, there had been new and adjusted responsibilities to discuss with the prefects and the student heads—who would take charge of the first years when, and where, and how, a meeting with the young ones to make sure they knew who to look for and where if they needed anything. And then the real headache had begun—how to rework the schedules of each student so classes wouldn't clash. The old schedules obviously wouldn't work, not when it had been based entirely on House affiliation. All the professors had spent hours trying to sort out the group and create a schedule that would work around the older years' classes and remain efficient.

Hermione made her stumbling trek from the staff meeting room to her new quarters, which were unfortunately three flights down in the dungeons, several corridors away from the potions classroom.

_"Get some sleep," _Minerva had told everyone before dismissing the staff. _"You'll have to be on your best and most alert tomorrow, if the intelligence we have is correct and the Death Eaters are, in fact, planning to attack on the first day of classes." _

Hermione barely made it into her small bedroom before passing out dead to the world, uncaring that she'd not bothered to actually change or get under the covers.

She woke up warm and toasty, her nose poking out from under a pile of blankets, and an experimental wiggle told her that she was in her pjs. _How did I get changed and under the covers? _Pushing the sheets back, she blinked languidly at the clock by her bedside. _I have an hour before breakfast. No hurry. _

A little popping noise was the only warning before a familiar-looking house-elf appeared, her skinny arms folded tightly and her lips pursed reprovingly. "Miss is not looking after herself well," Minny scolded. "Minny is finding Miss in all Miss' day-clothes, is very bad. Minny is changing Miss' clothes, but Miss must remember to take care of Miss' own self!"

"I'm sorry, Minny," Hermione choked, trying not to laugh at the indignant elf. "I was extremely tired yesterday. I promise, I'll try to look out for my health better next time."

"Hmph." The house-elf turned away and bustled to the small living-room, coming back with a small note and offering it to Hermione. Hermione unfolded it and scanned it.

_Hermione,_

_Informal meeting of the Order to go over plans for today's defense half an hour before breakfast. My office. I hope you slept well._

_Minerva._

"Great." Hermione sprung out of bed, groaning when her body protested having gotten only four hours of sleep. _Stop that. You managed during OWLs period and again this summer just before taking NEWTs. One measly night without much sleep isn't going to kill you. _She strode over to her closet and flung it open. Today was the first day of school on the _other _side of fence, and a chance to whup some Death Eaters. _What is that old curse? May your life always be interesting? It certainly is, at that! _

**--break--**

Pacing—that's all Severus seemed to be doing these days. _Oh, how I have been reduced, _he reflected ruefully as he paused at the end of his living room. _It's Hermione's blasted fault. She's always either the cause or connected to the cause of my frequent agitations. _This time, not the direct cause—today was the first day of classes for Hogwarts, and Lucius and his selected participants would be at Hogwarts. Severus didn't know how many _exactly _or who were going. He only knew the few staying at his house who had been selected, since they were currently missing and had not been able to withstand the urge to boast and flaunt their relative freedoms in his face as they left, half an hour ago. Bellatrix, Dolohov, and MacNair—all three well-known for their vicious streak and powerful spell-casting.

Hermione had not told him anything about how they were going to go about defending Hogwarts. Lucius had not told him how they were going to get _in _to Hogwarts. In short, he was clueless and it was a position he didn't like at all. A spy was supposed to be the most informed person around. Severus frowned. He certainly wasn't doing his job properly if he was the most ill-informed person around.

Sighing, he firmly shut his mind to the nasty comments telling him that he was inadequate, that he wasn't needed, that his role in the war had played out to a whimpering close and if he just disappeared into the night someday soon, no one would notice or care, and it would hardly affect the outcome of the war. _I am not useless, and if no one else, Hermione would notice and probably care, with her Gryffindor bleeding heart nature. _Pacing faster, Severus clasped his hands tightly together behind his back, unaware of the worried gaze of a diminutive house-elf focused on his clenched, white fists. _Everything will be okay. The Order will be prepared. Hermione is a soldier and warrior trained, and she can take care of herself. Everything will be just fine…_

An indeterminable amount of time later, the wards alerted him to the arrival of one of the Death Eaters who had access to his home. Steeling himself and reminding himself not to run, Severus strode out of his rooms and towards the reception area.

The first thing he noticed was the particular odor of blood that assaulted his nostrils and brought with it a crashing tide of memories best left forgotten.

The second thing he noticed was that MacNair was missing, Bellatrix didn't look too much worse for the wear, but was practically carrying Dolohov, who was the one bleeding.

_"Don't just stand there, Snape," _Bella snapped furiously, lowering her comrade to the ground. "He's bleeding out fast. Get some of your stupid potions or something!"

"Mippy! Go to my storeroom, get me the blue box that's on the shelf directly to your left," Severus instructed calmly. He strode over to where Dolohov's prone body gasped for breath. "What did he get hit with? What spells have you tried?" He asked, kneeling beside the man.

"The Granger bitch hit him with his own curse," Bella spat. "You know the one—no normal spell or potion is going to heal the internal injury. She really got him good too, he's not breathing properly!"

Hermione _did this? _Severus blinked in shock, the fact that his sometime pupil, contact, and friend coming viscerally home in the goriness of the blood and the Darkness of the curse she'd used on Dolohov. At the same time, it seemed poetic justice. It was the same curse Dolohov was infamous for using, and had cruelly used without second thought on Hermione when she'd been a young student, practically defenseless and certainly not trained for combat the way the decades-older Death Eater had been. She had nearly died too, would have died if it hadn't been for Dolohov's spell being weakened by having been cast silently.

However, that was neither here nor there. Severus, no matter how much he wished he could leave the bastard to die, was in his role under expectations here and he would have to do all he could to save a fellow Death Eater. Mippy popped back into existence, bearing the blue box of emergency potions Severus kept on hand, his face expressionless. _He's probably rejoicing inside at seeing Dolohov in pain. _Severus turned to the box, calling over his shoulder to Bella, "You may as well get him cleaned up and get as much of the blood out of the way as you can, I'm going to need to see how bad the damage is."

The muttered, frenzied spells behind his back told him Bella had listened to him without arguing for once. _Must mark this day down as a miracle, the day Bellatrix listened and obeyed an order from Snape. _Lifting out a small, cloudy-looking vial of potion and another vial that contained a purplish-brown mixture. He turned back towards Dolohov.

Examining the damage projected by a hastily cast diagnosis spell, Severus found it a horrific sight. Dolohov was bleeding internally, the tender tissues torn and ruptured with no regard for comfort—some places, it was shredded into pulpy strings. His appendix was ruptured, and if Antonin Dolohov was going to live Severus would have to take out the organ and scrape up all the poison from it. The liver was also hard hit, half of it mangled beyond recognition. One lung was definitely perforated, and Severus considered it a miracle that the curse had only grazed the heart, for the cardiac muscle was still in mostly good condition and no major arteries or veins had been hit. Hermione must have put a lot of power behind the curse, but not enough focus and aim—it had hit a wide area, but it had not centered properly to do the most destruction to the most important internal organ. Still, with that much power behind such a nasty curse, it was a miracle that the man was still breathing and still clinging on to life.

"I'm going to have to hurt him more before I can heal," Severus murmured. Without warning, he slashed his wand. "_Sectumsempra!" _Dolohov would have screamed, if he has voice enough—instead, his mouth opened silently as blood gushed from the newly formed cut on his chest. Ignoring Bellatrix' suddenly shrill screeching as well as the blend of panicked voices of the other inhabitants of the house who must have noticed the commotion, Severus swept his wand in slow, exacting motions. _That burst appendix has to go. _It was a sensitive process. One wrong movement, one uncalculated jerk, and he could destroy the already injured delicate internal issue or the appendix could completely dissolve under too much pressure and stress and leave him even less chance of saving the man. He could afford no distraction, nothing but complete focus—not even the niggling regret at having to save the life of a man who had cold-bloodedly killed so many others without a thought and who had nearly killed Hermione at the Department of Mysteries.

_Did I get all the poison?_ Severus carefully directed the small mass of tissue out of the large cut he'd slashed in Dolohov's abdomen, then turned to make sure that all the fluid that had spilled out of the torn appendix was collected and extracted. Then he took a break to tip down yet another Blood-Replenishing Potion down the man's esophagus. With an open wound on his chest and the bleeding arm besides, Severus didn't want the big oaf to bleed out and die from blood loss instead of the myriad of other injuries.

The next step would take even more finesse, if that was possible. Severus had to cut away all the bleeding, decayed tissue and regenerate all of it, creating new healthy cells to replace the damaged ones—and he had to do it by hand. No wand-waving in this process, it was too delicate and fragile of a step for a mere wand to successfully reproduce.

"Bella, I want you to watch closely and every seven minutes or if you think he needs it, give Dolohov eight drops of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Don't interfere otherwise—that goes for _all _of you," Severus raised his voice slightly to carry to the shadowy presences he knew were further back, staring in horror at their broken comrade. "I've removed the burst appendix, but now I'm going to have to heal all of the internal organ damage, and I'm going to need my absolute concentration on the task at hand. Do you understand?"

"Do it, Snape," Bellatrix said fiercely, eyes glittering wildly and lips white with strain. Strands of black hair were flattened to her forehead and face with sweat. He had never seen her more sane than this since she'd emerged from her long stay at Azkaban—she radiated some of that confident, competent aura that she'd once been famed for as a young woman, before—just before. He felt a jolt of pity for the woman whose fiery passionate soul had been warped and twisted so beyond recognition and had become little more than madness. _She could have been brilliant—she was always wickedly intelligent. _

_I won't let that happen to another intelligent woman. Hermione may be touched by the war, but she will _not _become a casualty of it as Bellatrix was, or…or Lily. _

With Bellatrix acting abnormally like the high-achieving capable woman she could have been instead of the bloodthirsty inventor of torture practices, Severus turned to his own job, allowing his Occlumency skills to fluidly wash away anything else but healing, building, and life.

It took him three hours to regrow the destroyed tissue after he'd cut out the dead and mangled areas. Severus was completely exhausted by the time he was done, and he'd drowned in the salt of sweat many times over. Dolohov's breathing was shallow and labored but regular, and though he was pale from the loss of blood, he wasn't in danger from it. He'd done it. With a sigh, Severus picked up his wand, healing the cut he'd rent in Dolohov's stomach, noting through the haze of sudden weariness that swamped him now that his part in the healing was over, that that if Dolohov survived, he would an almost mirror image of the scar he suspected Hermione still bore. If he hadn't been so tired, he'd have been selfishly satisfied at the conclusion to the ironic turning of the tables on the sadistic bastard. Bellatrix wordlessly handed him a dampened towel, which he used to mop his face and blood-encrusted hands.

"He'll need someone constantly monitoring him, making sure he gets three drops of Dreamless Sleep every two hours and four drops of Blood-Replenishing Potion every four hours," he murmured, voice hoarse with weariness. Still, despite his utter fatigue, he was aware as Pettigrew and Rabastan somewhat efficiently Levitated the unconscious body of Dolohov to—well, who knew which room they'd set up as a temporary hospital room. He was just as aware of Bellatrix being bustled away, presumably to get cleaned up and get some rest, by Rodolphus, just as someone else tried to help him up and lead him to his room. He shook the offending hands away. "I'm fine," he insisted, trembling with the effort as he dragged his weary carcass towards his room. He felt smaller hands tug at his robes, and looked down.

"Master will let Mippy take him," the house-elf informed him tartly and didn't give him any time to reply—Severus blinked, and suddenly he was in his bathroom, and at his diminutive elf's mercy.

Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to get Severus clean enough for the neurotic man to feel as if he weren't still kneeling in the dried blood of his house-guest or touching torn flesh. Severus just had enough presence of mind to ask Mippy as confirmation that Hermione and Hogwarts were okay—and then he was deeply asleep, magically and mentally drained from pulling Dolohov back from the edge of death.

**A.N.: I'm so sorry for the long absence and delay! As I predicted, exams and other real life stuff reared their nasty heads and demanded that I pay attention instead of coasting on autopilot. I hope everyone had a great Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/whatever the heck you celebrate, or don't celebrate! And Happy New Year to all!**


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer: "****Life is like a library owned by the author. In it are a few books which he wrote himself, but most of them were written for him." -- Harry Emerson Fosdick. HP & co would be one of those "written for me" books, therefore necessitating that I did not write them and do not claim ownership to JKR's copywrited material. **

_The man sneered, wand held confidently in one hard hand, the spell already forming on his lips, ready to turn her insides to liquid—literally—again. She panicked. Her mind froze, caught in the moment as everything else seemed to slow and blur away…and then someone's angular shoulder met with her side, and both she and Sybil Trelawney went sprawling, and one of the Aurors who was part of the Order was dueling with Dolohov, distracting the big man from his initial target. _

_"Thank you," Hermione muttered dazedly, her senses coming back to her in a rush. "I'm sorry, I just…"_

_"The fates told me you needed a helping hand—or shoulder," Sybil intoned, but to Hermione's sharpened battle-wits (now that they'd found their way back to her) noted that tiny hint of a glint in the old biddy's eyes. The Divinations professor was _joking! _Cracking a smile, some of it purely in shock, Hermione nodded solemnly at the woman. _

_"I am ever-grateful to the fates and your shoulder then, Sybil. _Stupefy!" _The bolt of light, aimed over Sybil's shoulder, missed the approaching Death Eater but gave Hermione enough time to get to her feet and fire a proper spell at the man, taking him down. She offered a hand to Sybil, who took it and was up and moving off again with surprising dexterity. _Maybe there's more to the old fraud than false doom and gloom, _Hermione reflected as she ducked back into the fracas. _

_Ducking a nasty-looking rusty orange spell bolt, Hermione noticed an Order member she didn't know very well struggling to hold his own against a Death Eater that looked suspiciously like Bellatrix Lestrange and ran to his aid. The man didn't have time to even toss her a grateful look—with both of them against the crazed woman, they were still barely dodging the frenzied attack of curses being hurled at them. Hermione panted as she fell and rolled, the _zip _of another forcefully hurled spell buzzing dangerously close by her ear, and a muffled scream behind her told her that someone had been hit. Then the woman must have seen someone else, because she abruptly left off the harsh attack to sprint elsewhere—half-turning, Hermione saw that she was now half-supporting another Death Eater, parrying Minerva's fierce spells. _

_Another scream attracted Hermione's attention, and this one turned her blood cold. _Just what was Ginny doing out here? _Later, she would vaguely remember Harry's small body hurtling desperately at the small red-head, another tall body that was Ron doing the same—none of the students were supposed to here!—but in the heat of the moment, Hermione was barely aware of her own shout, and the purple jet of light zooming, soaring high over the heads of the people in between them, over the back of Ginny's head, to hit directly in the middle of Antonin Dolohov's chest._

_The man that had dominated many of her nightmares after the battle at the Department of Mysteries crumpled soundlessly, the perpetual smirk on his face vanishing into shock and then unconsciousness, and Harry reached Ginny's side only a split second before Ron did. _

**--break—**

_Did I kill him? Is there another death, another meaningless death on my head? Oh gods, I hate this stupid war! If he's dead…_patting her face with cold water, Hermione tried not to remember the sick feeling that had enveloped her the minute _that spell _left her lips and her wand. She'd never thought she'd cast the spell—_lacero viscus, _to mangle or tear to pieces the entrails—the signature curse of Dolohov himself, the one he'd taken her down with in the Ministry. She'd only researched it in the days of her slow recovery, determined to know all that she could about the curse she had nearly died from, had memorized it so that she could know and avoid it in the future. _How had it worked? Why had it been the first spell on her tongue? Is he dead, did I kill him?_

Staring at her reflection in the silent mirror—the Muggle one she'd requested rather than the too-talkative magic ones of Hogwarts—Hermione shivered. If she'd not been afraid of herself and her own mind before this, she was now. She'd known already that she had plenty to fear for her own brain turning against her if she didn't master Vacuumency, which seemed to be still just slightly out of her grasp. But to have her own knowledge erupt from her in this way—what other horrors did her mind hold?

**--break—**

Harry gazed up at his ceiling, heart still in his mouth and unable to sleep. The vision of Dolohov's bulk facing a terrified, wandless Ginny wouldn't leave him, and neither would the icy fear that he'd felt in that instant, along with the realization that it had been so idiotic of him to lead all these students out to fight. _What was I thinking? _Harry felt the guilt well up again. True, he'd at first only wanted to take Ron—they were the two Order trained ones, after all, and Ron had half-devised the strategy anyway. But Ginny, with her unnatural ability to discover secrets, had found out and in her own Ginny way, somehow managed to convince him and Ron to take her along. And then Parvati and Neville had simply shown up just before they'd snuck out, and wouldn't be swayed into not coming.

Neville had a healing cut on his back, Ron had a mild concussion, and Ginny's wand was gone, but they'd been lucky. Once they'd joined the fight and the other Order members had realized that they were there, they'd stayed close and pulled them out of several bad situations, although Professor McGonagall had thrown him a _look _that promised severe retribution. Harry didn't think that it was undeserved, whatever punishment the Headmistress concocted for them. He'd take the blame—he deserved it after all.

He'd seen an entire life pass by his eyes when Ginny had screamed—a cold, empty life without his girl in it, and not worth living, not even if Voldemort was taken down. And he'd known that he'd never reach Ginny in time, even as he desperately _ran._ And then a familiar voice, screaming something unfamiliar—and the purple spell had hit Dolohov, and he had Ginny in his arms, determined never to let go. Swallowing, Harry stared blindly into the darkness for the rest of the night. _What if something else happens to Ginny? I don't think I could survive without her. Oh Merlin, whatever god there is or fates or powers or anything out there—keep Ginny safe, keep her alive and unhurt. I hate death, but I'd kill a thousand people for her. Please, please, keep her safe…_

**--break—**

At least the battle had taken outside of Hogwarts grounds—in the Forbidden Forest, where Ron himself had finally suggested diverting the Death Eaters. They'd attempted to worm their way in through a not-quite-loop-hole in the wards, a weakness where two different protective layers met but did not meld. It was the Headmaster's or Headmistress' personal ward spell: every man and woman who took that revered place would invoke a protective spell to link their magic to Hogwarts castle and grounds as part of their pledge to protect the denizens of the school. Because Professor Dumbledore had died, violently and within Hogwarts, his personal ward over Hogwarts wasn't completely meshed with the rest.

This neutral/Order-advantage "battle ground" had been his idea, after the initial plan was nixed. Knowing that it was probably this part of the wards the Death Eaters were going to try to exploit, Li and a gathered group of specialists within the Order had carefully set up a complex charm that would instantly trigger at any attempt at tampering and transport the unfortunate souls straight into this clearing some ways from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Order members and many of the teachers—all of whom had volunteered—were lying around the area, hidden and waiting to trap the Death Eaters in a pincer-movement.

They'd debated about it for a while—Prof—er, Minerva had wanted to have the trigger spell dump them all into a cell in Azkaban. But Li had vetoed that idea immediately—apparently the particular set of spells that they were using couldn't transport physical bodies very far, and it was only because the Death Eaters were most likely going to be tweaking the wards _while _they were apparating _to _Hogwarts that they could even transport them physically. Something about the _fisicks _of mass and space. Li had explained it, but it had gone completely over his head. It was enough for Ron that the Order was sure that it wouldn't work to use the traveling momenta-something of apparating to a place not in the "lines of error" or something like that.

Going to the official Auror division was useless as well—there were spies peppered all throughout the Ministry, and Malfoy would find out and halt his attack, and suspicion would fall on whoever had told them that the attack was happening in the first place. _Hope they're being careful in trusting the spy, whoever he—or she—is. Learn from your mistakes, that's Mum's refrain. After Snape, they had better be taking a second look for other double-agents. _

But tonight, despite the various injuries (including that bloody knock on his _own _skull) and a couple scares, no one on their side had died, they'd garnered a victory and captured two Death Eaters, struck back in a devastating blow, and it was a victory and Ron was going to enjoy the rare tightness of his chest whenever he thought of how he'd been an actual, integral part of that win.

**--break--**

_"I heard that the Potions professor belongs in Azkaban."_

_"I heard that he gives detention for _breathing."

"_No, didn't you see them at the Professor's table? There's a new professor teaching us. It's a woman."_

_"Yeah, my sister says that she's supposed to be a seventh year student but she _skipped _a year and took her NEWTs early!"_

_"Is that allowed?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"Well it says on the schedule they handed out to us that a Professor Granger is teaching first-year Potions…"_

Hermione tucked the hint of a smile she'd allowed on her face as she eavesdropped on her first class away, and strode in. "Good morning, first years."

The entire class as one jumped and turned, looking around at her abrupt entry. One girl knocked her book off the table, and then fell out of her chair after it. _Another Neville Longbottom. Oh dear. Don't laugh, Hermione! _Watching as the little blonde girl picked herself up and the rest of the students watched her with large eyes, Hermione continued to talk. "My name is Professor Granger, and I will be your Potions Professor for the year." She took a deep breath. Here came the mostly-plagiarized part of her speech. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I don't expect you to understand the delicate and insidious power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses—_yet._"

Almost crooning and certainly channeling all of her 'inner Snape', Hermione leaned forward slightly to capture the gaze of each and every young student in her classroom, allowing her fingers to slip below the edge of the desk, concealing them. "But learn you will, in this classroom, if I have anything to say about it. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death." As she uttered the last word, Hermione let the small vial she was holding tip, and the liquid within the glass to spill to the floor—

—and suddenly, they were encircled and suffocated by bilious black smoke, thick and noxious, as the children gave way to muffled screams, shrieks, various thumps of falling books and bodies, and exclamations of surprise, shock, disgust, and slight panic. Raising her voice, Hermione continued inexorably. "Or, I can teach you how to brew a potion to poison ten men, give you the recipe to cause pain more excruciating than any wand-invoked spell, or brew a liquid that causes a sleep so deep it has been mistaken for death." Another vial was emptied to the ground, and the classroom was suddenly back the way it was before. Hermione could see the incredulous and awed looks her students gave her, and though she cringed slightly inside, she knew—as she was sure Severus had known when he'd first begun teaching here—that she had to make these students fear and respect her _right now. _If she didn't, she'd be dealing with constant disturbances and worse, distraction or pranks that could well cost someone in class their lives. Potions was a volatile subject, and she wasn't going to endanger the life of a student simply because she couldn't keep the discipline. And it looked like it had succeeded.

"Can anyone tell me what potions I used to create and banish the fog, and what uses it might have?"

**--break--**

Antonin Dolohov was slowly recovering in his own bed, being grudgingly cared for on rotation by all the Death Eaters in the house except Severus and Bellatrix. And he hadn't even had to ask. It was odd when Pureblood manners and rules worked in Severus' benefit, but he reveled in it when they did, for their antiquated rules dictated that as non-contributors to the crucial effort to do their utmost to save their fellow sworn comrade's life, they were now obligated to serve in a lesser function to his recovery.

Severus had visited him just that afternoon, after he'd actually slept in the morning after his temporary Healer-work. The man was still sleeping, and still not out of danger and weak, but barring any other large events he would recover given the right medicines and rest. And the intricate spell, the ages-old Blood magic Severus had wrought yesterday and woven into Dolohov's own life's essence and veins would strengthen with the man.

Severus had been uncertain if it would work or not, or if one of the Purebloods, perhaps Bellatrix in her quest for more knowledge of the grey and the dark, would notice the tenor of the insidious spell that now bound Antonin Dolohov more tightly than even an ordinary Life Debt. He knew that if he managed to save the man, there would be a Life Debt he could conveniently call into use to protect Potter if need be, or Hermione if she found herself in trouble. But Hermione had related to him, in the days of their meetings, the Blood ritual that had created Potter a magical family of his own that enhanced and changed his own protections. And it had started Severus thinking.

Blood magic was highly based on _intention. _Blood spilt could mean the Darkest spells—necromancy, torture, and more—or it could fashion something like that which had saved the life of the infant Potter and now shielded him somewhat from harm through his magical family. When he'd spilt Dolohov's blood, the man had been unwilling—unconscious, and therefore cast the shedding of the blood in dubious light. But it had been done with the foremost intention being to _save—_Severus had locked away and discarded all thoughts of regret for a reason, that being that what could have been grey or dark magic had been light, because it was meant to save a life.

Regrowing tissue damage was an iffy business, more so with Dolohov's own twisted curse, which didn't just damage the normal cells but also the nerves, often deadening them far beyond any Healer's ability to heal, regenerate, or otherwise fix. This had been the case in parts of Dolohov's body. But there _was _very grey literature on Blood magic in his library. _Not as much as, I am sure, Morganna's Library. But I lost access to that the day I rent my soul in half to kill my mentor and best friend. _And one of those texts had included a recipe for a potion that involved using the blood of an enemy, given willingly, to revive what was irreparably lost.

He'd taken a chance and brewed the potion just a scant week ago, using his own blood. _I am nothing if not logical. Semantics—it's all about the semantics. _The "enemy" could be legitimately be considered to be anyone from Potter—whom he'd maligned and who hated him without the slightest doubt—to most of the Order for the same reason, to all of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself (though he would scarce give that monster a potentially life-giving potion), for having betrayed and still consciously betraying them and the oaths he had sworn.

_I am all men's enemy. _

_Not Hermione, _his mind—in a voice that suddenly sounded suspiciously like Mippy—protested. _The potion wouldn't work on her. You're friends. _

Okay, so perhaps the mind's voice spoke in proper grammar as the house-elf didn't, but the chiding tone—almost, gods forbid, _motherly, _bore a fair resemblance to Mippy with his penchant for scolding his master for staying up too late brewing or experimenting—or pacing.

_Shut up. Go away. _Severus barked mentally at himself, and furiously focused on his own reflection of the hard work it had taken brew that potion—and the possibilities that brimmed now that it had worked. For it had. Severus had dripped the vial of potion containing his blood, willingly, into the cut he'd made in Dolohov's body and that combined with his _intentions _and his success in saving the man's life, had heightened the effects of the Life Debt to something more resembling a Life _Bond. _Or so he suspected.

He didn't know what the parameters of the bond were. Perhaps it wasn't right to call it a bond, but a…an oath, perhaps? Something akin to an Oath of Loyalty? Afterall, he doubted it went as far as an Imperius. For example, if he ordered Dolohov to go jump into the fastest flowing river he could find, he didn't think the man would feel particularly compelled to do so. But if he simply truly willed that Dolohov must not harm Potter, _he could not harm him. _

He'd thought that it would be triumphant, to have the life of another man indebted to him—especially a man who had cost Hermione so much. She never spoke of the summer she'd almost died, but he saw it sometimes—he thought it was that, and not the offer of joining the Order and all the subsequent goriness, that had been the start of her journey to an abrupt adulthood. But the power lay within his hands, and it felt exactly as it had when he'd held his wand—the one he'd bought at Ollivander's as a jaded eleven-year-old when the old man had murmured almost to low for him to hear, _'the wand chooses the wizard, take care young Severus that your wand does not choose more than it should,' _and killed Albus Dumbledore with it.

He did _not _like it.

"Mippy is thinking Master needs to brew," a dry voice commented. Startled, Severus looked up from where he sat at his desk. "Master has broken quill," Mippy chided, bustling further in from where he stood, holding a small tray with dinner on it.

True enough, he had. Rather than writing, in code, his observations on the strength of the Blood potion he'd given Dolohov, he'd fiddling, drifted, and in his woolgathering, snapped the feather quill quite in half, ink dried and purplish-black on his fingertips. "Yes, I suppose I should. You know me too well, Mippy," he said ruefully, allowing his house-elf to Vanish the useless quill and dried ink and settle his meal at his desk instead. "I've been rather preoccupied, I'm afraid."

"Brewing always makes Master un-preoc—un—less thinking angrily," Mippy nodded efficiently.

"What's for dinner today?" Severus looked at his steaming soup. "Are those chickpeas?"

"Yes, Master Severus. Chickpea soup." Mippy wrinkled his nose. "Mistress Blackheart is wanting it today and yelling like banshees, so Mippy is trying it out from recipes book. Me is not liking its taste. Too much like pig's mush."

It was perhaps the perfect thing to say. That disgusted tone of voice, paired with the disdainful wrinkle of Mippy's nose that unconsciously imitated, to a comic degree, the haughty persona belonging to his former owner Lucius Malfoy! Severus confounded his house-elf by bursting out into deep, belly-shaking laughter.

"You…haha…Merlin…haha_expression_hahaha…"

Realizing his rather queer Master was not going to stop anytime soon, Mippy sighed and helped himself to a seat he snapped into existence. As his bottom touched the seat, he once again reveled in the feeling of rebellion against house-elf dictates and his old Master. Eyeing the convulsing wizard who had made it possible for Mippy to enjoy the unheard freedoms he had, the elf shook his head slowly. He would never understand humans, never.

Finally, Severus wiped his eyes and managed to pull himself into an upright position from his doubled-over stance during his insane laughing fit. "I'm sorry if I scared you, Mippy," he murmured, slightly out of breath and still unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Master is beings silly all the time now," Mippy dismissed. "Master must—"

But what Master had to, they never got to know. Mippy's bulging eyes grew wide and his ears flopped frantically, and then before Severus could ask what was wrong, his house-elf jumped to his feet and hissed in a tone of near-panic, "_Bad Not-Man is here!" _

It might have taken Severus a little longer to decipher Mippy's special house-elf terms, unique often times even from other house-elves, but a distant part of himself felt the wards of Prince Manor smoothly slide aside to admit someone's entrance, and a shadow fell over the entire house, making the entire atmosphere seem that much more eerie and dangerous. And he knew it even before he felt the almost-forgotten hiss of pain in his arm signaled who had just arrived.

The Dark Lord had returned.

**A.N.: I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that I can get back to a mostly regular schedule of posting again. No promises, of course, but I'll do my best. **

**Some of my reviewers pointed out their frustration/the incongruity of Snape wasting so much of his energy and magic to save a Death Eater. I tried to answer that the best I could in review replies and in this chapter as well. One person, unfortunately, did not leave a name and email, therefore making any actual explanation impossible.**

**My reasoning, I admit, might not hold up as much as the opposite reasoning would. I wanted, of course, for Severus to maintain his cover. With Bellatrix watching him so sharply, I doubt he'd have any chance to **_**not **_**give it his best effort which is quite formidable indeed. Secondly, I also wanted a chance to give Dolohov the same scar he gave Hermione, and it isn't very much of a ironic blow to his ego if he isn't alive to see it. Thirdly, it fit in my storyline. And I'm not much of an unnecessary killer as an author. I tend to, like Dumbledore (unfortunately at times) try and see the other side in **_**every **_**character. Including the bad ones—I try and explore their psyche and why they make the choices they do. I simply don't enjoy killing off characters, even really minor ones. They're more interesting when they're alive! (As you can see, I'm going to have some trouble when the Final Battle comes around…sigh). Anyway, it is a stylistic preference of mine as the author, and if you think it runs against common sense—well, I agree to an extent but this is MY story and we're doing it MY way. **

**Sorry for the long A/N! And if you're still with me, then I hope you all join me in a hearty toast to one of the most intriguing characters who ever existed, Severus Snape, in honor of his birthday which is January 9****th****. Happy Birthday, Severus!**


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer: Me no ownee. **

Her watch was warming.

Absently, Hermione rubbed her other hand over the slightly-too-hot wrist—wait a minute.

_Her watch was warming. _

Hermione's eyes widened fractionally before she continued on, giving her students their homework before dismissing them. And if she dismissed them with more haste than she was wont to do, well, no one was going to question the formidable Professor Granger about it. After all, rumor had it that instead of assigning a normal detention and taking points like most normal professors, she'd given a third year three days to complete a _seven-foot long essay! _Never mind that said third-year had been caught deliberately trying to tip extra hellebore into a rival's cauldron, and would have, if he had succeeded, killed the entire classroom with a resultant poisonous gas from the botched potion. _Honestly, the idiocy of some children! No wonder Severus was so anal about precision! A misstep, and boom…but thank Merlin I don't have another class right after this. There goes Miss Murphy, the slowest out of the room again. I don't blame her—she's quite gifted in Potions, but no so much in DADA, which I believe is her next class…finally! They're gone! _

In relief, Hermione watched the last student depart from her classroom—well, hers and Slughorn's. And _that _was another issue she didn't wish to get into, Slughorn's complete and utter inappropriateness in being her supposed "mentor". Honestly, the man might be good with potions, but he was no Severus Snape…

Speaking of which.

Hurriedly, Hermione gathered the stack of papers and parchment and quills that were hers from the desk and strode to a corner of the room, where she whispered her password—_Colonel Brandon—_and entered a shimmering doorway that appeared for her. It led, ingeniously enough, to a quiet passageway that she had not discovered in Hogwarts, not even in her escapades with Harry and Ron. Not far down it, another password—_Paradise Lost—_spit her back out the secret passage and straight into her own quarters. _Ah, the joys of being on personal speaking terms with Hogwarts itself. _Hermione had surprised even Minerva by her "rapid discovery" of said shortcut to her new quarters, which was located in the Dungeons near both Slughorn's quarters and the Potions classroom, for convenience.

Once installed in the privacy of her own room, Hermione quickly lifted her unpleasantly warm wrist up to eye level. What she saw had her racing to the Floo to contact Minerva and the Order. _DL back in country. _

It seemed to take forever, but in reality probably only took about half an hour, to arrange a full meeting of those who most needed to know. They met in Minerva's office—Minerva, Li, and Moody. Li and Minerva knew who the spy was, and Li would be taking her information back to the other members of the Order, especially the Council. However, Danielle did _not, _so Hermione needed to be careful of her words. Moody was here representing the fighting members not in the High Council, Minerva the strategist team.

"What's got you all riled up?" Alastor Moody grunted at Minerva. "Some of us have _work _to do, you know."

"Hermione has some alarming news for us," the woman said without delay.

"What is it, Hermione?" Li asked gently.

She swallowed. "Voldemort is back in the country." She held up her arms to forestall any questioning. "Our spy was quite certain of that fact, but has given me no other information so far. I only just received their message at the end of my last class of the day. As it is, I was planning another meeting with—the spy—this weekend anyway, and they have not mentioned a change in plans. I'll most likely get more information then."

"And is this…_spy…_reliable?" Moody leaned forward, his magical eye spinning. Oddly enough, it was not the magical eye that was giving Hermione the nervous lump in her stomach. It was his one normal eye, fiercely intent on hers. "After what happened with Snape—are you _sure _this one's reliable? And are you sure _you, _a mere child and brand new Order member, is capable of the job of discerning as such?"

A silence, and then—

"I never said the spy was a _he." _

It broke the tension as Mad-Eye Moody began to cackle loudly and appreciatively. Hermione waited patiently for him to finish. "Good, girlie, you won't let anyone walk all over you. Smart, too. No, you never said the spy was male. Looks like no matter what Snape did, he trained you well at least. Well, I can handle not knowing who the informant is at the moment. Just as long as you're sure—"

"I'd trust the person with my life," Hermione assured him.

"Not what I was going to say. I was going to say, just as long as you're sure _you're _able to handle the pressure of being that contact. It's not a pleasant job."

"I've been doing it all summer. I can take care of myself," Hermione pointed out a touch frostily.

He rubbed his real knee thoughtfully. "Yes, you have. But now Old Voldy-bottom's back and sure to cause a shit-load of trouble."

"I can take care of myself," Hermione repeated.

"Sure hope you can, girlie. Otherwise, them young'uns won't be getting the benefit of your teaching."

**--break--**

Milena could feel the increase in the darkness of the place the instant she arrived. It pressed against her, screamed soundlessly in her ears, beat and demanded entry to her magic, tried to suck it out of her. It made her feel soulless, this Big Dark. She nearly stumbled at the strength of it, a leech on her spirit, her energy, and she fought back frantically, calling on all the mind-soothing techniques Li had taught her that had not worked to contain the Vacuumency but _had _been effective in controlling her emotions to a degree without feeling the need to resort to it. And then a wave of relief came as a black-clad arm grasped hers possessively, guidingly. _Severus. _She spared a brief smile at him, which he did not return although he nodded once in response.

Stepping within his personal quarters felt like she had been fished out of quicksand. The intense pressure of the darkness lessened. Not to a great degree, but enough to breathe and concentrate on other things. _Like how strong and proud Severus looks in those formal black and silver robes that, for once, don't billow out to envelope his body but are cut to flatter it. Or the way his eyes are like deep, warm black velvet or fathomless depths…_

_Velvet? Fathomless depths? Bloody hell, when did I turn into Lavender?! _Hermione snapped her mind from the shameful gutter of compliments that belonged only to the soppiest of fools on Valentine's Day, shocked at herself. When had Severus' eyes become fodder for admiration and fantasy? Even if they _were _velvety and unfathomable…

Never mind. Hastily, she followed his lead in seating herself and allowed herself the brief warmth of familiarity in the tradition of kicking off her ridiculous heels (patented tan pumps this time, to match thedress she'd Transfigured (which featured much more lace than she, as Hermione, would have ever dared to wear). Sighing in comfort as she curled her legs up under her, she smiled at the tense man whom she was proud to call friend. "Hello, Severus. How have you been keeping?"

"Not so well, I'm afraid." He looked at her with a humorous, ironic glance. "I spent a day wondering what had become of my old alma mater only to be greeted to the sight of a bloody comrade on my nice marble floor, and had to expend all of my magic and energy fixing him. Then the Dark Lord decided to come home from his travels abroad, and he _smiled _at me."

Hermione shuddered dramatically, and only half of it was for show. "He _smiled?" _

"Oh, it was a scarring experience," Severus agreed, voice bland. "He was very pleased that I had saved my fellow comrade's life at the huge energy-deficit expense of mine."

_Dolohov, face paling slightly as he crumpled—_

_No. _Hermione swallowed a trifle thickly, unaware that her face had turned a sickly shade that most definitely did not belong on Milena's appearance. Severus eyed her cautiously. He most certainly didn't know what to do about a woman who was close to sicking up over having nearly killed someone! Or then again, maybe he did. She had, after all, began the trend with bringing back Harry Potter's _head _from another world last Christmas.

"He's alive and on the mend, and now owes me a Life Debt," he informed her professionally.

Thankfully, Hermione grasped at the familiar confines of logic, of rules, of professionalism and compartmentalizing. "That is good to hear. It is always helpful to have the additional help," Hermione replied neutrally. Then she hesitated. "Uh—and are you—I mean, did you—um—are you okay?"

Slightly surprised, although on second thought he really shouldn't have been so shocked at _Hermione—_the witch who had bulled her way into a rarely gifted position as his _friend—_Severus blinked. "Yes, yes," he assured her. "I rested after the magical expenditure, and am now fully recovered from it. See?" He flicked his wand, which had suddenly materialized into his hand, and the teapot which had been sitting out on the low table lifted itself in the air, poured itself out into a cup, and then the cup floated over to Hermione, followed by cream and sugar—exactly the amount Hermione enjoyed. Feeling touched that he had remembered the way she took her tea, despite the time lapse since she'd last seen him, she grinned her thanks and sipped the hot liquid.

The brief, comfortable quiet lasted until she placed the cup back down, and then she straightened minutely and put her business hat on, metaphorically speaking. "Okay, so—the Dark Lord, the Hogwarts battle, and any other information. Report? Thoughts? Ideas?"

They spent some time rehashing the battle—he was relieved that no one had been seriously injured or killed on their side, though contemptuous at Potter's disobedience in joining the fight, she was fascinated and not a little smug that Dolohov was now under obligation to Severus—"Blood magic is so _interesting," _she mused. She gave him the news that Draco was well, safe, and on his way to becoming a formidable warrior and quite able to take care of himself in battle. She did _not _tell him of his spirit-companion whom she was suspicious he was falling in love with.

Then they turned to the most significant detail of their meeting.

"The Dark Lord arrived at my house approximately two minutes before I sent you the warning. He had just come back from Ireland, which was his last stop. He would not tell us specifically what he had discovered, only, and I quote verbatim, 'It is the gateway to an eternity, an eternity of power and purity and darkness—the gateway to an eternity which I shall enjoy, I and all my faithful servants, when the time to purge clean the page of society arrives.'"

"Passionate speech," Hermione commented.

"No doubt. It was quite stirring among my fellow Death Eaters."

"There was a full meeting?"

"Yes." He paused. "It took place here."

Her eyes widened. "Ah. That would explain the…"

"The lovely lingering side effects of an extremely large group of Dark Wizards and Witches at the Dark Lord's rally. Yes, that's what it's from."

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

He smirked. "I'm sure you are, Hermione. As sorry as you are about bringing the Dark Lord's ire down on Lucius Malfoy's head for such a badly planned attack gone awry. Thank Merlin Draco is not anywhere around to partake in his punishment, it was not pleasant."

"Pity," she remarked in a cheerful voice that clearly expressed the opposite opinion.

"It is indeed, although I'm sure Draco will be relieved to know that he most definitely the only option for heir to the Malfoy inheritance, since I'm afraid our friend will be unlikely to be able to give him a sibling," he murmured slyly, eyes glittering with amusement.

"He—_what?" _Hermione burst out laughing, and the rich, bell tones of Severus' baritone chuckle accompanied her.

When they'd finally calmed down and gotten serious again, they picked up the discussion on the repercussions of the Dark Lord's return and his reason for his absence. "Immortality—true immortality," Severus said. He drummed his fingers busily against the side of his mug. "That was the gist of his speech, which confirms what conclusions we came to earlier this summer."

"Alright, so we can assume he found what he wanted in Ireland, since that was his last stop before coming back to England," she added.

"He's planning to stay in England for the time being, in an undisclosed location, but he mentioned several raids he wishes to occur in various parts of the UK, most especially around Hogwarts," Severus informed her. "Lucius is no longer in control of the missions—Rabastan Lestrange is, and if anything he's more vicious than Lucius." He grimaced, remembering some particularly vivid memories he'd rather not remember.

A warm hand on his arm jolted him out of his unpleasant trip down memory lane, and he nearly spilled his tea down himself when he realized that the small hand was Hermione's, and she was touching him. _Touching him. _Comforting him—looking at him in worry and quiet understanding, her hand a physical reminder of the present and of her presence if he should need it. When was the last time someone had touched him with such pure intentions? Certainly not here, not with any of these hardened Death Eaters. Even the slight interaction between him and Hermione had been purely for show, for her cover and his.

_Albus, of course. _It must have been. Perhaps something as insignificant as a pat on the shoulder. He'd long accepted the life he led, his own untouchable status. But she was touching him—not out of obligation, but out of pure compassion. Hermione was trying to give him—_him!—_comfort.

With almost trembling hands, Severus moved to grasp her slim, callused fingers, warm against his own cold palm, with the hand that wasn't holding his tea. He said nothing, and neither did she. They simply sat, hands tentatively linked, until Mippy popped in to inform them that their private dinner was going to be served whether or not they wanted it, and was Mistress Hermione going to stay for it?

Despite the ongoing chill of the darkness of the house, Hermione stayed.

**--break--**

Smiling exuberantly, Hermione reentered her quarters, still high from the dinner she'd had with Severus. It had been wonderful! They'd fallen into the old habit of debating each other over random interesting theories and obscure ideas that did or did not hold merit—like an old married couple, really. She'd had enough Polyjuice on her, meant for emergencies, to last for the evening in Milena's form so that she would not attract undue attention when leaving, and it had simply been so _long _since she'd had an intelligent conversation with someone of far superior intellect to even her—_privately, I'll admit that though I'll deny it if Severus ever asks, or he'll be far too bloody smug about it!—_and the chance to have a good stimulating conversation, combined with Mippy's truly inspired cooking, made this night one of the best she'd had in a while. Her parents were wonderful conversationalists and intellectuals, but though they'd read countless books on magic, they couldn't truly grasp it the way an actual practicing witch or wizard would. It was simply a culture and identity that one could study but always be a foreigner to, much like going overseas to live in Japan or another country would be like, Hermione imagined. And Draco—even with Skye's help—while he was certainly sharp-witted and no laggard in his studies, just didn't crave for knowledge, for truth, the way Hermione did, and the way Severus did as well.

_Oh, how Harry and Ron would goggle speechless if I told them that the highlight of my day—heck, the highlight of my _week—_was having dinner with "the bat of the dungeons"? They'd probably think I'd been Imperio'd or something. _Hermione sobered a little at that. Neither of her boys knew, after all, that Severus was well and truly on their side. They hadn't discussed him at all this summer, and since Ginny had snapped Harry out of his awful funk, she didn't think he'd go stark raving bonkers like he'd done over Bellatrix escaping Azkaban. Ron as well was gaining maturity as fast as he was gaining inches in height, both of which were rapidly. Hermione didn't think that they'd stay obstinately against Severus if they knew the truth, not if it would get in the way of receiving valuable information for the Order. _Thank goodness for the training they're getting, it's certainly making them think before they act or judge, which I didn't know either of them could ever accomplish! _

That said, she didn't know if they'd ever _like _or even attempt to get to know the man. Which was a pity, when the dark Potions master was an enigma that was worth at least trying to semi-understand, to her mind. He was a genius. Hermione had no doubt that, given time, he'd rival all of Albus' accomplishments. More than that, he was fascinating. He was at times cuttingly ironic with a sense of humor so dry it practically sizzled, at times actually _human _in his invisible emotions—the way a muscle jumped in his jaw when he was particularly tense and furious, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose when he was stressed or had a headache, the way his eyes could go softer than anyone could imagine was possible for Severus Snape or light up almost childishly when he'd gotten on a train of argument or the trail of discovery, the rock-solid stability and confidence he seemed to project at all times except for, perhaps, once or twice when he'd dropped it ever so briefly in her presence. _And I count myself honored that he would trust me enough to even show me his other side. Like when he held my hand. Severus Snape, holding hands! It seems so unbelievable when I sit here in my chambers and think of him as the Potions master and spy. Yet it seems unbelievable that he _hasn't _had the kind of comforting interactions that the rest of us take for granted, since Albus died—maybe even before that, since men really don't, um, hug or hold hands. Looking at it from that point of view, it seems incredible that he's managed to stay relatively whole and _good _while missing such a vital part of what every human needs. Oh, Severus…_

She hadn't known what possessed her. What had she been _thinking? _Nothing, really, except for an all-consuming hunger to let Severus know that no matter what he'd done, no matter what had been done to him—and she would cut Lestrange into bloody little bits if she ever got the chance, for putting that despairing look on her Severus' face—she was there, for him to confide in or simply sit with him in silence, which was enough.

She hadn't realized she had reached out to touch him until she'd done it, and his startled eyes had shot to her hand and then to her before almost shyly taking her hand in his. And something within her heart had clenched then, something queer that she couldn't place—an emotion she couldn't label or understand, but it was there and a fierce protectiveness flowed through her. If the Dark Lord had been there in front of her, she'd have Crucio'd the bastard to death for puttng any pain in this wonderful man's life.

Collapsing on her bed, stripped from her provocative dress and heels if not form yet, Hermione's befuddled mind kept returning to the feel of his hand clasping hers gently, as if her hand would break if he held too tight. Rough, elegant hands—the same that one could easily imagine playing a piano deftly, stirring a potion tirelessly, lifting a child high in the air effortlessly, gliding over her skin sensually—

_What?! _

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, the realization like lightning out of a calm blue sky. The emotion, the strange feelings running through her ruthlessly that had made her captive with a simple innocent touch, the sickening "eyes like black pools" comparison, her staying for a meal with him and damn the consequences if the Dark Lord arrived unscheduled, the euphoric high she'd been enveloped in during and after their dinner—why hadn't she realized it before? When had it happened? What had changed?

She liked him. _No duh, you're friends with him._

No. No. She really _liked _him.

_Like like…like…maybe you're in _love _with him? _Her breath hitched as her mind scrambled to find a rebuttal to that, to retort with concrete assurance that the most she was in for was just an ordinary crush, and came up blank.

_Fuck. _

**--break--**

"…so, I think we should do it," Ginny finished with an eager look. Hermione shook herself out of her reverie and blinked at her friend owlishly.

"What?"

Ginny snorted exasperatedly. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"No, not really," Hermione admitted a little distantly. "Sorry, Gin."

"You're still thinking about something else," the redhead muttered. "You've been walking around in a haze all day, Hermione. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just distracted is all," Hermione finally replied, realizing with alarm that Ginny and possibly some others would have noticed her spacey mood today. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Sure," Ginny said skeptically. But she seemed willing to let it drop—at least for now. "I was just telling you that Harry _was _going to be in detention for a long time for leading us all out into a 'battle we weren't ready for', and so are we for following, but McGonagall said that—"

"_Professor."_

"Yeah, Professor McGonagall. Said that Hogwarts sometimes makes allowances for students to serve time—er, I mean detention, by joining a school-sponsored club."

Noticing the glint in Ginny's eye, Hermione came to the right conclusions speedily. "You want to start up the DA again."

"I knew there was a reason you're known as Hogwart's brightest witch," Ginny teased. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who snorted a laugh. "Boy, Hermione, teaching Potions must be getting to you. You looked just like Snape just then."

"Yeah. Well. Er. It's a good idea, getting the DA started up again," Hermione said into the awkward silence—awkward for Ginny because she didn't know that Snape wasn't a traitor, awkward for Hermione because of her stunning realization just last night. _Don't think about that now, Hermione! Ginny's already plenty suspicious as it is, and she already knows way too much! _

"Anyway, McGonagall—_Professor _McGonagall—told us that she'd be happy for us to begin the DA again, but we had to have a professor attending every meeting—or a professor's assistant."

"And you want me to come," Hermione finished with a sigh, thinking of the essays she still had yet to grade sitting on her desk. As Slughorn's assistant and apprentice, she got to grade _his _papers as well, and he had suddenly been assigning a lot of them lately…

"If you wouldn't mind. I know you're busy. Professor Lupin said he'd come to half of them, and if you could just come the times he can't…" Ginny looked at her pleadingly. Hermione stifled a groan.

"Fine, Ginny. Just give me an actual _schedule _of the meetings so I can work it into my commitments, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," Ginny replied cheekily, relief lighting up her face as she ran out the door.

"A point from Gryffindor for disrespect to a professor!" Hermione mock-roared after her.

**--break--**

"A moment if you will, young Snake," a cool, feminine voice murmured. Confused, Draco glanced around for the source. A polite cough guiding his sight to the portrait of the White Witch that guarded the Slytherin Dormitories. Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. What did the White Witch want with _him? _

"Yes, Ma'am?" He turned back from where he had just been exiting, bowing to the cold lady who sat elegantly at her royal couch, observing him with her murky sea-evoking eyes.

"You have rebelled against your family," she said casually.

The wand fell naturally into his palm although he did not lift it. Yet. Instead, he kept his face impassive (or as impassive as Uncle Severus had managed to teach him), and tried to control his voice as he replied, "I don't know what you're talking about, Lady."

"Don't think to play the fool with me, boy," she said sharply. "I have eyes, and ears. You are shunned by those who would wear the skull on their arm, ignored or feared by those who would not. It is not so long ago that I do not remember your parents' passing through my realm and their own loyalties. What is it you wish to succeed in, by rebelling so against your blood-kin?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Skye drifting closer to both give him silent support and to reassure him that she would, though unable to physically help him, be on the lookout for a trap or attack and alert him. Somehow, her presence gave him the courage to stare the White Witch straight down and, in a most un-Slytherinish fashion, tell her exactly what he thought. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I don't think it is any of your business where I place my loyalties. I don't agree with their point of view, and I'm not them. I'm myself. Just because I was born to the Malfoys doesn't mean—" he swallowed hard, "doesn't mean that I can't disagree with them and make my own life. If everyone else in all the other Houses aren't faulted for not being their parents, then I certainly don't see why _I _can't."

It was an uncharacteristically blunt and unscripted speech, not particularly eloquent—_I sound as uneducated and lowly-brought-up as Potter, _he thought in slight disgust—but he meant it and he wasn't going to take it back to please some stuck up portrait. Even if it meant sleeping in the hallway if the White Witch took offence and didn't let him in, which she had done for insolence from her Slytherins before.

The White Witch stayed still, her eyes boring into the back of his head, and Draco tried not to flinch, steadfast in his will. Somewhere near him, Skye remained quiet. There was a moment's awkward pause, when Draco thought, _oh shit looks like I'm camping out here tonight, _and then, startling him into a quick through aborted jerk, the ice queen rose and sank regally into a half-bow before him, skirts glinting almost amber-red rather than the white they were in the reflected light of the painted fire. When she straightened, there was a small half-smirk on the pink bow of her lips.

"And thus, another Child of Hogwarts is named," she remarked.

"Ma'am?" He asked, and felt like scratching his head in confusion. Now right next to him—no more than an inch or two away and _very _distracting indeed in herself, Skye sucked in a breath in recognition. Recognition of what?

"Child of Ice, you are of Slytherin born and bred and proven," the White Witch spoke with an intensity that told Draco that he had better pay attention to what she was saying. _Rather than how pretty Skye looks today. Or every day. Or what I'm supposed to do about the whole falling in love with her bit. _

"Yet there comes a time when one must be grown, reach maturity and realize that within every man and woman lies the heart of not only their House but every other, for no human is completely of one element and one alone. Today you have proven yourself not just a child of Slytherin, but one of Hogwarts and all its Houses, all its attributes, a whole person and adult indeed. You have spoken with a Hufflepuff's conviction, a Ravenclaw's soul-deep wisdom, and a Gryffindor's courage." The portrait smiled at Draco's stunned visage.

"No place in Hogwarts is now barred to you if you need entry, though Hogwarts itself will judge your need and let you pass or not as it wills. The future is in flux, and the times that are coming will be dangerous ones. Hogwarts will need all its defenders united. If a day comes when you need my help, call for the Morrigan and I shall come to your aid. Do not hesitate to ask for help and do not let pride stand in your way, for that way is the path to failure." The White Witch—_the Morrigan—_sat again, a clear dismissal to one trained in youth to be alert to such subtle signals. Mind whirling and unable to grasp what had just happened, Draco nevertheless bowed his head respectfully to the painting and turned his steps away, automatically heading to the library, where he'd planned on finishing his homework and chatting with Skye, since virtually no one but Granger would venture there.

Skye trotted by his side, and an exchanged glance with her told Draco that she knew something significant about what had just taken place and would tell him just as soon as they were situated safely out of earshot of anyone in the library. He hastened his footsteps, but just as he hit the corner to turn out of the hallway, an imperial voice echoed down to him and shocked both he and Skye. "And young woman of Air, that which you seek is more closely related to the study of that which you and the other children of Hogwarts seek to destroy."

_Rowena Ravenclaw had claimed for her own House the element of Air, for within it humans had lived and breathed and dreamed, and dreaming, sought knowledge and wisdom. _

**A.N: I know, I know, 45 chapters of build up and it still seems like a really sudden bolt out of the blue! It feels so abrupt, but I just had to do it because the tension was killing me, and I find generally that it's the female who realizes their emotions before the men do. Sorry if the gen stereotype bothers you, or the suddenness of Hermione's realization, but...that's the way the cookie crumbles. :) **


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer: We learned about copyright law and fair use policy in one of my classes today. A rude reminder to the fact that no, I do not own Harry Potter & co. Alas for me (and Severus Snape.)**

Fact One: Hermione Granger was prided herself on her intelligence.

Fact Two: She enjoyed solitude over company if said company meant enduring stupidity.

Fact Three: She was in love. With her former teacher.

And the fact that he had been her teacher was more of an insurmountable barrier to her than the fact that he'd killed Albus Dumbledore, had probably killed and tortured others as well, and was widely considered an evil Death Eater.

What did that say about her mental stability? _Well, it's no more screwed up than when I thought getting expelled was worse than dying. _

Hermione groaned aloud, and buried her face deep into the box of her crossed arms on the desk. _When did life get so messed up on me? _

_When you decided to fall hopelessly in love with Severus Snape, _her mind remarked snarkily. She snarled back, "It's your bloody fault! If you hadn't been attracted to his superior intellect and ability to appreciate a conversation about something other than battles, quidditch, or girls, I wouldn't have fallen in love with the git!"

_Oh yes, and you noticing his impressive height, toned muscles, expressive eyes, and seductive voice didn't contribute a tad. Right, Hermione. Try again._

"He's my friend," she muttered.

_Oh, and people don't fall in love with their friends all the time? Look at Ron, you had a crush on Ron eons ago but you were friends first. _

"That's different."

_How is it different? You just happened to pick a 'friend' who's even more unattainable than Ron is, _including _Lavender into the picture. _

"It's just a stupid crush. It'll pass," Hermione cried in desperation.

_You've had crushes before. You had the biggest one on Ron for years. You had one on David, your Muggle neighbor's son. You had one on Joshua, Julia's Muggle friend from school. You even had that stupid one on Lockhart. They all felt awfully different from what you're feeling right now. You're in love, and you know it. They don't call you the brightest witch in Hogwarts for nothing. Give yourself some credit, it may have taken a while for you to catch on to it, but you can recognize the symptoms of love. You're in love with Severus Snape. _

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Hermione shouted, her head jerking off the table. On her bed, Crookshanks, still grumpy from having been dragged from his comfortable summer nap-and-eat-and-avoid-people break back to the highly-populated Hogwarts, looked at her queerly as if to say, _Loud much? Trying to sleep over here! _

_Arguing with myself. The first sign of insanity. It's too bad I can't spare the time to check myself into the mental ward, with the war and all. _Sighing, Hermione sat back in her chair, drawing her legs up to her chest as she stared into space and contemplated the predicament she had landed herself in. As always, an nice, organized list calmed her down and allowed her to look at just what had occurred and how, and hence, where to go from here. She shoved aside the ungraded essays on her desk and snatched a piece of parchment to write on.

_When?_

Well, it had to be certainly after she'd been inducted to the Order. Sketching a rough timeline, Hermione marked out important events. Attack on her parents, forcing them into hiding. Her Christmas induction. Her training with Severus—dueling, mind magic, spying, and all. Albus Dumbledore's death. Harry's Blood Ritual. Their retreat to the safe house. Her first meeting with Severus as contact and spy. His move to Prince Manor, necessitating her disguise in future meetings. And so on, through the summer.

When had she fallen in love? Why hadn't she realized it until now? Hermione scanned the timeline, and yet could not pinpoint a time when she could safely say that she had been in love with Severus Snape—but, beyond the point of their first meeting as spy and contact, neither could she pick a random time and confidently say that she had _not _been in love with him then.

_Okay, so when—sometime this summer, in between our first meeting and this last one. _Hermione moved to a clean space on the parchment, and wrote _How? _

Just as "when" had been vague, so was "how". They'd become tentative friends first in a mentor-student way, during sixth year as he trained her for full membership in the Order. He'd been protective of her, and even able to relax his guard enough to get lost in easy conversation that Hermione still remembered with fondness, in his private office and in the Library of Dreams. They'd had heated discussions on anything from Morganna's life to whether it was more effective to chop the St. John's Wort flowers into smaller pieces than the actual official instructions dictated in making Veritaserum (concluding that it would be less beneficial, since that would create a potion so strong it would damage the mind of the drinker instead of just compelling the truth from unwilling lips. Then with the events at the close of the year and the decisions that propelled them into a different kind of relationship, they'd become real friends—equals, peers, colleagues in a queer way as Order members. And then—

Then what? She had no one but herself to blame, for somehow, in that shift, she'd not only become friends with Severus Snape, she'd lost her heart to him.

_Why? _That was a loaded question, and Hermione decided that despite the initial shock—not to mention what Harry and Ron might have reeled off in an instant about what was bad about Severus, there were really too many things to list of _why him. _His sharp wit, for example. Or his wickedly acidic sense of humor, his rather old-fashioned manners in the most unexpected places, his total dedication to whatever he chose to do, from spying to teaching to brewing. The way he spoke her name carefully even now, as if it were a treasure. His obvious worry over Draco, his heartache and final selfless act for Albus despite the state of his own soul. Oh yes, there were far too many things Hermione found attractive about Severus to list them all.

_What to do? _The hardest question of all. Hermione idly nibbled the end of her quill as she thought. There were, despite the untenable situation, several options. Hermione wrote them all out, and noticed with a wry twist of her lips that she could most certainly imagine one person or another's voicing each opinion. For example—_Seduce the man and then tell him your feelings—Ginny. Ignore feelings and hope it goes away—Harry and Ron. Stay friends and start flirting outrageously with him—Julia, most definitely. Stay friends and flirt with someone else to make him jealous—Sophie. Follow your heart—Mum, and scarily enough, Albus. _

None of those options looked particularly feasible or pleasant both. _Damn it, why doesn't love come with instructions? _Hermione was aware that she was internally whining, but she couldn't help it. It was as if every bit of hard-won self-confidence and personal strength of will that she'd gained over the past year had upped and fled.

But even if she confessed her—_Merlin forbid, her _feelings! _It sounded so sappy—_to Severus, what good would it do? Firstly, he'd never be attracted to her. Milena, physically, yes. Herself, no. She wasn't stunning—she was pretty enough, but not gorgeous. Perhaps her mind wouldn't intimidate him like it had the boys at Hogwarts, but the distance, the age gap, a war, a despot, and societal decorum all served quite effectively as a barrier between their ever having a chance. And—well, she knew that he'd been in love once, with Lily Evans Potter, who by all accounts was a paragon of virtue, beauty, and intellect. Hermione was not pure anymore—well, perhaps in the matters of the heart she was, but in every other sense she had trained, fought, and killed. That left a stain on the self that would never posses the innocence Harry's mother had in spades.

No, it would serve no purpose at all to express her feelings. It would be best then, for Hermione to stay quiet and simply make do with the friendship. After all, what woman can hold a candle to a dead love?

**--break--**

"Severusss, stay behind," the Dark Lord directed with his characteristic sibilance. Inclining his own head in acquiescence, Severus remained still and in his position as the other Death Eaters of the Inner Circle hastily or not so hastily, depending on their devotion to their lord, apparated out from the unknown location they were meeting in—somewhere in Germany, Severus would guess from the weather and the glimpse he'd had of the landscape before he'd entered a ruined castle that seemed to be serving as the Dark Lord's meeting place of the week.

When only he, and one other remained, the red-eyed bane of his existence beckoned then both forward, smiling in a confiding manner. It was one of the creepiest things he'd ever seen. Severus suppressed a shudder, moving forward gracefully to seat himself at the Dark Lord's gesture, on one of the two chairs that had appeared for him and their newest member of the Inner Circle.

Cassius Cain, only son of the scion of Purebloods, claiming a heritage even purer than the Malfoys—which was quite a feat indeed—sprawled boyishly in his own chair. His brown hair and charming smile hid, Severus knew, a soul as filthy and cold as Lucius Malfoy—worse, for Lucius for all his darkness loved his family, and none of the Cains confessed to any sort of family bonds or loyalty except for the one of maintaining their name, power, and purity.

With a nod in acknowledgement to each other, the two men focused their attention on their master, as the Dark Lord gazed in an almost affectionate manner at his two loyal servants. "Severus, you have pleased me well of late," he began in a ruminating fashion. "I have, for your sservicess, rendered you great honors as befitting one who pleases me."

_Salazar, he makes it sound as if I were a particularly favored kept mistress! _

"Yet I sense that you have been restlessss. What say you for yourself?"

"Master," Severus spoke in his most respectful, deferential tone, "you have truly done me great honor and given me rewards beyond compare. I am infinitely grateful to your generosity. Yet, you are all-knowing. Yes, I am restless, I admit. I chafe against being so useless to you, where once I was actively rendering your service and furthering our cause. Now, I am unable to contribute as I once did, and it sorrows me."

Waiting with bated breath to see if the Dark Lord, notoriously unstable, would take his explanation, Severus was pleasantly—or perhaps _unpleasantly—_surprised at the snakeish man's amused chuckle. "Good, good, my faithful one," the Dark Lord crowed. "Just so—just as I predicted, did I not Cassius?"

Cain inclined his head, his own eyes dancing merrily in shared mirth. Severus felt a nasty anticipation in his gut. _What does the crazy megalomaniac have planned for me? _

"I have plans for you, Severuss," what had once been Tom Riddle continued. "Plans that I am sure you will be thrilled to become involved with, for how I well know that as one of superior intellect, living with those brutish creatures that are necessary for the menial tasks of soldiers can be grating on the nerves and hard on the refined mind. Do not fear, I have not abandoned one of my greatest thinkers to languish in a pit of grunting soldiers, no matter how valuable their hands are to our banner. I'm sure you remember young Cassius Cain here—" motioning with a withered looking hand to the youthful man next to Severus—"he has been, of these days, working with a specialized team to bring one of my greatest visions into reality. I am sure you have wondered at my long absence. This is what I have traveled the world for, in pursuit of this dream worthy of gods. Tell me, Severus, how would you like to live, to live to see mankind rise and fall and rise again, to walk a thousand sunsets and destroy a thousand worlds only to build them back up again—to rule over the sheep-like peoples of all nations, all universes, to see your children grow and your grandchildren and your many-times great grandchildren honor your name and bow to your power? Or, perhaps, travel to a universe thousands of years back in time, or a thousand years forward, a different thread in the fabric of the worlds?"

Frozen in place, Severus could only whisper one word breathlessly, black eyes riveted to his master, face lit with awe. "_Immortality."_

"Yesss," his master hissed. "Immortality indeed—an eternity in which to take over countries, nay, over _universes! _Not just our own, but those parallel, those splitting off of our own, the many threads of existence that turn one way or another by a turn of chance. You could even, if you wish, find the thread of a universe in which your redhead Mudblood is alive and well, and take her to be yours. I know you say you have long since regretted your attraction to her, but this is your chance regain her if you should so wish, for I did not mean to kill her since she was promised for you, but she got in the way. But now…Severus, I go first, and you, my faithful servants, follow. It is a gift I will not offer many, but I have offered it to Cassius when I asked him to form the research team, and I offer it to you as well, for you have gone far beyond my expectations for you and become a blazing star of power in your own right, fit to rule a world that I can give you. Join the team, Severus. You are one of the most formidable minds of the century, and with the new information I have brought back, a new lead on the search for eternity, you, Cassius, and the others on the team will no doubt find a way to bring it into being. What say you?"

There was no hesitation in his voice, only reverence and a hint of joy. "Yes. Yes, my lord."

**--break--**

Hermione moved subtly back as students, some more hesitant than others, trickled in, always in twos and threes. Harry, Ron, and Ginny stood near the front of the Room of Requirement, greeting old members of the DA and welcoming new. Glancing around as the room slowly but surely filled, Hermione felt a grim sense of pride. The original DA had expanded and recruited, and while some might be here only because it was an exciting "cool" thing to try out, Hermione didn't doubt that, after weeding out those who could be potentially traitors or the weakest link, Harry and the other two would beat the essential skills into their heads and they would become, as their name proclaimed, an army. Along with the bittersweet agony of having to enlist _children _still in school (_like you weren't just like them, only younger, when you got involved in this mess—you're probably younger than a couple of those seventh years and you've already killed and fought in battle.) _came the sense of accomplishment that here in Hogwarts, the students would not go down without a serious bid for defense at least if the worst ever happened.

A sudden hush at the door alerted Hermione, and she sharpened her gaze—only to see Draco Malfoy stroll casually into the room, the last of the lot entering. _Oh dear. Looks like we'll have to deal with some prejudice and maybe some lingering fear right away then. _On the other hand, this was perhaps exactly what they needed, a way to turn their focus from their hatred of Slytherins and, even in his semi-exiled state, Draco Malfoy, and realize their true enemy. _And Draco needs this as well. He's done well in training in the Order and he can help Harry and Ron out teaching, but he also needs to practice not to mention he has to be lonely. Even with Skye, it has to be hard being shunned by virtually all of the Slytherins, knowing that your former friends would, if they had half a chance, drag you to your death._

"What's _he _doing here?" Surprising—it was Ginny who had asked it, her voice in between truly curious and wary.

"I would assume he's here for the same reason you are, Gin," Ron—_Ron!—_said calmly, although his grip on his wand was tight enough to show in his whitened knuckles.

"_He _can speak for himself quite well, thank you," Draco drawled in his distinctive voice. His eyes swept the room, where the rest of the students had gathered in a disorganized clump and were staring at him. "I was told this was an organization that _everyone _could join if they wanted to."

"How do we know we can trust you? You're a Death Eater!"

That was Seamus. Hermione wondered if she'd even made it through any of her classmates' thick skulls with her impromptu speech when school had come back in session. _Obviously not Seamus'. I won't interfere—not yet. Draco has to learn how to take care of himself in this kind of atmosphere without hexing anyone, and Harry and Ron need to learn how to handle these kinds of situations ethically, responsibly, and intelligently. _"_Was, _Finnegan. Or have you not noticed the wide space I've been given by my fellow Housemates, some of whom are sympathetic to the Dar—to _Voldemort, _and others who are just bloody scared and want to lie low and not be noticed at all? If I'm wrong, why don't you ask Davis over there, or Baddock?" Having issued both a challenge and a defense, Draco looked pointedly over at the only other two students there who seemed to wear the Slytherin crest.

Baddock—a stocky boy with a dimpled chin and muddy brown eyes, shifted uncomfortably, looking ready to bolt at the sea of eyes suddenly on him. Conversely, near by, Davis—Tracey Davis, a Slytherin witch her year—well, her year if she'd gone with the regular curriculum—tossed her short, red-blonde crop of hair and stared down everyone else with a defiant glare of her own. Neither spoke, and after a moment, someone else ventured a question. "So you're against You-Know-Who?" _Hannah Abbott. She seems like she'd be receptive of Draco, if he proves himself adequately to be on our side to her. _

"Yes," Draco replied instantly. He glanced around the room, and took a familiar lofty expression. "I am not going to kowtow and worship anyone. I am a Malfoy, and even if the rest of my family has chosen to bow down to the D- to Voldemort, I have more pride in myself than that. I should think you'd know that about me by now," he sneered.

_Bold response, _Hermione thought, still in the background. _It could go well or very wrong, but I think it will go well. This group hasn't had practice in trust or acceptance, and the strong affirmation of being against Voldemort goes a long way to reassuring them, combined with a truly Slytherin answer of self-interest. It just might work. _

And indeed, it seemed like it was going to. The group subsided, the tension seemed to dissipate a little, and Harry cleared his throat. "Ah, having resolved that matter—perhaps we should get started. Welcome to all of you, and congratulations on choosing to do something active, something productive to defend yourselves and Hogwarts. My name is Harry, and this is Ron, and we'll be leading this _school club—" _there was some stifled giggles at that—"and one of our teacher observers and sponsors is Ms. Granger, who's back there—"

There was a ripple in the students as they turned to look at Hermione. She smiled, a gave them a little wave and nod. Harry continued, "This is not the thing for everyone. You'll be learning hard things, you'll get frustrated, and you might be called on, in the worse case scenario, to fight against fully-grown Death Eaters who have no conscience about casting Unforgivables. You've seen what can happen to even a great man, Albus Dumbledore." Some of the students began to look green. "If you don't think you can do it, or if you aren't fully committed to taking out Voldemort, there's no shame in leaving. We'd rather not find out during a battle."

Harry paused, and the group of students fidgeted and looked nervous—but none left. After what seemed like eternity, he finally acknowledged their choice with a nod. "The first order of business is perhaps an introduction. I want us to go around, say your name, year, House, and then use _Voldemort _in a sentence." At the flinches, some more noticeable than others, he stared around grimly. "If you can't even say a name without being scared, how are you going to survive more than two seconds standing in front of someone who's trying to kill you? Fear of a name only increases fear of the person, and we're going to start our first session of Dumbledore's Army proving that we deserve to wear Professor Dumbledore's name, because even when he might have been afraid in his life, he never let it stop him from acting for the good. So—I'll start. My name is Harry Potter, I'm a seventh year Gryffindor, and one day I'm going to hex Voldemort's skinny ass into hell where it belongs."

Amid the tense laughter, Ron went. "I'm Ron Weasley, also a seventh year Gryffindor, and V-Voldemort won't know what hit him when the DA is united!"

"I'm Ginny Weasley, sixth year Gryffindor, and I bet we give Voldemort nightmares!" Around the room the introductions went, some stammering and almost unable to spit out the name of Voldemort, others emphasizing it defiantly.

"My name's Tracey Davis, seventh year Slytherin, and just because I'm in the same House Voldemort was in eons ago doesn't mean I don't think he's an arrogant idiot trying to make up for an inferiority complex."

"Malcolm Baddock, fifth year Slytherin. V-V-Vol, uh, Voldemort killed my aunt when she wouldn't join him in the first war. I'm no supporter of his!"

"I'm Luna Lovegood, sixth year Ravenclaw. I think Voldemort has a very bad case of Mifflepatty infestation. They turn your eyes red if they've lived in your head long enough, you know."

"Ernie Macmillan, seventh year Hufflepuff. Vol-Voldemort's a stupid git."

"Draco. Malfoy. Slytherin, seventh year, and I've seen Voldemort and frankly he's nothing but a mad man with delusions of grandeur and very bad hygiene habits."

And so on, around the room, Hermione watched with a growing sense of a youthful optimism she hadn't felt in—oh, forever!

After the abbreviated meeting—there had not been much after the introductions except the signing of the contract that Hermione had created years ago and Ginny had since modified for their current use, Hermione sat in the back of the emptying room stared into space. _Harry's really good. He's good at getting them passionate about something. Ron's relatable, always super-friendly and great for getting them to relax and concentrate on the real task at hand. Ginny—well, I won't have to worry about not being there to organize my boys' every last movement. She's definitely on top of it, and the curriculum she's devised is thorough and practical. _A part of Hermione protested, wanted to find something wrong that only _she, _Hermione Granger, could fix. The other part of her was—relieved. Relieved, that she would not have to spend more time she didn't have worrying about Harry, Ron, and the students of Hogwarts, relieved that she could once again concentrate on her _own _problems and not other people's—namely, Severus Snape.

_Oh ye gods and goddesses, if it doesn't go away by itself soon I'm going to write Mum and ask her advice. It feels like a hippogriff landed on my chest and started doing a tap, every time I even just think of him. It can't interfere with my responsibilities—I won't make it a liability, a weakness! It would be showing poor thanks to Severus and everyone in the Order who trusted me, Albus and Minerva and Li…maybe it'll go away the next time I meet with him. I'll see him and my bloody heart will realize the futility of being in love with the stubborn git of a man and desist its mewling. _

_But what if—_

A forceful push in her mind interrupted her meandering stream of consciousness, and Hermione instinctively dove beneath the elementary Occlumency walls she was able to construct, the flimsiest shields that gave her perhaps the space of two breaths to analyze the situation and, if need be, get herself straight to Minerva or Li in case the mental prodding pushed her into an unwanted bout of Vacuumency she couldn't snap out of. _Safety, the stability of old stone walls shielding her and swamping her with the warmth of a good fireplace…_

_Hogwarts?—yes. Oh, you scared me. What did you need?...a struggle, and then an image of a familiar portrait—White Witch? The Morrigan.—speaking—to who?...voice harsh and echoing...Severus—_Hermione's wretched chest twisted in surprised recognition of the thin, haggard-looking man who still nevertheless was obviously much younger than he was now, perhaps twenty?—_herself, standing in front of the Morrigan in eerily the same position as Severus had years before her, mouth open in shock as the Morrigan curtsied—Draco—_Draco Malfoy?—_and a blurred patch of air near him, his eyes comically wide as he listened to the Morrigan…a sense of time, old and ancient and pressing, Hogwarts centuries past—an image of the crests of all four Houses overlapping, merging, becoming a blaze of colors…_

Gasping, Hermione was finally released from Hogwarts' visions and the abrupt absence of pressure at the back of her mind told her that the castle was no longer present in her head. _What was _that? With no way for Hogwarts to be any less cryptic—_of course not, not when it's my head its meddling with, _Hermione grumbled to herself—it looked like she was going to be taking an impromptu trip down to the Slytherin dormitories to visit the White Witch.

**--break--**

"What's wrong?"

_How'd she—nevermind, it's Skye. She notices everything. _Draco kept his face bland, avoiding Skye's piercing eyes as he replied blandly, "Nothing, Skye."

"_Something, _obviously, Draco," Skye retorted, coming closer to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. "Or else you wouldn't be trying to avoid looking at me."

"Nothing you need to worry about," Draco amended, seeing that Skye was not going to give up. He deliberately pulled out his homework, a half-written essay for Potions that was more busywork than anything—nothing that needed actually _brains, _anyway. Slughorn was, after being under Professor Snape's exacting demands, positively lax. They'd even had an explosion the other day that had sent the entire classroom out, coughing from the smoke and unable to go to their next class before seeing Madame Pomfrey for a potion for the concentrated smoke that clogged their lungs even with just one or two breaths. Certainly they'd never had such accidents under Uncle Severus' watchful gaze. _Disgraceful. The first to third years are getting better a better Potions curriculum than _we _are! Too bad Granger isn't teaching us too. _

_The characteristic signs of the potent love potion known as Amortentia are its mother-of-pearl sheen and the distinctive spiraling shape in which the smoke rises. Also significant to note is that its scent—_

"Nothing to worry about my tush," Skye snapped. "Whatever it is, its been bugging you since this morning. I didn't notice earlier because I was in the library while you were in your classes, but at lunch you were acting queer, and at dinner you hardly ate anything. And I know you, Draco. You've had that 'high-and-mighty can't-touch-me attitude all day, and you only ever pull that now when you're feeling threatened or really stressed out. Not to mention that it's really really subtle, but I've been feeling a pull towards you all day and that usually means that you're upset about something." Draco cursed silently. Skye really knew him too well. And her large eyes were imploring him to explain, to say something at least. She leaned forward, and put one slim hand forward on his knee—he couldn't feel it, but it hovered where his knee displaced air, and Draco swallowed through the pounding of his heart.

"Look, Draco, I've really gotten to know you and you're a great person to be around. Whatever's bothering you, I just want to help. That's what friends are for, yeah?"

_Friends. Right, _Draco bitterly reminded himself. _She wouldn't ever think of you as more than a friend, and her only link to the physical world. You're a Malfoy, remember? _The thought of his family name, for the first time, was not a source of pride but rather one of resentment—the barrier between his ever being able to even entertain the tiniest hope that Skye might…that he might…_forget it. She said it herself. We're just 'friends'. _

"I got a letter this morning," he said neutrally.

"From your family." Skye was too sharp for her own good. Quite like Granger, only less intimidating with it, really—more street smart, less wave-it-in-your-face flashy knowledge.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "My family. Or more specifically, from my father."

"Oh, Draco." She briefly squeezed her hand around his knee, and her fingers went through his flesh before reemerging. If he hadn't been staring at her hand, wishing that he could actually feel it, feel the warmth of Skye's palm against his skin, he wouldn't have noticed. She didn't say anything more. Draco appreciated that about Skye the most of all—she knew when to push, and when to be quiet.

As it was, her silent understanding unlocked the floodgates to his anguish. "He told me—my father!—that he was very disappointed in me for having deserted him and Mother, that I'd betrayed my own blood and turned my back on all the family was. He told me I was a disgrace to my own heritage, that I was a coward and a fool and I was to return home immediately while they decide what punishment is appropriate for me. He didn't even _ask _me where I was this summer, Skye! He didn't _ask _me about what happened to me after the Death Eaters got into Hogwarts, and he didn't ask me what I believed in! He just…_assumed _that I was being a little boy trying to see how far he could push his parents, that it was just a teenage rebellion and not anything _major! _He just…he just…" Draco choked up, unable to speak for the dozen vile, angry words he wanted to scream.

"Perhaps it's better for them to think of it that way, because if they take it seriously then they have to face the fact that you're grown up and you've made your own choice and it's different from theirs," Skye suggested softly.

"I don't know," Draco said sadly. "I just don't know, Skye. I feel like I don't know them anymore. I don't know what to do either. I haven't replied—Mercury's still in the Owlery, he wouldn't leave without an answer. I don't know what to say to them, Skye."

"You'll find the words," the girl responded with conviction. "You always do. You managed to find them for the DA. I know you, Draco. You've got a good heart and a good head. You'll come up with the right thing to say to tell them that you've become an adult capable of making your own choices." She smiled sweetly at him, and scooted closer. "It's one of the things I like most about you. You've a smooth tongue on you, Draco Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy and his letter suddenly fled Draco's mind as he became aware of how close Skye was to him, and he swallowed thickly, extremely warm. "Skye—"

"Now, I've been a very patient girl, waiting for you to deal with all your self-guilt and all your issues, but I'm not a patient girl by nature and I think I've waited long enough."

"Wha- what do you mean?" Draco stammered.

"I mean, Draco Malfoy, that I like you. As in, find you extremely attractive and intriguing and all-together a person I would want to get to know…in a romantic sense. Have I made myself clear enough?" she cocked her head to one side, an amused quirk playing on her lips as Draco stared in shock at her, mouth agape and unable to form a complete thought, let alone sentence.

"I- uh- I-"

"Unless I've been reading you wrong and you're really not that into me?" Skye asked, taking her hand off his knee and boldly meeting his eyes in a challenge.

"No! I mean- I, that is to say, I really like you too, Skye," Draco finally managed to say, mind spinning with sudden hope and joy. "But I mean—I thought you—"

"Let me guess." She crossed her arms, sat back on her heels and eyed him with scorn. "One, you thought that I would have problems dating you because you're a Malfoy—and all the stuff that led to me being a spirit of sorts." She waved her arms around for emphasis. "Two, you thought that I only thought of you as a friend, maybe even only as useful to get me back into corporeal body. Three, you thought that you didn't deserve the attentions of any female, that you somehow had to earn your way back into redemption. Well, no, no, and no." She held up one finger. "First, and perhaps most important, I do not identify _you _with your family. You're your own person, as we just established. I don't hold you to blame for _anything _your father did, and I know you regret your stint as Death Eater and I've forgiven you a long time ago. You've certainly beat yourself up about it enough to constitute the harshest punishment anyone could give you. Second—" she held ticked off another finger, "you are my friend, my true friend, first and foremost, but _honestly, _you're also the most unobservant boy! I've been flirting with you since _forever, _and you never caught on? Third." Skye held up the third finger, and stared straight at him. "You, Draco, are a good person. Half the girls at Hogwarts don't deserve _you, _not the other way around. I admire you for the strength it took you to turn from years of being taught that your family and your name was the most important thing." She grinned, but there was a hint of uncertainty now. "So—Draco Malfoy, do I have permission to court you?"

Well, what else was a guy to do? Heart dancing at the unexpected heaven it'd been granted, Draco gave his assent to being courted and the radiant smile he received in return made him think that there was no one else in the world who was as lucky as he was.

"Of course, there's that little matter of needing to be corporeal again," Skye said in a disgruntled fashion after they'd stopped grinning like baboons (more or less). "I'd rather like to kiss my boyfriend."

"You want to—" Draco blinked at her foolishly, and she winked at him.

"Oh, I want to do _much _more than that, Draco," she drawled, and laughed at the rush of heat that painted his cheeks and ears a Weasley red. "Pureblood prude," she teased.

"I'm not a prude!" he cried indignantly.

"All right, mate, I'm sure you're not," an all-together male voice responded. Draco snapped his head up to see Blaise Zabini—thankfully one of the neutral parties of Slytherin, with no affiliations to either Light or Dark and no qualms about talking to Draco if need be—lean against the doorframe of the room.

Draco flushed harder. "Just…talking to myself," he muttered. Skye snorted, then sidled up to him to press herself against his side. He couldn't feel it, but it was _certainly _distracting and Blaise Zabini watched with some curiosity as Draco Malfoy yelped at nothing and then quickly jumped out of bed, sputtered something he couldn't catch at him, and exited their room with unseemly haste. _Something off about that one. I wonder if the isolation's getting to him? _Zabini shrugged to himself and strolled inside to grab the book he'd left under his bed and return to the library.

**A.N.: I had a lot of fun/stress relief writing this chapter. :) Hope y'all liked it! In case anyone was wondering, St. John's Wort is a plant/herb that used to be held up to the mouths of accused witches to force them to confess (Not that it worked that well in reality, I don't think…)**


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer: All the mistakes you see are mine. As are the unfamiliar characters. The rest are the intellectual and legal property of Rowling, blahdeblah. **

"Meet the team, Severus," Cassius said cheerfully, ushering the tall dark man into the private library of the Cain family manor. Severus scanned the small group of clustered witches and wizards, and nearly choked when he recognized one in particular. _Damn. How could I not have found this out before hand? How did Victor bloody _Krum _get sucked into this? _

For that matter, the young Bulgarian seeker didn't look too happy to see him either. They locked eyes for a brief moment in a silent challenge. But Severus wasn't older and more practiced in the art of intimidation for nothing, nor had he fostered his reputation for ruthlessness just for fun. The younger man flicked his eyes away, and Severus grimly turned his eyes to the others at the table. "You'll know Victor, I believe, Severus," remarked Cain without a hint of anything more than a simple introduction. "He's truly been a help with the Arithmancy on the project. You might recognize Thorfinn Rowle—he's our History and Theory of Magic expert. I don't think you've met Klara Laszlo, our lovely Charms mistress, and of course there's me. I head up the research team and liaison with the Dark Lord to keep him up to date with where we are. Oh, I also putter around a bit with a bit of Blood magic." The last was mentioned offhand, as if a casual comment, but it was obviously meant as a cue for Severus to be visibly impressed by that. Blood magic, after all, was a bit of an avoided branch of magic in the British Isles. Severus remained stoic and silent. _Spoiled, self-satisfied prig—just the same as his family. They didn't even miss their daughter when she became an unwilling resident of Azkaban pending trial. _Severus didn't like Evangeline Cain any more than he liked the rest of her family, but the heart he too often denied having lurched in disgust at a family that would simply wash their hands of a family member who was a liability rather than stand up for them. Even the Malfoys and the Blacks, cruel and insane as they were, had not abandoned their own so completely. Narcissa had regularly visited her sister in Azkaban when Bellatrix been a prisoner there.

"Well," Cain finally interjected a bit too gaily when it became obvious that Severus was not going to speak, "All of us have been looking forward to a real Potions expert and a new mind on the team. Haven't we?"

The only woman in the group, a pale, short woman, smiled playfully. "And slightly disappointed that it must be another man," she commented in a barely accented voice.

"My apologies, Madam, for being the wrong gender," Severus said smoothly, a glint of irony showing through to test for the various reactions of his new partners.

Krum raised an eyebrow, in an eerie mimicking of Severus' favorite expression himself. Cain blinked, a little confused. Both Rowle and Laszlo laughed heartily, one a baritone and the other an alto, and Severus mentally made a note to himself. This was not a group to try and trick if he could help it—they had a sense of humor. Those who didn't generally had no imagination either, and were that much less of a danger than those who had creative minds and would not hesitate to suspect him on the most ludicrous grounds, or invent brilliant, excruciating ways of torture. They were the masterminds of the war, the power behind it along with the Dark Lord, of that Severus had no doubt.

"Come, come," Laszlo finally cried, waving her arm at the open seat next to her. "Join us, and we'll explain to you what the Dark Lord has tasked us with and how we plan to do it."

"My thanks." He sank down into his seat, as Cain took the chair at the head of the table. "You are from Hungary?"

"Is it my accent that gave it away?" Laszlo grimaced. "I'd hoped it would be mostly gone by now."

"It is," Severus assured her hastily. "Merely a guess, and because one of my father's drinking buddies was from Hungary. Your accent is almost indistinguishable and your speech form is impeccable, much better than his, Madam Laszlo."

"I have worked hard on it—my father insisted," she explained. "Oh, but you are our colleague now—please, call me Klara. None of the stiff last names!"

"Then you may call me Severus," he returned courteously.

"_If _ve are done vith chatters, perhaps ve might get to vorking, yes?" Krum inserted testily.

"Oh, don't be an arse, Victor," Rowle interrupted even as Cain opened his mouth. "Klara's just getting' to know the lad. Severus, is it? I was four years above you in Hogwarts, I don't know if you remember me? I was there the night you offed Dumbledore."

"Thorfinn Rowle, Ravenclaw, prefect in your sixth year, graduated near the top of the class and nearly took a job at the Dept of Mysteries before taking a job in Ireland, researching ancient artifacts and spells for an archaeology guild," Severus replied back at the large blond man.

"Well I'll be damned," the man laughed. "You do your research well, don't you?" Severus didn't mention that he'd only done his research on the man after he'd begun cataloguing the Death Eaters who had broken into Hogwarts.

"I make it a habit to know things," was all he said instead. The brutal-faced man nodded his approval. "Good thing, knowledge. Can't have too much of it."

_And you have no idea how much you sound like Hermione at the moment. _Severus bit back the inexplicable urge to burst out laughing at what the Death Eater might have thought of possessing the same theory about knowledge as a Muggleborn witch less than half his age. _Just another example of how Hermione's getting under your walls and distracting you, Severus, _he chided himself. _She would never want you to be caught out because you were thinking of _her. He refocused his attention on the eclectic group of Death Eaters around him, thus conveniently ignoring the question that most stood out—just _why _would he be thinking of Hermione?

**--break--**

"He laid it on a bit thick with Lily, didn't he—the Dark Lord, I mean," Hermione commented nonchalantly. She glanced up worriedly at Severus through the screen of her soft, un-Hermione-like hair and eyelashes. _Wouldn't ever have thought it, but I miss my own hair. Being Milena is horrible—knowing that Severus isn't talking to _me, _but to—a gorgeous woman who doesn't look a thing like Hermione Granger. Would he be this free in my company if I were just me? Like this, I don't remind him of Hogwarts, my being his student, and all the baggage that comes with that. _

Severus snorted inelegantly. "I should say so! To go to a different universe where Lily might still be living—well, it wouldn't be _my _Lily. Not to mention quite horrific, to just…take over another world and disrupt their lives and then tell that world's Lily that she is my long-lost first love and she had to be with me for eternity? No thanks, Lord Vader!"

Spluttering, Hermione spat out a mouthful of tea and choked, coughing as some of the tea went down the wrong way. Severus eyed Hermione with a hint of amusement and fine-tuned disgust. "Well, I can't say I've ever seen Darjeeling tea treated so disrespectfully before. Oh, do calm down, girl!" He pulled out his wand and with a few flicks, Hermione's dress was clean of tea, the cup was levitated carefully back onto the table top where it was not in danger of spilling, and Hermione was taking deep gulps of air, trembling with the effort not to laugh again.

"Sorry, I just…Lord _Vader?" _

Severus lifted an eyebrow and shot her a wickedly innocent look. "Just because I did not have the best of childhoods did not mean that no one was cruel to the point of withholding _Star Wars _from a child. Not to mention the prominence of it in many Muggles' minds when I am out in the Muggle world for the Dark Lord's business."

"Oh dear," Hermione finally gasped, grinning like a fool as her breaths slowly began to level out and regulate themselves. "Very apt, although I think Harry would protest if the Dark Lord was his father."

Severus sneered. "Potter would probably kill himself first."

Hermione tipped her head sideways as if actually contemplating it. "Well actually, he'd probably kill the Dark Lord first and _then _kill himself," she corrected. "Or perhaps not. He's quite a pacifist in terms of real fighting—he's perfectly fine defending himself, but he won't attack offensively unless he has to. It sickens him to go into battle with the purpose of killing. He's still trying to argue for the use of Stunners."

"He won't have a choice about the Dark Lord if he wants to live," Severus reminded her.

Hermione nodded sadly. "Yes, I've told him that. So has Ginny and Ron and everyone else in the Order, I suspect. It doesn't change the way he feels about being the cause of someone's death. I can't blame him." She looked away, her humor drained suddenly.

"It wasn't your fault, Hermione," Severus said firmly, surprising her as he met her eyes with a fire in his that seemed to swallow her whole, devour her with its passion and depth. "None of it was your fault. You have always done what was right, more than I can say for myself, and your soul is just as pure as, if not purer than, Potter's despite anyone you might have killed or injured."

Touched, reassured, and with a sudden burning in her eyes that told Hermione that she was on the verge of tears, Hermione twitched her lips upward in a small smile, blinking hard and swallowing. When she was relatively sure she would not burst into tears, she abruptly tried to change the subject. "So, you wouldn't go back in time and try and win Lily if you could?"

Severus hesitated. Hermione's heart gave an odd wrench and she could have sworn she had a tiny rip. "I cannot say," he finally murmured thoughtfully. "If I had known the consequences of my actions—I would have never joined up this damned cause, most definitely would have kept my mouth shut rather than allowing myself to call her a- a-"

"Mudblood," Hermione supplied when he could not bring himself to say it. "It's just a word, Severus. You yourself told me that the first time you told me about the incident with Lily and the Marauders and what you did to drive her away."

Since he _had _said that, a long time ago—or so it felt like, in one of the summer meetings they had spent talking and getting to know each other over tea—Severus could not find anything to retort with, and instead continued with his train of thought. "I would probably still pursue Lily," he mused, "because I was deeply in love with her at that point. But I doubt I would have gained a reciprocity in return from her. She was already showing signs of being attracted to James Potter when the final incident shattered our friendship. And perhaps—" he grimaced, and spoke his next words unwillingly, "I might have come to accept that eventually."

"I think you would have," Hermione said frankly. "I think that you'd see that Lily and James truly loved each other, and learn to let go of the idol you set up of her. Halloween just suspended it for you—you didn't ever get real closure."

Severus didn't reply.

"I spoke with the White Witch the other day," Hermione mentioned conversationally, abruptly changed the subject. She noted that Severus seized it with relief. _Well, they aren't exactly the best memories for him._

"What did she have to say?"

"She told me about the foretelling of the children of Hogwarts."

"Ah."

"She also told me that you were the first child of Hogwarts since, oh, Dumbledore's youth."

Severus raised and eyebrow. "And it surprised you?"

"You knew. You knew that she named me one, too," Hermione accused.

"Yes, I did," he admitted unrepentantly. Voice strict, he reminded her, "I was your mentor at that time and the oldest child of Hogwarts barring Albus at that time. Albus was no doubt informed as well as to the honor you'd received, as he was notified when I received that honor. The White Witch herself told me about your new maturity."

Brushing some crumbs of the biscuits that Mippy had brought up with the tea from her silk-covered lap, Hermione pouted just a little. "That's not fair."

"Life often is that way," Severus responded with a sardonic humor. "I take it the White Witch had a point to informing you?"

"Yes, I was just getting to that." Hermione tried to ignore the way Severus' eyes were resting on her with a weight that felt as delicate and caressing as a butterfly's wing, focused on her and only her. _Even just casually listening and talking, he has such a passion to all he does—a deepness that reaches far out into the abyss for answers, no matter how trivial the matter. _It tugged insistently at her, and she swallowed and took a hasty gulp of lukewarm tea, determined to hold to her resolve of acting normally around him. _Dammit Severus, why do you have to make it so hard to act normal? _The frightening thing was to think of how quickly, how swiftly, they had gone from stilted association to being so comfortable in each other's presence that it felt as easy to relax with him as it was with her parents—that same familiar unspoken understanding of each other and acceptance. It made it oh too easy to let down her guard around him and give herself away indeed. _And oh too easy for him to be shocked, stiffen up, and I would have effectively just destroyed our friendship, which is too precious by half to risk._

"She also mentioned that she'd just named a third child of the Houses," Hermione said.

Severus lifted an eyebrow, and Hermione struggled not to stare at his finely angled face. "Oh?"

His voice was a delicious drawn out sound. _No, girl. No. Off limits. Stop staring. _"Yes, he quite impressed her apparently. She waxed rather eloquent on his behalf."

"Was it Potter?" Severus groaned derisively.

"No, actually." Hermione waited a beat, and then lifted her own eyebrow in an teasing reciprocation of his expression seconds previous. "It was Draco Malfoy."

"_Draco? Malfoy?"_

"No, Draco Potter—of course Draco Malfoy," Hermione replied with a teasing half-smile.

"Don't give me nightmares," Severus shuddered disgustedly. "Draco Potter indeed. It doesn't bear thinking about." Hermione didn't bother to hide her wicked smile. "Still—that boy has certainly grown indeed this summer, if the White Witch deemed him a true child of Hogwarts," Severus contemplated.

"Will you tell me about how you became a child of Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, and Severus, though he still had news to tell Hermione, found himself unable to say not.

"It all began when a haughty portrait deigned to talk to a sullen young man set on the path to destruction…"

An hour later, Hermione groaned as she stiffly unfurled her body from the position it had been in for much too long, wincing at the pins and needles that shot through her left leg. Stretching out her bare feet to try and get the circulation moving again, she flexed her toes and sighed. "Immortality—and we still have no clue how to go about distracting His Darkness Lord Vader." They'd long since moved from the Severus' life, for which he was rather grateful Hermione thought, to the Dark Lord's newest fetish.

Except for a tiny twitch of his lips, barely discernable, in response to the name they'd bestowed the Dark Lord, Severus remained as solemn, gazing absently at Hermione's feet. _Oops. _Hermione suppressed a blush and discreetly withdrew her bare legs, loath to curl them up underneath her again but unwilling to display someone else's body in front of Severus. _Although in this one sense, I do take a certain innate pride in knowing that my feet are prettier than Milena's! Or at least that's what Sophie always told me, that my feet were the best part of my body. Milena's are too long and thin. _

"Cassius and his…his team explained the theory of what they're trying to attempt to immortalize the Dark Lord. It's mostly still theory at this point, although they're just branching out into tentatively forming some experimental forays into how the theory might be worked out in practice."

"Explain away." Hermione leaned forward, her hand going to her side where the notebook and pen were lying, and she prepared herself to take notes.

But Severus, looking uncharacteristically hesitant, did not begin to explain. Instead, he took a quick breath, and said very calmly, "Hermione, perhaps I should tell you who was on the team."

"Oh, of course. I can't believe I didn't ask you, that's important too. Okay. Names?" Hermione poised her pen above her pad of paper, looking up expectantly.

"Thorfinn Rowle."

"The blond Death Eater," Hermione murmured, her face darkening.

"He's handling the theory side of magic. Klara Laszlo, she's from Hungary but has lived in England for much of her life. She's heading up the Charms aspect of the team. Cassius Cain, whom I've already told you about—"

"Speaking of him, his sister's trial is scheduled in a month," Hermione interrupted. "They have at least five witnesses to her killing Parvati, and of course the witnesses for the would-be raid at the Abott's. Lavendar's really been helping Padma, I think. They're always together. Ron complains sometimes that he never sees his girlfriend anymore—uh, sorry," she finally ended her babbling, biting her bottom lip. "Keep going."

Severus couldn't find it in him to tell her off. Not when she had already proved herself more than adequately his peer and equal and an adult in most senses. Not when he was about to deliver some unpleasant news.

"Hermione—the last member on the team is Victor Krum."

"No. No, that can't be right." Hermione shook her head stubbornly. The sudden icy prickling on her skin that had begun when Severus had said her friend's name wouldn't go away. Absently, Hermione wondered if it was time for another dose of Polyjuice. She ignored the sensation though, as Severus jumped up and turned his back on her, beginning to pace agitatedly.

"It was him, Hermione. They introduced him by name, and he has a very—distinguishable look. I can't fathom a reason why Krum would join. His family's never been known for any prejudices, and he _was _friends with you during the Triwizard Tournament—"

"We wrote to each other even after that," Hermione murmured distantly, clenching her fists involuntarily as slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. "We kept in contact that summer, and all throughout fifth year. His letters got shorter and shorter and finally he stopped writing the summer before sixth year. I thought it was just because we'd outgrown our brief friendship. I thought…I thought…"

Unable to continue, Hermione stopped speaking and closed her eyes as a sudden wave of grief for a friend whom she'd enjoyed bantering with—the first male who had looked at her as something more than a bushy-haired brain—a friend now lost, irrevocably, to the enemy she despised more than anything else in the world.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." A slight pause, and then an unexpected pressure on her shoulder, and Hermione realized that Severus had—voluntarily!—placed his hand comfortingly on the round of her shoulder. Hadn't she, albeit shamefully, wished that this dark and sometimes unreadable, mysterious, exasperating man would reach out to her out of his own will? That somehow, sometime, they might replicate the gentle connection she'd felt while holding his hand not so very long ago? And yet, as his long callused fingers uncertainly squeezed in sympathy, Hermione could only mourn that it had taken the absolute loss of one friend to take a step forward in the friendship of another. _The irony of the world. Life is unfair, all of it. Victor wasn't like that! He wasn't…_and yet Hermione could not call Severus a liar nor an idiot. If Victor Krum had been present and had pledged himself to the Dark Lord, then he had and Hermione would have another reason to want the reptilian dark wizard dead—the wizard who had stolen her childhood, Harry's parents, in many ways her _own _parents, Severus' freedom, and the lives of so very many people. _And I will see you dead some day soon, Voldemort, even if it means I have to kill you myself and send Harry's prophesy to hell, _she thought angrily, and her hand tightened over Severus'—

When had she lifted her hand to clasp Severus' over her shoulder? Hermione blinked in surprise. _Oh, that was not a good idea. _Reluctantly, she released his warm rough hand, and it disappeared, leaving a chilling absence where it had rested even as the wizard himself walked around the sofa to sink down elegantly into his own chair, staring broodingly off into a corner of the room.

The quiet threatened to overwhelm them—not the same kind of familiar silence they had sat in before, but a dangerous one that screamed of the pain of memories, and Hermione hastily forced the beginnings of tears back away from her eyes and sat bolt upright, picking up her pen from the floor where it'd rolled. "So, immortality. How does the bastard plan on achieving it?"

Severus, bless the man, instantly seized on the topic, glad to leave the uncomfortable realm of _feelings _behind. "Cain explained it, as he had it explained to him by the Dark Lord, just how the man was able to keep himself alive. It's highly theoretical, but when Tom Riddle first set out on his journey to make himself immortal, his first step was not to obtain immortality in the physical sense. Instead, he imagined the spirit and the mind—the consciousness—to be the most important aspects of himself to preserve, and he began to search for a way to tie them to life and existence. He did so by a complicated ritual he created himself—here—" Severus, now completely involved in his explanation, took Hermione's notebook from her hands and held his hand out for the pen as well, which she handed over after a moment.

She watched in interest—at Severus' enthusiasm for such an intellectual discourse, at his abilities to casually use a Muggle pen and paper, and of course for the explanation itself—as Severus began to draw a sketch of a line. "This is life, as we know it—linear and here," he drew a straight perpendicular line, "one crosses over from life to death. The Dark Lord theorized that if he could simply create a loop—" he drew the line again, this time with a U-shaped bump near the end of it—"then tie a knot right there, to keep the loop segregated from the rest of the string, he'd have prevented his consciousness from going in typical linear fashion from life to death."

Fascinated now entirely by not just Severus' hands deftly drawing, but rather the theory itself, Hermione sat back and furrowed her eyes. "Almost as if the existence of the mind is a bead on a string, and you simply loop and knot it so the bead is trapped within the loop?"

"Correct." Severus drew a crude bead in the loop, to further illustrate it. "He'd have had to set up the ritual to simply suspend his mind in the loop, and it would be trapped in the same space of…time, I suppose, or existence, for the rest of eternity. Even after his _physical _death."

"Is that why—I can't see how that would be very beneficial to the state of his mind," Hermione pondered.

"My thoughts exactly." Severus nodded, pleased that she'd come to the same conclusions he had when he'd first heard fron Cain just what the Dark Lord had done to himself. "I did not express this, of course, but my belief is that the Dark Lord did not think past the results and see the long-term consequences. Our consciousness is not meant to be trapped our tied into place. It is supposed to grow, to feed on new things and experience something different. It is a progression. By perverting it and trapping it in a knotted loop of existence, I believe that Tom Riddle effectively doomed himself to eventual madness as his mind traveled over the same back and forth paths of existence and beat itself against the knot trying to keep going forward like it is supposed to."

"No wonder he's plenty insane," Hermione sighed.

"He's still dangerous for all that he's insane," Severus warned, handing the notebook and pen back to Hermione.

"I know." Hermione took possession of her notes once more, and bit her lip as she wondered. "Severus—why didn't he just apply this theory to his physical body as well? Don't we travel in a linear progression physically too?"

"I was coming to that," Severus acknowledged. "The difference between our consciousness and our physical lives is that our consciousness already walks the boundaries of actual life as we know it—in dreams, in contemplation, vary rarely in true Seers. It isn't completely _anchored _to either life nor death, precisely. Our physical lives are just that—physical, not theoretical, not flexible. If you take the idea of the string or the line again—we're so tightly bound on both sides that there isn't enough slack, if you will, to make a loop and tie it, or trap a body in a loop like that."

Hermione frowned, but the analogy of the string seemed to make sense and they would probably never emerge if they got into a conversation deeper than this level. _I'll just go to the Library of Dreams and look for books on this subject to find out the factual realities of the theory rather than the five-minute summary that we have to work with here. _"Okay. That makes sense, in its own way. So, how does the Dark Lord plan on maintaining his physical life and body along with his consciousness? I suppose that loop is what kept him 'alive' in the sense of consciousness after the Killing Curse backfired on him until he could regain his body through Harry."

"By stealing the life force from other people," Severus said flatly.

For a brief moment, Hermione stared at Severus incredulously, and then she laughed. Her voice had a slightly hysterical note to it. "I'm sorry, excuse me. I must have heard wrong, I thought you just said that the Dark Lord was going to _steal _other people's life force."

Steepling his fingers, Severus slowly shook his head. "Unfortunately, Hermione, your hearing is perfectly adequate. The Dark Lord intends to extend his life indefinitely by…siphoning the magical life force of others to feed into his own core. It will, in theory, act as a replaceable force—energy, or life, that others naturally generate, that he take and uses for himself instead. Already the team has been starting to experiment with crups, creating an open channel between two of them. So far, its been successful insomuch as _sharing _power between the two goes. They've been working on making it a one-way channel, and on regulating the flow of life energy."

Swallowing, Hermione glanced up and met Severus' eyes, her own horrified and grim. "How fast will the research move, do you think?"

"Faster than we would like. I suspect within the next few months, even with any hindrance I can offer, they'll make it possible to create the same sort of channel for humans—wizards and witches, at least—and perhaps even create a one-way channel of the sort the Dark Lord would require. Without any method of regulation, which is their biggest concern and the reason I'm on the team, the flow of power from the source to the Dark Lord can be disastrous on both ends. Too little, and its useless. Too much, and the source dies instantly, and if it's a lot of power, the Dark Lord himself may…explode, of sorts, from the excess of power."

"So—perhaps a year, a year and a half, before it becomes a reality?" Hermione asked softly.

"Or less. I wouldn't underestimate those on the team. They are a formidable gathering of minds," Severus noted.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Victor and I would argue over magical theory and the like…he was my only source of actual intellectual conversation for a while." She paused, and struggled with her sorrow and growing sense of fury at the betrayal her onetime friend had committed. "I will let the Order know. No doubt it will be an interesting meeting." She rubbed her forehead, and groaned at the manifesting headache.

"It takes the immediate pressure off us, at least," Severus pointed out. "The Dark Lord will not be planning any major raids, attacks, or battles, nor will he be going after Potter, for the next year or so, until it becomes feasible for him to attain immortality. He and the Death Eaters will be lying low for the most part, mostly recruiting and spreading general unrest among the population.

"It gives Harry some leeway to learn what he can and train, I suppose" Hermione said. "But at the same time, it also opens the war to one more potentially dangerous, if the Dark Lord is bent on not just revenge and killing Harry, but on destroying the entire opposition and taking power universally. And of course, it would be practically impossible to win the war once he gained his goal of true immortality and not the half-version he possesses now."

"As it is, now he is hard to destroy—he's still anchored to life, or at least his spirit and consciousness is tied down to this reality," Severus added, his eyes finally moving from Hermione's toes to a distant point off to the side. "Perhaps—along with finding ways to sabotage this new plot, if we could find out what just what ritual tied the loop and trapped his consciousness in the reality and—cut it, for lack of a better term—it would then give Potter the ability to finish him off."

"So, I suppose the only thing to do is to wait, to keep training Harry and the DA, and try to sabotage the research that the Dark Lord's having you do—well, I suppose that's when Li, Minerva, Ron, and the tactical team of the Order come in since they're the most likely to be able to project an estimate of the future based on what knowledge we have, and figure out the best strategy to approaching the Dark Lord's new plans." Hermione sighed. "I swear, half this entire job is just—_waiting. _Don't you ever get bored of it, Severus?"

He blinked once, and then gave her an ironic quirk of his lips. "I may consider myself successful, for you have finally learnt the first lesson of every good spy—the entire job is wrapped up in waiting. For people, for dates, for major events, for information, that is our work essentially. Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've just graduated Spymanship 101." Hermione scrunched her nose at him and his smile grew just a tad bigger. Hermione luxuriated in having made him smile, even as her throat tightened at the fact that she would never ever attract such a man as herself.

Just as she was about to once again tell herself off for slipping back into foolish schoolgirl-type thoughts, Mippy _popped _into existence and startled both Severus and Hermione. "Master, Mistress, Bad-Not-Man comes! He is lookings for Master!"

Hermione didn't need a translator. One look at the frantic house-elf and Severus' suddenly bloodless face told her that the Dark Lord had arrived for an impromptu visit at Prince Manor, and Hermione was in jeopardy. _Uh oh. _

"Uh oh" didn't even begin to cover the terror that Hermione felt. No matter how much she hated the monster and how brave she was in facing Death Eaters in battle, she couldn't shake the soul-deep fear of the inhuman _thing _that had wreaked so much havoc and pain in her life and the lives of those around her.

Jumping up, Hermione began to wrestle her feet into her ridiculously high shoes. They didn't seem to quite fit right though, and another wave of horror washed over Hermione when she realized why. _She'd forgotten to take another dose of Polyjuice. _"Severus," she gasped, her head snapping up as she groped at her neck for the vial that was, today, hung around her neck by a silver chain.

"Hermione. Hermione, calm down." Severus' deep, authoritative tone soothed her senses even as she struggled to open the phial and take a sip. "It will be fine. The Dark Lord has never seen fault with any of his Death Eaters having the occasional paid flower. Breathe, woman!" He swept over to where Hermione, pale and shaken, was still fumbling with the cap of the phial. Gently taking it from her, his fingers swiftly unscrewed the top and he put the bottle to her lips. "Sip," he ordered.

Bemused, breathless, her eyes darting up to meet his black ones, Hermione let her lips part and obeyed as the glass phial tipped and allowed a trickle of the potion to run down her throat. The effects were immediately obvious. Hermione once again felt the unpleasant ripple of cold as her body shifted, changed, filled out the dress she'd been wearing properly once more—_how did I not notice that the dress didn't feel like it was fitting right anymore when I first morphed back?—_and she was able to slide her feet into her heels once more. "Disorder yourself, and put yourself back into Milena," Severus snapped, allowing the empty phial thump back against her thudding chest. She tucked it beneath her dress, so that it hung cool next to her heart.

Heeding his advice, Hermione took a deep breath and quickly rumpled her clothing and hair, sucking strenuously on her bottom lip to make it appear swollen and "ravished". _Thanks, Ginny, for that tip. Not that you know how much it's essential to my act, of course. _

Rising, she joined Severus as he strode towards the door. "He generally won't talk more than briefly to hired girls," he informed her as she caught up with him. "Keep your act up, don't challenge him, and Apparate out of here as soon as you can possibly do so without arousing suspicion for leaving _too _fast."

Before his hand on the handle of the door could press down and break the wards of the room, Hermione caught him by his wrist. "Severus—before we leave, I wanted to ask why you didn't notice me turning back into me."

"Must you always ask the most inane questions at the most inconvenient times, girl?" He snarled venomously, far more acidly than he'd addressed Hermione in a long time. Hermione opened her mouth, and found to her horror that she was close to tears. _He doesn't mean it. He's under stress. You know Severus always resorts to being horrid when he's under enormous stress, _she told herself. To her newly sensitive heart, it didn't matter.

Perhaps some of that might have appeared in her gaze, for Severus hesitated, and some of his vitriol fell from his face, just for an instant. "Silly girl," he murmured. "I did notice. I simply enjoyed talking to the real Hermione once more, not to one trapped in the body of some other girl I do not know nor respect." And with that surprising statement, Severus pushed open the door and the relative safety of his quarters fell away, and Milena stepped up ruthlessly to shove the gaping Hermione Granger into the furthest corner of her mind.

She sensed him before she saw him, and the power-hungry woman in Milena felt a leap of respect for the obviously dominant being that appeared, despite his red-eyed, reptilian features. Even as Hermione gibbered and cowered like a fool in the recesses of her mind, wishing that she could simply bury her face in Severus' chest and beg him to get her out of there, Milena looked in disgust at her and instead merely glided along the hallway by Severus. The wizard before her stopped, and looked at her in a quizzical manner before looking back at Severus, who immediately stopped and bowed to the more powerful. "My Lord. This is most unexpected. Forgive me for not being better prepared." He flicked a dismissive glance at Milena. She arched an eyebrow at him in silent challenge. "You may go," he ordered.

Milena _hated _being ordered around. Hermione reminded her that that had been her orders before leaving his quarters. Before she could respond, the Dark Lord interrupted. "I had never thought to see you so human, Sseverus," he crowed, obviously delighted. "Who is this beautiful young lady, may I ask?"

"Milena, my Lord," Milena said before Severus could reply. She swept a curtsy to him, her eyes demurely down—until she rose out of her dip. Then her eyes rose to meet with the red pupils in a saucy, lazy, flirtatious manner. "Severus has been quite…generous company. I do hope he will be able to…continue our meetings?"

"Of course, Milady," the Dark Lord barked in amusement, even as Severus' cheeks turned a dark shade of red. _Interesting. The man is most likely putting on a show, since he's generally able to control his blushes. _Coolly, Milena-Hermione analyzed the situation, and decided to go for the broke.

"I won't keep you from your important business, Severus," she purred seductively at the wizard by her side, "But I do hope when you have a free moment you remember me."

"As always," Severus acknowledged a little curtly with a hint of desire. Milena smiled slyly, and unexpectedly moved, pressing her body up against Severus' own hard, warm body as she slid one hand up his back and leaned upwards to luxuriously let her lips linger over his cheek, just brushing by his mouth—_soft, so soft, Hermione thought in stunned amazement in the back of her mind—_and then stepped backwards, nodding towards the Dark Lord before allowing her own peal of low, purring laughter follow her down the hallway and outside, to where nobody could see her Apparate away into the unknown.

**A.N.: It was an all-round lousy week, so if the writing quality's off—I'm really sorry! Thanks to everyone who continue to read, those who take the time to review- you're the best reward a writer could ever have.**


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer: I establish absolutely no claim to the works of JKR. Don't sue me.**

What had he meant?

What in Hades' blazing _hell _had he meant by his last words to her in explanation of his omission in telling her of her transformation back into Hermione from Milena? Hermione, minus the heels but still in the form and outfit of Milena agitatedly ran a hand through her hair and was disgusted to find how easily it felt, her unnatural tresses silky-smooth and with no kinks or inevitable tangle to catch on her fingers.

'I simply enjoyed talking to the real Hermione' — _gods, what was that supposed to mean? Just what the hell did Severus mean, and did he really imply…just exactly what I think he implied? _'Not one trapped in the body…' _He respected her. _That was a logical enough statement to make sense to Hermione, grasping after straws of sanity like a thirsty man after water. If he had said that he wanted to talk to the personage of herself as herself, and not as someone else he did not 'know or respect', that meant that he _did _know her and respect her, Hermione.

_Making progress here. _Hermione carefully took a breath, and ventured further with her _logical _analysis of what had occurred. He considered her a friend. A friend—well, she couldn't exclaim over it, though it warmed her with a glow that made her feel almost beautiful as herself and not a Polyjuiced imposter. She _had _been angling, striving for that very thing after all, determined to win a precious spot as his friend, when he'd admitted so few to his private affairs. Even Minerva could not claim more than a casual, mutual respect with him—or had, when they'd been colleagues. Before. Only two people, she suspected, had formerly truly penetrated Severus' shields to be considered a _friend. _Albus Dumbledore, and Lily Evans.

Hermione had been done her homework back when she'd been a simple school girl, merely friends with Harry Potter and when her biggest fear had been the child's nightmare of failing out of school or being expelled. Newspaper clippings and old yearbooks were much, much more telling than anything—the small, unobtrusive announcement under _Weddings _that Eileen Prince had married Tobias Snape and later, had given birth to a son, the rare picture in Hogwarts where a young first year Severus had walked closely by a vibrant little slip of a girl with red hair and Harry's green eyes, the third year photograph of Severus and Lily, far in the background of a smiling group of sixth years, as he diffidently took her heavy books from her, shrinking them and tucking them in his pocket while she smiled gratefully at his thoughtfulness…and then, a graduating seventh year class, Lily wrapped securely in the arms of a grinning James Potter surrounded by his friends, while Severus scowled dourly from the furthest point, though his eyes kept wandering to the girl and his gaze flashing an almost impossible to catch glimpse of endless sorrow and grief.

Hermione was not stupid, and when Severus had first began to share his past with Lily Evans-Potter with her, his depthless eyes alternating between faraway worship and pain, she'd had her final suspicions confirmed. _Now, he says that he wouldn't go back and change things? Or rather that it's past, and he has moved on? _

Okay, perhaps she wasn't doing so well with reasoning. Hermione sighed and let her eyelids slide shut, and felt her body ripple silently. When she opened them again, her body was that of herself, her hair tickling her cheek, and it was with relief that she determinedly stripped herself and marched, stark naked, to the bathroom where she examined herself ruthlessly in the mirror (which was thankfully of the silent variety). She wasn't sensual nor seductive like Milena-Faina, not classically attractive like—well, Narcissa Malfoy came to mind. She wasn't charismatically cute, like Lily Evans. She was…blandly pretty. Not too ugly, but nothing remarkable either. Plain, simple. Nice shape, although her body was slightly shorter and plumper than she wished—despite her vigorous work out sessions, she _still _wasn't as built as Hestia, or Danielle even. Her hair was an ordinary brown. Nothing to exclaim about. Really, what was there about her that would capture anyone's attention?

_He wanted to talk to you as you. _Sick of staring at herself, Hermione flicked her wand and her bathrobe drifted over to where she could pluck it out of the air and yank it on. She was _not _going to hope. She was _not _going to think about the possibility that Severus might view her as anything more than a friend. She was _not _going to set herself up for disappointment. Extinguishing the lights, Hermione left the bathroom and resolutely went in search of the Library of Dreams. It was time for some extensive research on theories of immortality and draining power from others.

**--break--**

_She'd kissed him. _

_She'd touched him, voluntarily, and then—in full view of the most terrifying claim to monster the Wizarding World had faced since Grindelwald, had brushed her's (no, not hers, _Milena's) _smooth, unnaturally hot lips across the sensitive skin of his cheek, his lips—_

Throat dry, Severus sat down heavily and simply stared at the sofa that one Hermione Granger had just vacated, a bare hour earlier. The Dark Lord hadn't wanted much but to hear from Severus himself what he thought of his little research project and working with the team.

How had she done it? Willingly? She hadn't had to do it. Her act as Milena would have been convincing enough for her to simply leave. _She willingly did it, _his mind whispered incredulously. If it hadn't been so ridiculous and unHermione-like, he would have suspected her of hiding Potter and Weasley by her and doing it as a cruel prank, a practical joke or dare.

_Hermione is not like her friends. She's much too sensible, too ethical, to do so. _Still…_what was she thinking? Or was she thinking at all? Was she solely Milena, and when she left was utterly disgusted at having done what she did? Will she regret it? Of course she will. No one willingly kisses the greasy bat of the dungeons, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, and favored Death Eater. Not even another Death Eater. She's probably taking a boiling hot shower right now, trying to scald my touch off of her body. _

But _that _brought to his paralyzed mind images, images he'd rather not think of, of the girl—no, woman—that he'd come to see as his only living friend dripping, a tantalizing glimpse of brown skin, the gentle curves—_no. _Severus shook his head wildly from side to side, like a dog might fling water off his body, violently trying to rid himself of the images. _I will not disrespect Hermione by picturing her nude, _he thought grimly. _She deserves better than to have an old pervert lusting after her. _

Is that what this was? He was _lusting _after a woman twenty years younger than he, a woman he'd taught in class as recently as last year, would still be teaching if the world hadn't gone to pieces? Feeling sick, Severus nevertheless forced his mind back over everything that had occurred, every minute detail of their visit, of the summer in general…

She'd moved so gradually from irritating nuisance to competent pupil to caring friend to—to whatever she was now, that Severus had missed it, but now he stared into space and realized that Hermione Granger had grown up. Not that it was news to him—objectively he'd known that she'd been an adult in her maturity, and just about in age as well. Perhaps still more innocent relatively to him, but hers was not the first innocence that children possessed, the black-and-white perspective on the world and the innate, unchallenged faith in something good. No, Hermione had not been a child in that sense for over a year now. And perhaps more importantly, she'd made the rocky transition from child to adult and peer in _his _eyes over the course of the year and the events of the summer, he realized.

No, Hermione was no child and Severus had known that. So why did it hit him anew again, with a kind of stunned shock that trickled like melting ice from his brain down his spine? _Because you can all too easily see yourself attracted to her—she is no longer a student nor a child, and that lifts the strict barriers you've erected around your ethical boundaries. _

It was a disturbing thought, but Severus was nothing if not determined and mentally strong, and he'd be damned if he didn't sort through the plethora of _emotion _and confusion he was feeling at the moment, not when it could potentially jeopardize his position and all they'd worked for and gained in the war against the Dark Lord. So, it was time to think rationally.

It was harder, with the complications of the Polyjuice. Milena was gorgeous and sultry, alluring to watch. But she wasn't _Hermione, _exactly. Milena was a construct of someone else's body and Hermione's acting skills. Severus coldly acknowledged that yes, he was attracted to Milena—what red-blooded man would not be, for Salazar's sake? But Severus had seen beautiful women before, and he'd been in the presence of seductive, sirenish women, and he'd learned a long time ago that there was only empty words and a pretty face there. Even if they were smart, they hid it—a clever woman was a threatening one, and a threatening one—in the world of the Dark Lord—was either meant to pledge allegiance as a Death Eater, as Bellatrix had done, or simply be killed.

It was why he'd been slightly reluctant to agree to Severus' begged boon of sparing Lily. Not that it had mattered whether he'd promised, in the end, since he'd killed her in his obsessive need to eliminate her son. _Lily, Lily, why didn't you simply let him kill Potter? He'd have spared you…_but even as the familiar refrain ran through his mind, Severus knew that it was a useless, pointless, question. Lily would have never done it, never have stepped passively aside to let someone murder anyone—not a stranger on the street, and most especially not her own son whom Severus could not deny she had loved with all the heart he'd once wished he possessed.

_You don't anymore, though, do you? You regret having been the cause of Lily's death, you ache at the thought of what might have been—but you don't love her anymore. You remember her with the bittersweet sensation of first love, but you don't _love _her anymore. _Severus pensively leaned his head against the high back of the chair he was in, a momentary aberration—displaying weakness. _Hermione. _

Oh yes, she was definitely a weakness. Not in herself, but in him rather—he'd gotten too close, allowed the impudent chit to wander too close to his walled up heart, and now he was reaping the emotional turmoil that came with it. _Blasted girl. _His mind went automatically to the way she'd looked, one moment a poised and polished Milena and the next, when he'd turned back at the end of his pacing away, clenching her fists and so gloriously herself with all her imperfections and stubborn furrow on her forehead as she struggled with the devastating news of the betrayal of an old friend. It had been too long since he'd seen her in her natural form and Severus wondered whether he was going a little mad, because he'd actually thought her atrocious frizzy hair charmingly distracting, her smaller, shorter, and softer frame more welcoming than the seductive line of her Polyjuiced form, and her feet—well, suffice to say her feet were _much _more alluring than the elegant bony ones of Milena.

_Damn it, stop thinking about her. _But still, Severus couldn't shake the impression he'd had as she animatedly discussed the Dark Lord and immortality. Her bright eyes, sparkling with discovery and intelligence that were muted down in Milena's face. Her small hand reaching up to clasp his, the roundness of her shoulder clad in silk beneath his own fingers, deceptively soft—he _knew _that there was muscle beneath his hand, agonizingly built up over the year in training. As her bossy, sometimes cutting, sometimes oddly childish and delighted, voice echoed around his mind Severus groaned, and closed his eyes tightly. Oh yes, Hermione Granger was a remarkable weakness in him, and Severus didn't know how it had happened but it certainly didn't bode well for him the next time he had to Occlude against the monster he called master.

**--break--**

"_Only _Stunners, Disarming spells, and Protegos," Ron called to the group of students he was watching closely. "MacMillan, that means you too!" Ernie spared a brief nod at Ron, only to be hit by a Stunning spell from the side by Susan Bones. "Constant Vigilance, folks," Ron roared, sounding very much look Moody and looking as if he were enjoying himself immensely. Hermione exchanged amused glances with Remus. They'd both been free this time, so they were both at this meeting. _Not to mention it's actually Remus' turn, but this way I can take my mind off a certain dark-haired, intense, infuriating man. _

On the far side of the room, Harry quietly interjected to chide someone else for using a spell they weren't supposed to use. Draco was cutting out quite a swath of destruction with his Stunners in that group, she noticed. _His training's really been paying off! Even Remus is impressed, I can tell. _Glancing at the conjured timer, Hermione realized that the last few grains of sand were trickling through the hourglass, and just as she was about to mention it, Remus put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply.

The students jumped, collectively, at the shrill sound, and Hermione grinned delightedly. _Maybe I can get Remus to teach me how to do that! _Harry immediately began to gather everyone back into the middle, and around the room, students Reenervated their companions and handed back various wands to their proper owners. "Okay, what did this exercise teach you? Other than brushing up a bit on the basic skills, that is," Harry added.

"That battle is much more chaotic than a straight duel like we'd expect," Ginny contributed.

"That a good Protego isn't enough to win," called out someone else.

"That you need to see the spell heading towards you to be able to counter it," remarked a third rather ruefully—he'd been knocked out early on in the practice fight by a Stunner from behind when someone had sneaked up around him.

"Those are all true," Harry nodded to those who had spoken up. "More than that, though—I noticed that some of you, when you were disarmed, froze up and were taken down by a Stunner right after, but some of you managed to stay in the fight for the rest of the time. Can any of you tell me why?"

It was Dean Thomas who spoke up, a slightly smug look on his face. "It was mostly us Muggleborns who didn't equate no wand with being defenseless, Harry. I think we're just more used to doing stuff physically—I know I lost my wand to Hannah halfway through, but she couldn't catch up to me with a Stunner because I kept dodging it and moving. My Mum told me that if someone's got a gun pointed at you, you still have a better chance if you make a dash for it, because its harder to hit a moving target than a still one."

"That's right." Harry seized on Dean's explanation although at least two thirds of the students looked baffled at the reference to guns. "We're _humans _first and wizards and witches second. That means when someone's aiming a wand at you and you don't have one to defend yourself with, you _move. _Chances are, the wizard or witch you're up against will not have ever trained particularly in target practice, and won't be accurate when trying to hit you with a spell. Got it?"

"Got it," chorused the students of the DA, some more enthusiastically than others. _Too bad they don't have Severus here to train them. They'd be much further along than they are now. _Or perhaps not. He might have scared them all to death by now. _Never mind. Maybe it's a good thing they have Harry and Ron to teach them. _

Still, it would have been nice to have Severus safe and sound in Hogwarts. Not that he'd be very safe right now, with the entire castle of students and teachers except for perhaps Minerva out for his blood for betraying them and killing the Headmaster. _But it would be nice, _she found herself thinking wistfully._And then perhaps he would tell me what he really meant by saying that he wanted to talk to me as me. _Hermione's mind short-circuited once again at the words he'd said, half-impatiently, half-kindly—obviously sincere, for his eyes had caught hers and connected with her gut, and she _knew _that he wasn't lying. She was a spy too, after all. _But damn it, we've already gone over this time and time again—he may not be in love with Lily Evans any more but that doesn't mean he's going to suddenly fall in love with you, his former student and bossy know-it-all!_

"Uh, Hermione?"

"Wha—yes?" Hermione snapped her head up, a bit embarrassed at being caught daydreaming. The entire DA stared expectantly. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I asked, Professor Granger, if you'd show us what a real fight looks like? So that we know what to work up to?" It was Ginny asking, a bit of a glint in her eye. Harry shrugged helplessly at her, and Ron simply winked and smirked. _Harry must have told her about my demonstration with Hestia, _she thought darkly. _Technically not allowed but I can't really say anything seeing as how I told Ginny more than I should have about the Severus issue. _But even as Hermione opened her mouth to protest, the image of Ginny standing terrified before Dolohov slid to mind. _I can't let them go into this unprepared. _She looked around, saw children—some perhaps "older" than her, but all of them with the innocence and trust of childhood shining from their very stances, their very faces. Even Harry, groomed from cradle for fulfilling a prophesy and destined to meet Voldemort, still had an aura of purity around him that made Hermione's throat tighten. She hadn't had that feeling, that trust that everything would eventually turn out okay, in so _long. But—I wouldn't trade it for the world, not when it brought me Severus' friendship. Even if I want more because I'm an idiot and a masochist. Still, being his friend, it's worth it. Even the pain. _But if she could, she wanted to at least save the lives of her schoolmates—if not their original innocence that she doubted would last if Hogwarts was truly besieged and attacked enforce by Death Eaters and their leader, then their physical lives at least.

"Fine," she sighed, and watched in resignation at the brightening of the students' eyes. "Then here are the rules—Remus, would you join me?" She turned to the older man who'd been grinning along with Ginny, and who now abruptly widened his eyes. She barely restrained herself from sticking out her tongue at him and saying _so there. _Instead, she smiled wickedly. "I'm sure we have different fighting styles, so the DA can observe them both."

Trapped, Remus had to agree and Hermione strode to the front of the room. "Okay, here's the deal. Professor Lupin and I will duel—no rules, no holding back except for Unforgivables, as if we were fighting in a battle. Keep on your toes, though—at some point, I'm going to give him a signal you might or might not catch, and we're both going to turn and attack _you. _I expect you to defend yourselves with everything you have, barring Unforgivables. Understand?"

"Understood," chorused the room. Hermione turned and noticed Draco's sudden gleam of excitement in his grey eyes. He had been bored by the slow progress of the DA. _Don't blame him. _Remus looked slightly apprehensive.

"Hermione, are you _sure—" _

"They need it," she interrupted him, voice pitched as softly as his had been. "I'd rather they all get Stunned here and learn that two skilled fighters can take down all of them, than learn that one Death Eater can kill the entire school when it happens." He acknowledged that with a terse nod. "I'm going to use the Order signal for attack," Hermione continued, even more softly.

Remus nodded again. The Order-trained operatives had a simple hand communication as well as several code words for different coordinated efforts in a battlefield—Severus had taught her, drilled them into her early on in her training. She'd not had to use them, really—in fact, she'd almost forgotten that they existed—but it was always useful to have a means of fast communication in a life-or-death situation.

"Harry, if you'd say 'go' for us?"

"Oh—er, right. One—two—three…_go!" _Unleashing herself in a fluid motion, Hermione gloried in the primal exhilaration of fighting someone once again, someone alive and with the battle-light raring in his eyes. Remus himself looked suddenly as ferocious as his wolfish self, and Hermione, in her battle-lust, fed on it and felt her mouth stretch in what was probably a rather evil-looking smile. They both cast silently. Remus fought much like the wolf he turned into during the full moon—tight, loping, elegantly hurling spells at her, a sudden shift in his stance warning her—

She dodged, throwing herself flat and rolling to send a sizzling curse past his ear, smoothly on her feet once more, nerves tingling wildly with anticipation. It gave her the edge as she dodged a series of spells whipping by her with a mere hairsbreadth to spare, returning them with alacrity.

She'd never dueled with Remus before. She _had _seen him out on the battlefield at the Ambush of Hogwarts, as the battle on the first day of classes had begun to be called informally. He'd been impressive then—in a different style than Severus' own deadly grace or Hermione's Muggle-mixed fighting. Despite his normally unassuming presence, the coldly analytical part of Hermione's mind noted that already the eyes of the DA were riveted, some gaping openly at the sudden transformation their former classmate and their mild and pleasant professor had undergone in the instant between being themselves to being _opponents. _

Remus got in the first hit of the duel, but although the uncommon muscle-cramping hex to her side had her doubled over in pain, Hermione took advantage of the brief hesitation right after he'd cast the spell to throw one back at him, drawing first blood when a slicing hex winged him on the shoulder.

"A hit, a hit, a palpable hit!" Exclaimed someone in the crowd, and Hermione smirked briefly despite her breathlessness. She'd have to find out later which DA student was a fan of William Colgreve. Both recovering, Remus and Hermione circled each other warily several more times before Hermione attacked first, and Remus threw up a _Protego, _and the battle began to play itself out in rapid succession.

It was in the middle of the nonstop sallying that Hermione suddenly crossed her fingers on her left hand, the one not holding her wand, and made the tiniest forward saluting motion, Remus blinked in acknowledgement, and without further ado they had ceased fire on each other and turned as one on the unprepared DA.

"Well, that was rather an unmitigated disaster," Ginny said forthrightly at the end of it. Stifling a grin at the disgruntled looks on Harry's face, Hermione shook her head solemnly.

"Oh no, you all did very well considering that this is so early in the year and you haven't had any training other than previous DA lessons for you original members, and our rather…unconventional…professors for Defense of the Dark Arts—Professor Lupin excepted," Hermione added with a smile and nod towards Remus.

The man smiled, almost wolfishly, still not quite back in his role as quiet, gentle professor yet after the disorganized chaos they'd wrought against the DA. "Thank you, Professor Granger," he said with all seriousness. "She's very right. None of you must give up simply because you did badly today. It simply shows us where we need to work on, personally and as a group. R- Mister Weasley, I believe your club might be benefited greatly from your particular skills in tactical arrangements?"

Despite all of Ron's maturation in the past summer and year, he was still Ron and he looked at Remus in a puzzled manner until Remus finally shook his head and signaled that he'd talk to the boy after the meeting was broken up.

"Harry, I can definitely see that you and Ron have been practicing together, you played off each other's moves like true partners," Hermione went on. "And—Ginny, just where did you learn that spell that makes me unable to feel my arm at the moment?"

Ginny blushed. "Ah—it wasn't really meant for your arm, nor for you generally, actually. Fred and George taught it to me to use against unwanted attention from men."

"Oh." Hermione raised an eyebrow, and glanced at where her arm was still an unpleasant almost-dead-weight by her side. _Looks like I'll be visiting Madame Pomfrey after this. Teaches me that even untrained witches and wizards can take me down if motivated enough, _she thought ruefully. "Well, it certainly hampered me from taking you out right then, anyway. Good job."

"You took me out ten minutes later," Ginny pointed out wryly.

"It bought you time, enough that in a real situation Aurors or other adults or even your friends could have aided you and taken me down," Hermione replied. Her eyes continued a sweep of the room. "Draco—nice job. You've been practicing. You were one of the last ones standing, and you have very fast reflexes."

He bowed from where he was sitting, half propped up by the wall, looking every bit as tired as the rest of the students. She smiled at him and moved on to give comments to others, of praise or advice, with Remus chipping in often with his own thoughts. Finally, Harry stood, heaving himself off the ground. "Well I'm for a hot shower and bed," he declared. "I say we did fairly well and we'll learn how to do better. That's the reason we're having these organized lessons."

"Well said, Har- Mister Potter," Remus chuckled, and without much more circumstance, amid the groans of students getting up from their sprawled positions on the floor, the room emptied and vanished into the ether where it waited silently for the next time it was needed—for Hogwarts was patient.

**--break--**

"A very well cast spell on the wrong gender and wrong _part," _Madame Pomfrey tsked, her wand moving in efficient loops and swishes over Hermione's numb arm. "What are the sensations you're feeling?"

"Mostly like my entire arm has fallen asleep—it's numb, like it's not connected to _me _at all," Hermione admitted honestly, from her seat on the edge of the hospital bed.

"Yes, that would be indicative of the hex Miss Weasley claims to have used. You really must be more careful in your little sessions, Miss Granger, I can't have injuries pouring up here after every time you practice your dueling prowess," the school Healer reprimanded in a no-nonsense tone.

Hermione began protesting, but to no avail. One look and Madame Pomfrey had silenced her. _The woman should be running the Order, I swear. I bet that the Death Eaters would run away from her attempts to fix them up. She's bloody intimidating! _Although, perhaps not so much as the overtly mothering Molly. Hermione liked the matriarch of the Weasley family, but she was certainly glad her own mother had chosen to have only one child, and had been very reasonable indeed in granting Hermione her own space to grow and explore and experiment…

Remus, sitting on yet another hospital bed, shot her a glance dancing with humor, and Hermione scowled at him openly as Madame Pomfrey bustled off to get something. "Do stop gloating, Remus," she said irritably. "It doesn't suit you."

"You sound like an old, ill-tempered bluestocking," he retorted.

"Welcome to the twentieth century, old fogey, where women aren't all airheads and idiots," she hissed back at him.

"No, some of them enjoy doling out injuries left and right. I am simply a sucker for pain from beautiful women," he said too-placidly.

Hermione snorted in disbelief. "Is that why our Tonks so enjoys spending her afternoons with you on her days off?"

"What are you implying about me, Miss Granger?"

"Nothing at all, Professor Lupin."

"Detention for your cheek in talking back to a teacher," Remus said in a low, snarly _very _bad imitation of Severus' silky, dangerous tones. The only success it had was the fact that Hermione could recognize it. _Although that's perhaps maybe only because I spend so much time thinking about him and reveling in the time I spend with him that I would automatically recognize anything remotely half-similar to his voice…_

"And fifty points from Gryffindor," she added with a queer half-formed smile on her face, her voice a slightly closer approximation of Severus' intimidating hiss. "That's what he'd probably say."

Remus made a face. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have brought him up."

Hermione shook her head. "We're going to have to come to accept, at some point, that he—well. And move on. Albus wasn't perfect. He was too trusting at times. Se—Snape knew that, and he planned ahead much further than we did. Our mistake, and it won't be made again." _There. Not a lie, not at all. It's all true, but it doesn't give Remus any suspicions about Severus' true loyalties. Not that I don't trust him, but I'm not going to jeopardize Severus any further than he already is. _

Remus opened his mouth to answer, but any reply he might have made was cut off by Madame Pomfrey's return, with several potions and balms of which she shoved down his throat to ensure that he wouldn't collapse of blood loss from the small cuts he'd received and a soothing balm to apply to his bruises. He was sent on his way, and another potion and a spell later, Hermione had received the use of her arm back, although it was still rather numb—like the sensation of pins and needles—and an offer of another small tin of the balm for her bruises.

Hermione took the bruise balm, and refrained from mentioning that she still had a small, half-used jar of the stuff left—a treasured possession Severus had given her last year, when he'd reacted so strongly and nearly killed her in his office, slamming her into the wall and creating a circle of purpling skin around her neck. _How long ago it seems. _Thanking Madame Pomfrey for her assistance, Hermione wandered off, entering her own rooms, where she opened the tin and sniffed at the ointment within. The scent was disturbingly familiar, for something she hadn't used _since _that incident, and rarely even then before that. She'd simply put the jar away and forgotten about it…jumping to action, Hermione dug under her bed to pull out the unique first aid kit she'd put together and simply tossed the jar into when packing. Unscrewing the top, she took an experimental whiff. _Definitely the same smell. I'm not hallucinating. Spearmint and the tiniest hint of a lemony sort of smell—that's probably the leopard's bane. _Hermione knew the rest of the ingredients of the healing balm but she didn't have a sensitive enough nose to discern the notes of each individual essence that went into creating it. Eschewing the tin Madame Pomfrey had given her, a tiny little thing meant to be handed out to students who were constantly getting into scrapes, Hermione tentatively dipped two fingers into the jar she'd received from Severus and swiped them luxuriously on the bruise she'd exposed, already turning greenish-blue on her thigh.

The cream instantly washed her skin with a cooling presence, no doubt the spearmint's properties, and Hermione was swept along with the sensation to the memory of Severus' hands on her, gently smoothing the unguent onto her sensitive skin of her neck. _Dare I hope that he might do it voluntarily one day again—touch me that intimately? _This time Hermione allowed the turmoil of her confused, overwhelimg emotions to swamp her body as she curled up on her bed, clutching the jar he'd given her, closing her eyes tightly breathing in the mint and lemon smell.

**A.N.: Leopard's Bane is another name for Arnica, which is a plant with bright yellow flowers which have properties of healing, including for bruises in some traditional externally applied medicines. It is supposed to have a lemony scent—although I wouldn't quote me on this, since I got it off a random website. If I've made any errors please tell me and I'll try and correct them. In case you've forgotten the instance Hermione is remembering with the bruise balm/strangling episode (it's been awhile…) it was back in chapter 22 although I never mentioned the smell of the healing balm Severus used. **

"**A hit, a hit, a palpable hit" is a quote from William Congreve's play **_**The Way of the World. **_

**I thought the week before this was bad. This was ten times worse in busyness. So…sorry for the delay, and if there are mistakes in this chapter or you didn't like it. I hope next week is better? :)**


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, HP is Rowling's, so please don't sue!**

_Mum and Dad,_

_Goodness, please be careful! Just because you are in the Wizarding World now, doesn't mean Muggle laws do not still apply. I do trust you to read up on the regulations concerning the illegalities employing explosives. I would hate to see you shipped off to prison for dabbling in bombs and other criminal activities. However, the idea about bringing Muggle-style warfare to the Death Eaters is an interesting premise, and certainly Jasper's ideas have merit. Oh, congratulations to he and Beth, as well—they were just married, weren't they? _

_It occurred to me to ask how you came to fall in love with each other and end up together? You've told me the story of how you met in college, and married after you both graduated, but that was quite a while ago when I was still a child. I think I'd like to hear the real, (mostly) unedited version now that I'm older. _

_I've been keeping quite busy, between researching the new information that has just come to light about Voldemort, teaching Potions, observing the DA, and of course, the usual business of my second "job" as an Order member. Perhaps you can help out a bit with the research? I will ask the Order today whether or not they can authorize me to enlighten you to the subject of the research I'm conducting so that you can utilize that wonderful library and perhaps find something I'm missing. _

_I will write again soon, but I have a second year Potions class in twenty minutes and must prepare. Not to mention reminding Slughorn that he really _must _brew Pepper Up, because the beginnings of the flu and other various illnesses are beginning to circulate. Honestly, that man is such a disorganized mess I marvel that he ever lasted a year as a teacher. _

_All my love,_

_Your little know-it-all Hermione. _

**--break--**

_Hermione Darling,_

_Your father's very much armed to the teeth with as many books on the intricacies of how Muggle and Magical law would apply to the question of exploring Jasper's idea about Muggle warfare. I know you have had little action except for that battle on your first day of school. (And Hermione—don't think we didn't notice that you only mentioned the battle _after _the fact. We worry about you, dear. Are you downplaying the risks you took to be in that battle when you could have just had your Aurors take care of the Death Eaters?) Back on topic, your father is fairly certain that if your Magical Minister would issue a permit to handle hazardous materials to us, it would override any illegalities of experimenting with explosives and other such devices. We've mentioned it to Natalie, and one of your people _must _have the Minister's ear because we've just received the permit! Your father and I will most definitely be careful and try not to allow Jasper to blow any of us up in his giddiness over the mixture of playing with things that blow up and being in the honeymoon stage of his marriage. They convey their deepest thanks to you, by the way, and wish that you had been there to witness their truly lovely handfasting._

_May I ask how you came to suddenly want to know of how your parents fell in love? The story of how your father and I met and married—the _real _version, is of course, much more complicated than the story we told you when you were seven. It is true we met in university—on opposite sides of the debate team. We soon became each other's best opponent. I would purposely contradict him to make him lose the cool, unruffled demeanor that he seemed to always possess. He would usually give me a _look _and then continue on with his salient points as if I were no more important than a speck of dust, which riled me up even more. Oh, but the times I managed to make him truly furious, he inevitably would end up shouting and get ejected from his team for unprofessionalism, which _I _never did at all. _

_Your mother is being quite selective in her memories, darling. She's neglected to tell you of the time in our last year of studies that she was not asked to leave politely, as I was, but rather turned and fled from an audience of five hundred in the middle of a debate…_

_Hush, Daniel. Sorry, Hermione. I had to tell Temperance that it is his turn to make dinner. Don't listen to your father. I did not _run _from that debate—I simply walked out, because your father had, in the middle of his presentation of his argument, asked me to marry him. I made sure he paid for it later for having asked me so unexpectedly with the full captive audience of hundreds of smarmy academics. Even now, I can't talk to any of my friends from university without them remembering that ridiculously over the top proposal._

_Your mother took three months to give me her answer, Hermione. Let me tell you, if a man ever pours his heart at your feet and asks you to marry him, either tell him no or yes straight away. It is an evil thing indeed that only women do, to force a man to wait for his answer. _

_You deserved it, love. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. It did take me quite a while to sort through the muddled snarl of feelings I had for your father. We'd been lovers for a year and a bit, had gotten comfortable to being around each other and able to share things as friends, but for all of our being a supposedly-bright scholar, we hadn't realized that we were in love with each other for ages. Your father recognized it first, struggled with it by himself for several months, and then decided to go against every single one of his normal, sensible traits and be utterly overdramatic in his proposal. It took me three months to realize that I couldn't imagine living a day-to-day life without seeing your father in it, in one way or another. It was scary, as I'd never been in love before, but at the end of those three months I said yes, and we've never looked back, dear. _

_Hermione, this is your father. Your mother suspects it, but she isn't reading this part of the letter at all and I can promise that I will remain silent if that is what you wish. You've fallen in love, haven't you darling? If your casual question was a play to find out our attitudes towards a potential love life you're looking at—you're a smart girl, and one I'm proud to call my daughter. I know that love is illogical, but I also trust that the girl we've known and brought up all her life, no matter how faraway from us by magic and space, still retains the ethical values we've taught her and would never fall in love with someone who wasn't worthy in character of her. And even if the boy you've chosen is "unsuitable" or unexpected, know that know that both your mother and I will support you no matter what and are here for you in any way we can. We may be horribly inadequate in protecting you as we should, without any of this magic to wield, but you are still our daughter, sweetheart, and should any boy you love break your heart, there will be a reckoning! (There's my obligatory threatening father-speech out of the way—rest easy, Hermione, I won't load up my gun quite yet.) _

_This letter threatens to become an epic novel, so I'll end just by reminding you to be cautious, but also to listen to your heart. If you don't like what it tells you, then it is generally right. It's the way of the world. _

_Love, _

_Mum and Dad._

**--break--**

"That's not possible." Li was pale, paler than she'd ever seen him, and Hermione blinked in alarm, glancing sharply at him to make sure he wasn't about to have a heart attack or have some sort of illness on the spot. After all, the man wasn't that young anymore. "Are you certain of this information, Hermione?"

"Dead certain," Hermione acknowledged. "Severus is part of the team now, and we'll meet again when he has more information to convey. We're going to cut down on the number of meetings we have, simply due to the risk factor—I was lucky the last time, that Voldemort didn't suspect me to be anything other than Severus' concession to being a mortal man with certain urges at last. Next time, we may not be so lucky. But he's certain of it." _And he's always been trustworthy to a fault and absolutely loyal to us, even when we treated him like dung, _she thought but did not add. The silence that trailed her assertion spoke it for her.

But she was being needlessly nasty. Li, after all, was a latecomer to the arena of this war and Severus' efforts for it, not to mention he'd been the one who had discerned Severus' continued allegiance to their side.

"Bright heavens and blessed Guan Yin," Li murmured, sliding bonelessly back in his seat. "Ah, Albus, how the downfall of hasty pride and overconfidence has truly come back to haunt us!"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

Li looked at her with a kind of resigned weariness that told of great trouble. "You are not supposed to know of this. Indeed, only Albus and the high council of the Order know. But I see now the fault of such a decree, for perhaps with another pair of new eyes or ears, this grievous error might have not been made at all." Hermione held herself very still. Li continued, "Until now, Albus and the Order had been quite worried about the vaunted immortality of Tom Riddle. Throughout the years of peace after the first War, they continued to search for an answer to the conundrum of what Tom Riddle had done to keep himself from death. Albus was sure, so sure, that he'd finally found the answer after your second year, the year the memory of Tom Riddle was found encased in a diary."

Scarcely breathing, Hermione tilted her head minutely as an encouragement to the old Chinese man. "Tell me, Miss Granger, have you ever come across the theory of a Horcrux in any of your studies?"

Jolted by the sudden return to her formal pupil name, so unfamiliar after she'd become inducted into the Order and then become Horace Slughorn's glorified assistant and teaching fellow, Hermione furrowed her brow. "I…it sounds vaguely familiar."

"Perhaps in your research into Tom Riddle's immortality?"

"No, I don't think so—much longer ago, maybe when I first came to Hogwarts," Hermione frowned. She cast her mind back, searching her carefully ordered mind for the word that was triggering a dusty memory, the dry, papery feel of old parchment pressing against the pads of her fingertips, her palm, slicing roughly against her face as she turned a page—_ah. First year, before the troll incident. I snuck into the Restricted Section and by sheer luck didn't get caught by a professor or killed by a book because I somehow wandered to the one section of books that weren't going to bite my hand off unawares, or permanently blind me the minute I opened one. I chose a book at random, because I really just wanted the experience of having done something completely unexpected and against the rules and for me, and get also get away from the bullying and teasing. _The book had had an innocuous enough cover, aged brown leather and yellowed parchment pages. Within had been another world altogether—one that had sufficiently frightened Hermione enough with its viciously seductive words of Dark magic that she'd barely understood as an eleven-year-old that she'd barely read two chapters before placing the book back where she'd taken it from and leaving to go back to her safe, if lonely and unfriendly dorm room.

"It speaks of deep power, impersonal and detached, to summon forth the will to create a Horcrux," she recited. "One must desire the final results more than one might lust for anything of lesser import that drives the passion, the soul. No, for to split a piece of the spirit from itself, to cleave unto another object for the protection of life, must of necessity require the willpower to both kill, and to enjoy none of the machinations of death nor the kill itself, with its seductive allure. Instead, much like the child's story of the warlock's hairy heart, to create a Horcrux to safekeep a life is to set aside all emotion, pleasures and pain, by taking what is essentially the heart—or another one of the two fundamental organs of man's spirit—and rending it twain by the violent murder of someone significant in the caster's life and yet whose life is taken by the caster with no personal attachment to the death itself. Thus, a Horcrux can be made and a life sustained indefinitely by the sundering of one's spirit, removing the heart-essence for protection and the soul within the body to animate its consciousness."

"Impressive memory," Li allowed, and his face showed that he _was _impressed at her having dictated an almost exact word-for-word recitation of a paragraph of a Dark arts book she'd read once, as a child. In all honestly, Hermione had _not _been able to ever forget what she'd read. Every word blackly inked onto the scratchy pages had been burned, branded into her mind though she'd only read them once. It had been her first brush with the Dark of magic, something that she'd attempted to stay away from, struggling more and more as she'd become more and more involved with Harry's life and evident link to the darkness that was rising once more. Only when her parents had been threatened and the offer to join the Order had come up had she once again allowed herself to open a truly Dark book again…making sure to strengthen her will to resist the seductive call of the tainted, twisted power that lurked behind each word.

"Yes, that is what a Horcrux is essentially. They are illegal, and extremely difficult to create even besides the technicalities of law because of the obvious exclusion of emotion in the act of killing that you've just described as the major component to fracturing a spirit to store pieces in the world."

"You thought that that's what Voldemort did," Hermione said.

Li inclined his head. "I was less sure about it than Albus, but when he encountered the diary of young Tom Riddle, he was certain. He also held out the belief that Riddle created more than one Horcrux."

"That's impossible!" Hermione ran a hand through her hair agitatedly, getting fingers entangled in the kinks of it. "Very abstractly yes, it's possible, just like you break something in half and then one of those halves in half again, but even the legend behind the fairy tale of the warlock's hairy heart encased in the diamond was about removing the heart _whole _as a severance from the spirit. The spirit, split once, is already instable. Split more than once, wouldn't it end up disintegrating because it's not made of a material that can be unbound, in a sense? A soul is down to what a person's fundamental essence of being is—that's what most of the philosopher-wizards and witches say, from what I've been reading, anyway. Separating the heart and the spirit is already bad enough. What is left then after the heart-essence of a person is removed, is the soul, and I think just as if we tried to cut the heart in two, the soul _can't _be cut in two. It would…cease to live."

"Convoluted, but you have a definite theory there, Hermione," Li nodded. "I had not seen it that way. Once again, it proves the folly of the Order trying to do things the old way. Albus—Albus truly believed that it was the Horcrux theory that Riddle had utilized in anchoring himself to a semblance of existence, and the diary was his proof that he'd encased part of his soul in objects."

"The diary could have been one of many things, such as an enchanted book holding a modified version of a pensieve, a Dark spell channeling Voldemort's spirit or Tom Riddle's intention when creating it, or even a trapped demon obeying Voldemort's orders," Hermione retorted sharply. She rubbed her forehead wearily. "So, Albus thought that these Horcruxes were the answer to Voldemort's immortality. Which we now know to be false, since Tom Riddle went about it in a whole different way. What was Albus going to do?"

"What else, based on his assumptions? Locate the Horcrux he thought still surviving and destroy it," Li replied, unruffled by Hermione's short temper although he still looked tired. "That was what had Albus so weakened, the day he was killed. He'd just returned from a fruitless search on a lead he thought he'd had, only to find himself fighting off Inferi in a remote location. They were guarding an heirloom of the Gaunt family line that was _not _a Horcrux, but simply an old relic of a Pureblood family that will see its end with Tom Riddle."

The ridiculousness of it, the absolute blatant unfairness and breath-robbing anguish as she acknowledged Li's words, realized just how fallible the Headmaster she'd once looked up to was and how it had ultimately cost him his life, pressed downs jaggedly on Hermione's shoulder blades, and she inhaled shallowly, attempting to oxygenate her organs once more and regain her self-control. It took her longer than it should have, and Hermione bitterly wished Severus were here to lambaste her for not keeping up with her hard-won skills in deception, in stealth, in masking from the world. But the thought of Severus was just another vicious jab into her reeling gut, and resolutely Hermione forced her mind into a crystalline state of clarity, focusing solely on the here-and-now. "What's the plan?" she asked.

"Wait," Li replied. "I will bring the information you have given me about how Riddle previously anchored his consciousness down to this reality and life, as well as how he's planning to do so more successfully in the future, to the high council of the Order. I can promise you that big changes will be occurring," Li told her, his papery-dry hands clasping together in a determined, harsh manner. "I guarantee it, in fact, and keep you updated on it."

"Thank you." Hermione did not smile. Li left the Library of Dreams, where they'd been meeting, first. Hermione continued to sit and stare into space, mind troubled with the shapes of things past and present, and what was to come.

**--break--**

"I hate you! I hate this! Face it, Ron, we're just not right for each other and you know it as well as I do! You need to stop pushing me for more than I can give you, Ron!"

"Lav—"

" Don't you 'Lav' me! We're over, Ronald Weasley! Do you hear me? I've had enough!" Lavender shrieked at the top of her voice and turned, storming her way up into the girl's dormitories. Harry and Ginny, who had just entered the common room, looked as if they didn't know what to do. Or at least, Harry did, standing there uneasily before approaching Ron and opening his mouth as if to say something.

"Save it, Harry," Ron cut it off with a terse command. He could have been more polite, but he simply wasn't in the mood to pander to anyone at the moment. Harry would have to understand.

Ginny, bless her heart, proved her worth as his favorite sibling and immediately began shooing all the gaping faces that had been witness to Lavender's little outburst out. She was a formidable girl indeed, and within the space of less than a minute, there was only she, Harry, and Ron still left. Harry and she exchanged minute glances that Ron noticed. He was envious of that silent communication that seemed to convey so much. He'd never had that with a girl. Not even Hermione, who was his best friend and had been his object of interest for a while back then. Not Lavender, who was…

Who was no longer his to think about. Ron lifted pleading eyes to his sister and his best friend, but it was as if that little look shared between Ginny and Harry that he'd been so jealous of had been magic, for Ginny simply slipped forward, hugged him—resting her head on his shoulder for a brief instant—and whispered, "Anything you need," before releasing him and leaving the room as well. Then it was just Harry and Ron, and Ron tried to swallow the Bludger that had somehow gotten stuck in his throat and tried to say something, anything, but instead a croak emanated from his mouth and to his horror he felt his eyes burning and gritty as if sand had gotten into them. _Must be dust. Blasted house elves never clean the room as well as they should, knowing that I'm allergic to dust. _

Harry continued to remain silent, but steered his red-headed friend over to the sofa, firmly pushing Ron downwards so that he collapsed on the soft cushions before plopping ungracefully next to him, a large enough "man-space" between them for respect and small enough to be close to his friend. They must have sat there for perhaps upwards of an hour without any interruptions or intrusions—the others must have warned the Gryffindors away from the common room for now if possible and since it was a Saturday, there were no classes to attend and the common room was left in peace.

Someone must have found Hermione and told her though, Ron realized, when the portrait swung aside to reveal the grim-faced brunette. She marched over, nudging Ron further down the sofa space slip her own body on the other side of Ron. Unlike Harry, she had no compunctions about space—instead, she instantly leaned over and gave Ron a warm hug that somehow, for all its different physical attributes, reminded him of his mother's hugs. Enveloping comfort, retreat into a safe place where he was loved—Ron opened his mouth to thank Hermione, and somehow when the first word broke the long quiet that had pervaded the common room, it was not one of gratitude but rather the beginning of a rambling spillage of thought.

"She's right though, you know? I've been a right prat lately to her. I wanted her to tell me she loved me too, you know? I kept telling her, telling her that I loved her, but she would never said it back to me and it hurt more each time she wouldn't, and she's always with Parvati, but I'm not possessive or begrudging it to her, Parvati needs Lav more than me really, yeah? But _fuck, _I need her too! She didn't love me, though. Shudda seen it. Shudda guessed it, I'm exactly the ten kinds of idiot that the ol' bastard Snape use'ta call me. I kept pushing her though, and she finally snapped."

Hermione rubbed soothing circles on back with her palm. Harry was watching him with intent green eyes, the concern more than visible on his too-easily-decipherable face (even after the Occlumency, Harry wore his heart on his sleeve and every cell of his being. He wouldn't be Harry if he didn't.) It occurred to Ron to that Hermione was in the common room. She hadn't entered their dormitories this year, citing her duties and expectations as a "teacher apprentice," or some such thing. They'd had rare moments of fun in the Room of Requirement instead, snatched here and there when Harry and Ron weren't in Quidditch practices or DA meetings and Hermione wasn't teaching or…well, doing whatever Order work she'd been assigned, Ron supposed. _It's not the same as when we were all students. _As if he'd spoken his thoughts out loud, Hermione interrupted the silence that had fallen after Ron's babbling.

"Tell you what," she said authoritatively, and Ron had to smile despite his heartache, for this was the same girl he knew—bossy, take-charge, and wonderfully _Hermione. _The girl he and Harry'd nicknamed 'her highness' if they especially wanted to tease her. "I'm sure that the other Gryffindors will be wanting to use this space sometime, and neither of you have seen my new quarters yet. Would you two like to pay my new living quarters a visit, and play exploding snap or chess or something?"

"Wouldn't it be…against the rules?" Ron asked, but his heart leapt at spending time with his two best friends again. If anything was guaranteed to help him forget the gaping hole Lavender had left in the middle of his chest, it would be Hermione and Harry.

"The rules can go bugger themselves for once," Hermione announced decisively. Taken by surprise, Harry snorted and choked, and Ron reached over to bang him on the back.

"I would have never imagined Hermione Granger saying that!" Harry finally hooted after catching his breath.

She looked at them primly. "Simply because I adhere and respect the rules does not mean I don't break them, generally when I'm in the vicinity of you two hooligans."

"We're not always a bad influence," Harry protested as Hermione got up and directed a glare that had the pleasant effect of boosting both boys off their butts to flank her as she started walking out of the common room and towards the dungeons.

"Lying, stealing, breaking curfew, engaging in life threatening activities, aiding and abetting wanted criminals and animals, unethical use of time turners, attacking a teacher on numerous occasions…it's a wonder we didn't get expelled!" Hermione listed off some of the escapades they'd been through. As Harry continued to (unsuccessfully) argue that it had all been to Hermione's benefit, Ron remained silent and enjoyed the easy banter of his two best friends. And, as impossible as it had seemed just ten minutes ago, he felt the wound Lavender had torn in him begin, oh so slightly, to clot. _I may love her and she may not love me, but Harry and Hermione will always be here for me, _he realized. _And I'll be here for them too. _

**A.N.: Happy Valentine's Day tomorrow. Or, if you prefer, Happy Single's Awareness Day. It's not Feb 14 in the story, but there's a lot of emotion going on anyway. Hope you enjoyed. Thank you once again to all my wonderful readers and reviewers who are truly the ones who keep me writing through the slumps, the crazy times, and all. In lieu of giving you all candy and flowers, I'm sending you all the beautiful, gorgeous sunset outside my window at the moment. It's a grey-blue sky streaked with a soft pink hue and purple haze of clouds, filtered through the bare branches of trees. I've never seen this purple in the sky before, and it's the most stunning, soft sunset I've seen in ages. Enjoy (either with a significant other or with a character you like from my story, whom you may borrow for the weekend). :)**


	51. Chapter 51

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter & co belong to Rowling. The idea of a glassmage belongs to Tamora Pierce. This chapter belongs to me (and my muse, who scolded me for trying to tell him that I needed to work on my paper rather than another chapter. He won, by the way.)**

"Draco, I need to talk to you." Skye stood at his elbow. He blinked, then very carefully looked around the library before he relaxed slightly. There was no one here at the moment, not when the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match was going on right now. The thought of quidditch still made his hands clench—he _missed _it, one of the few things he missed about being Draco Malfoy, prince of Slytherin. The adrenaline, the panoramic view of the world, the sweaty grip of his hands on polished wood and the zip and wind burn on his cheeks dodging bludgers and people all the while straining for a glimpse of the elusive golden snitch…_well, at least Slytherin isn't doing so well since they kicked me out of the team. Their new Seeker is a third year who may be a natural flyer with sharp eyes, but he's not trained well yet. _That thrill of vindictiveness was bitter, but it was all he had at the moment with regards to the sport that he was no longer a part of.

"You know how I said I had to go somewhere this weekend?"

"Yeah." Draco placed his quill down and looked up at his insubstantial girlfriend. _His girlfriend. _Pride and a sense of disbelief still at his good luck filled him. "You wouldn't tell me where you wanted to go."

"Well, I wanted to go to my parents' graves," she said somberly. "I wanted to tell them in person about you, and how wrong we were about what kind of boy you were. I wanted to tell them that I'm happy, even though I miss them."

"Oh." Lost for words, Draco reached out and placed his hand palms vertically, and Skye reciprocated, placing her ghostly hand just millimeters away from his. It was their version of holding hands.

"So I tried doing that this weekend—but I couldn't."

"What do you mean you couldn't?" Draco asked, confused.

Skye sighed in frustration—not at him, but rather at the circumstances. "I mean just that—I couldn't. I got about to the outer boundaries of Hogwarts grounds and suddenly I was physically unable to _move _past it! It was like there was an invisible line I couldn't step past. So I tried going somewhere else. I went to my body in St. Mungos, and was completely able to do that. But when I tried leaving, I found myself unable to actually _go _unless I allowed myself to be towed back to Hogwarts. I couldn't go anywhere else either—just my body, and Hogwarts."

"That doesn't make sense!" Draco shoved his stuff away and stared at Skye. "You were with me in the safe house all summer. You've gone to your parents' graves before. What's keeping you from leaving now? Maybe it's a new addition to the wards at Hogwarts?"

"I thought about that too, but why would the wards let me through specifically to my body but no where else?" Skye looked uncomfortable. "Anyway, I don't think it's actually _Hogwarts _that I'm bound to, really. I think—well, I think I'm bound to _you." _

Completely nonplussed, Draco gaped at Skye. She frowned at him and he remembered to close his jaw, but it still didn't answer his questions nor the nasty feeling of being in a sudden position he didn't want to be in, once again. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Draco, that I think that as long as you were at the safe house, I was fine there too because I was bound to you. Then you came back to Hogwarts, and naturally I came too. Also, obviously I have a tie still to my physical body so I can still go there. But I can't leave a certain vicinity of you, except for to go to my other tie, which is my physical anchor. You, I think, are my spirit's anchor. If that makes sense. I think it's always been that way, but weaker because every time I was far from you it felt wrong, like a warning bell in my head that I could ignore. Now its stronger, strong enough to actually bar me from leaving your general area. I think that might have been triggered by our…uh, affirmation of interest in each other," Skye said.

"Oh. _Oh." _Draco stared down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Skye, I never meant to coop you up or chain you to me or anything. We can, you know, break it off if you want. Though we didn't really do anything we shouldn't, since we couldn't anyway, and I didn't know this was going to happen—"

"Draco?"

"Yes?" He was too scared to look up at her.

"Shut up."

Now, he raised his head, grey eyes searching hers intently for any hint of rejection that he feared to see. Instead, the only emotion he could find was frustration and a hint of—exasperation? "Draco, we've been through this already. I'm keeping you, I'm afraid. You'll have to deal with it." He smiled weakly at her grin, and listened as she continued, "I'll adjust with the restrictions. It's not your fault, but it _is _another lead to how I'm existing in this state right now. We might look up life bonds as a new way of approaching the problem. _I _think we should talk to the White Witch portrait again. She hinted that she _knew _I was there. She's the first person, painted or otherwise, that has noticed me since this happened and I want to know what she meant by all her hints."

"You don't want to…uh, end whatever we have?" Draco asked tentatively. "I don't want to hold you against your will…"

For a moment he thought she was going to punch him. Then she took a deep breath, and seemed to think better of it. _Good thing too, since she'd go right through me and that would make her even madder. _"No, Draco, I _don't _want to end what we have. In fact, I want to put myself back into my body as fast as possible so that I can properly kick you in a sensitive area for your idiocy before snogging you senseless. Are we clear?"

Draco gulped. "Crystal."

But the White Witch would say nothing. She merely smiled enigmatically, looking like stiff, queenly painting—which is what she _was, _after all—and only reiterated that they would find help with the other children of Hogwarts. "Bloody Mona Lisa, she is," Skye muttered as they left the hall to the Slytherin dormitories frustrated. "Probably taught the unimpressive little upstart how to smile, too."

"Who's this Lisa?" Draco inquired.

"Oh Merlin, did your family not instill a basic education of the arts in you at least?" Skye demanded shrewishly.

"Nope, it was beneath the Malfoy attention," Draco said cheerfully. "Artists are known for their insanity and loose morals. The only kinds of art we associated ourselves with were the best Painting Craftsmage money could buy to have our portraits done for the eventuality of our deaths."

"Not even to patronage an artist?" Skye asked in disbelief. "I know a lot of Pureblood families that did that, as part of their societal obligations."

"The Malfoys were patrons to either worthy charities where they could exert more political maneuverings, or Ministry affairs that also involved more political machinations," Draco pointed out. "We weren't about to involve ourselves with the minutiae of a single artist or musician."

"So—you don't know what the Mona Lisa is."

"Not a clue."

"I'll show you a picture of it, if you'll come to the library again with me," Skye offered, and gave him a wicked grin. "Who knows, you might become the very first Malfoy the patronize the arts!"

"Oh, and why might I do such a thing and waste good money that I don't currently possess?" Draco returned wryly, the gleam in his eye telling Skye that he was joking.

She thumped him ineffectually with a translucent fist. "Because _I _like art, imbecile. In fact, I've thought seriously about becoming a Craftsmage."

Draco blinked, surprised and taken aback. He'd not known this about Skye! Craftsmages were truly skilled and gifted artists—in _any _kind of medium, be it paint, stone, words, fabric, clay, or music. They were highly respected and highly paid, those who made it to the highest ranking of the artists' guild to be named Craftsmage. Those with lesser talents or drive were called simply by the art they plied—writer, carpenter, painter, singer, pianist. "What kind?" Draco was curious now, trotting to keep up with Skye as she moved resolutely towards the library. "What kind of Craftsmage? Do you still want to become one?"

"A Glassmage—with glass," Skye admitted as they paused at the threshold of the library before entering. A loud rumbling of excited chattering alerted Draco to the fact that the Quidditch game must be over. From the happy tones of the voices he heard and the loudness of it, he suspected that Slytherin had lost. If Slytherin had won, the snakes would have rejoiced, to be sure, but their rejoicing would be entirely through taunts. _To show who's in charge and assert their own power, and because it's expected of us snakes. I did that, once. It was the only way I felt in control and that everything was normal, was because everyone expected us to behave that way, so we had no motivation or nudge to change our ways. And who are we to break with tradition? _

Angry suddenly at that sad reality, and uncomfortably aware that he'd been so close to _living _still, the way his fellow Slytherins still were trapped, Draco forced his mind off the dark path it had been traveling, and back to the lighter one that included Skye—beautiful, vivacious, always surprising Skye. "Glasswork?" he stated incredulously, seating himself in an out-of-the-way nook in the library now. "You—when did you decide this?"

"In Venice," Skye admitted. "My family went there for a holiday when I was young, before Hogwarts even, and there was a children's workshop going on in one of the Muggle storefronts we walked by. I convinced my parents to leave me there with the Muggles for the day while they had us experiment with different types of crafts for fun and exploration. I had a lot of fun with the clay," she reminisced fondly, a small smile playing around her pretty mouth. "My bowl came out looking like a troll head. We learned how to sew, and we painted and played around a bit with bookbinding. But learning how glass is made—it changed my life. We didn't get to do anything except watch the professional glassblower, but he made such beautiful things, it seemed as if it were magic by itself, and I couldn't believe that he was a Muggle. By the time my parents came back to pick me up, I was hooked."

Skye looked slightly embarrassed at her nostalgia now, but Draco caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes and reached across impulsively to place his palm up in their own private version of handholding, regardless of the queer look Madam Pince had given him as she walked by the private section of the library in the back corner he'd settled himself into. "Thank you, Draco," she said quietly after a moment. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "My parents were worried about my new obsession, but they were wonderful—didn't discourage me, although I know they worried about it. Finally, Aunt Danielle managed to find a connection to a glassblower who was a witch. She hadn't attained Craftsmage status, but she was brilliant—I spent half a summer at her place, learning the tools of the trade. She taught me the basics, the things I'd seen the Muggle glassblower doing, and she said of all the apprentices she'd seen or had, I caught on faster than anyone. I went back the next summer, and the summer after that, but she died before she could really begin to teach me about the practical magical aspect of the art—we'd only worked on the theory of it before," Skye said sadly.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured. He didn't specify whether he was sorry for her loss of a mentor, education, or both. Skye seemed to understand his inarticulacy though, for she didn't ask. Merely allowed them both to sit in the quiet, with the simple comfort of each other's presence, to soothe the both of them. It was calming, that he didn't need to talk constantly, that they were in tune with each other enough to—

"Malfoy."

Draco's head shot around as his body struggled to keep up and not allow his neck to be twisted too far around, and it took a moment's recalibration for Draco to be once more stone-calm and unmoving, standing to face the small troop of Slytherins that were confronting him—Slytherins he counted former friends, old playmates, and acquaintances, all looking at him intently with an expression he couldn't place, which made him entirely nervous. Not to mention they were blocking his exit. Skye instantly drifted to his side, and though Draco knew intellectually she couldn't really assist him other than to warn him of a rear attack, he irrationally felt safer with her at his back.

"Nott. Zabini. Bulstrode. Parkinson." Without expression, Draco acknowledged each of them—people he'd once called friend, and who, up till now, had on the whole ignored him, some more vigorously than others. He let his eyes linger without comment on each one, and knew that he looked uncannily like his father as he let the silence continue, perfectly willing to let the uncomfortable state draw out until they broke it and proved their own weakness. Each of them responded in different, and telling ways.

Theodore Nott—who appeared to be the leader of the little group, merely stared back coolly with veiled eyes, a true Slytherin proponent of guarding thy thoughts and emotions. This was the same boy who had thrown a temper tantrum at six when he had been ordered to give Draco the book he was reading by his father, and been whipped for it. Draco hadn't asked to look at the book in the first place.

Pansy Parkinson stood at Theo's right hand, a calculated move on their part no doubt. She met his gaze just barely before dropping his own eyes down to his shoes instead, and the tiniest movement of her robes informed Draco that she'd clenched her fists into balls. They'd been close—not as close as he was with Skye, but the closest Draco could claim to have had to a friendship before he'd chosen one way and she another. They'd shared secrets, and kept them—or at least, he thought she still kept his, and he knew hers was still buried in his heart. _I don't want to marry, ever, not for my family, not for anyone, even if it's to their advantage, even if I love the guy. I don't want to give that much control to someone else, _she'd whispered to him. And, _Sometimes I think my parents have it all wrong and backwards, and sometimes it feels as if the weight of the Malfoy name is going to crush me, _he'd confided in her in return.

On the other side of Nott, Blaise Zabini lounged, looking the most comfortable of the four. He was also the one Slytherin who didn't avoid him like the plague or completely ignore him. Zabini didn't go out of his way to talk to Draco—he hadn't before Draco had broken from his family and the Dark Lord and become an anathema, and he didn't now. But he didn't turn away from him automatically and his eyes never slid over Draco like Draco didn't exist. Nor did he look at Draco with pure hatred like the other half of Slytherin—and a good number of students in other Houses—did. Zabini was a newer addition to the group too, more content to be a loner. He'd only met him once or twice before Hogwarts, and in big social contexts, usually a Ministry-held party.

And finally, next to Pansy on the other side, Millicent Bulstrode stood, her stance telling Draco she was getting fidgety and unnerved by the abnormal silence and stillness. But she met Draco's assessing gaze defiantly and steadily, and there was something about the set of her jaw that whispered to Draco that the normally reticent loner was determined, and quite able to carry out whatever she had decided to do. Millie as a playmate had been boring, as the girl had quietly done exactly what her parents had ordered her to do without initiating conversation or any sort of joy in playing. She'd taken a bit of a hit for her larger-set appearance and loutish manner at Hogwarts, but even then Draco had suspected that the newly assumed brashness was a veneer for the same, desperately shy and lonely girl who obeyed every rule her family laid down in hopes that they might see her as an inadequate girl when the Bulstrode family had wanted a boy.

The unnatural standoff seemed to stretch on for forever, before it was finally Pansy who broke under Draco's cold stare and spoke first. "Draco, please—"

"Parkinson," Nott barked, and she subsided, bowing her head once more to stare miserably at the floor. _She makes an awful Slytherin. No wonder she was so worried about the Sorting, she wasn't sure she could convince the damn Hat that it was better all around to put her in Slytherin. She would really have been better off in Hufflepuff. _Draco wished that she _had _been put there—it would have done her a world of good, to be among those who would value her for herself and not for her family, and at the same time break out of the mold the Parkinson name had made for itself. _Just like the Malfoy name. _

"Malfoy, we've come to discuss…_things…_with you," Nott said tautly.

"What, just discuss? Or throw a little hexing in there too? Maybe finish me off like Cain did to Patil?" Draco taunted.

_Point to me. _All of them visibly flinched. "Just talk," Nott insisted. "In private. There's more of us, but we were the elected delegates. Will you come with us?"

_Or do we have to drag you by the toenails, _Draco finished the question and its follow-through implications for himself in his head. He didn't dare turn his head to look at Skye, but he waited a slow minute, continuing to do his best Lucius impression of cold indifference until Skye whispered in his ear, "I think they really do want to just talk with you. I think you should."

"I…will talk with you—" Draco began, then held up his hand before they could respond. "Not now. I have an appointment to keep. But I will meet you tonight, at ten. I presume you have a safe place to talk?"

"We'll ward our room and talk there," Zabini cut in before anyone else could talk. It looked as if Nott had been about to protest. Lazily—and yet with an alacrity that seemed incongruent with the carefree manner in which he did it—Zabini had ushered the rest out, and they had walked out of the library, causing a ripple among the few other studious people in the library—two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff.

"I didn't know you had an appointment," Skye asked.

"I don't," Draco replied laconically. He snickered, and picked up his things. "But if I can find Granger, then I will. She'll be my back up in case I need help. Come on, Skye, you can show me Mona Lisa later. Right now, we're going to work out a way for you to somehow alert Granger if she needs to come to my rescue. It's never a good idea to go into a potentially hazardous zone without informing someone else first, and besides, Granger might have some idea about this children of Hogwarts business. Don't know why we didn't think of her in the first place, she's such a swot she probably has read something somewhere about just what it means."

"_Professor _Granger," Skye said—in her swottiest voice. "Show some respect, Draco!"

"She's my age!"

"She's your superior, both in the Order and in Hogwarts."

"Fine, but she's still a swot."

"Just like her parents," Skye teased, and Draco scowled as they went in search of Granger.

"Her parents are more tolerable about being smart," he growled.

"Ooh, don't let her hear that you just called her smart!" Skye cried.

"Skye?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

**--break--**

Someone was at her door. Her _office _door, that is—like every other professor, Hermione had office hours for any student who wanted to discuss grades, classes, materials, or even just talk, although generally that occurred only rarely and only with the Heads of Houses. _I wonder if the Slytherins ever talked to Severus like I saw that little first year girl telling Minerva all about her home and how much she misses it the other day? They certainly never talk to Slughorn. _The man was insufferable. Talented enough as a brewer, and in the spare moments she'd seen him brew a potion by himself in the private brewing lab, she knew that while he was not as brilliant or as focused on his task as Severus was, Slughorn _was _more than competent and more, dropped all pretences only when faced with a cauldron and a potion to complete.

Still, Horace Slughorn irritated her. He was an impatient and lax teacher who cared little for how a potion was brewed as long as the end results were acceptable. He brownnosed the students with connections, had tried to chat her up more than once, and tried to get out of his duties as a teacher whenever he could, whether by passing them off to her or by claiming a prior engagement.

However. None of this frustration over Slughorn, nor the nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that she housed an even deeper antipathy for the man not just because he was irritating on a normal level but because he was where _Severus _should be, was going to answer the door for her, and someone wanted to talk to her. Hermione raised her voice, and called out, "Come in!" To her surprise, when the door to the office slid open, it revealed someone _not _one of her students—"Draco? What did you want?"

"Needed to discuss something," he replied evasively. "Can we talk privately?"

"Is it important? I have office hours right now, and if someone else needs me—"

"You have an alert to tell you if someone else is standing outside your door who needs you, and I'll get out," Draco cut in. "Please? It is important, otherwise I wouldn't bother."

"Fine. Close the door behind you," she instructed, and he did so. "Is Skye here too?"

"Yeah—she says hi," Draco replied, dropping carelessly into the chair across from the expanse of desk that separated them.

Hermione smiled expansively at the empty air beside Draco. "Hi, Skye. I hope you're doing well, and that this idiot hasn't driven you crazy yet."

"How'd you know she was there?" Draco blurted out, eyes darting from his side to Hermione and back again.

"Honestly, Draco. A lucky guess, really. Most people generally stand _next _to the person they're accompanying, maybe slightly to the back. I simply picked one side of you to look at, and it happened to be the one you chose to actually stand in, Skye." Hermione frowned. "Do you want a chair to sit in or something? Draco, where are your manners?"

"A chair would be great for her," Draco muttered, looking embarrassed. "Ah, sorry Skye. I'm just—you know, used to pretending like you're not here so people don't think I'm crazy—" his chagrinned expression shifted to one of apology and then relaxed—obviously forgiven. _The boy is whipped, _Hermione thought with some amusement. _Whipped and he doesn't know it. Oh, what will Severus say when I tell him? _Ignoring the way her fingers tightened momentarily on her useless quill at the thought of the dark man that had filled her mind and haunted every waking moment, lurking just out of sight like the proverbial bat he'd been compared to…

"So, what is it you need to talk to me about, Mister Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

Grimacing, probably at the title, Draco hooked his hands together and took the plunge. "Well, you see, I'm going to be meeting with some former friends of mind and it would be helpful to have some back-up person that knows what I'm up to and when, if things turn ugly."

**--break--**

_All things come at a price. _Broodingly, Severus contemplated the blank wall in front of him. Beside him, a squeaking voice signaled the indignation of Mippy at his disinterest with his meal. To be honest, Severus did not have the stomach for _anything _at the moment. The fumes from his latest experiment had left him with a blinding headache and an inclination to vomit at the slightest movement. Hence, his sitting perfectly still and staring at the blank wall. He was in his usual seat—that is, in the armchair he favored when Hermione made her visits.

It was remarkably comfortable, and Severus did not want to move. Not even to reassure the bloody annoying house-elf at his elbow. He had calculated that the amount of the poisonous fumes he'd inhaled accidentally before casting a Bubble-headed charm and Vanishing the contents of his cauldron (save for a tiny sample he took the time to procure so he wouldn't make the same mistake again) would most likely continue to wreak havoc on him for the next six hours or so. _That's what I get for trying to mix fresh dragon's blood with fresh aconite. And if I take any sort of headache potion or stomachache relief, it might interact badly with the type of poisoning I have. _

Then again, being mildly poisoned, no matter how unpleasant, freed him from any brewing for the evening and likely for at least another week while he monitored any side-effects that might occur.

And he sounded like a student trying to worm out of detention or homework. How depressing his life had become. Even his language was becoming colloquial and reminiscent of teenage whining.

Nevertheless, Severus had made the mistake of mixing the two volatile ingredients with a sneaking instinct that it would somehow be disastrous. He hadn't realized just _how _bad, but it was an easy enough mistake to make that even skilled potions masters might slip up, and it would not be suspicious. So—the potions research front of the little immortality project he had been recruited for would be delayed—for at least a week or more, if he could manage, for he'd taken care to use the last of his fresh dragon's blood and it would take a bit of time and galleons to procure more in the same high quality level as his had been. Not to mention he would soon be placing orders for the most obscure ingredients that might have the slightest help to the potion, which might take months to get a hold of.

_All things come at a price. _Now that he was actively involved with the most dangerous and mysterious of the Dark Lord's projects, he was able to subtly sabotage it and bring any new developments to Hermione and the Order. In exchange, though, he was never included in discussions for ordinary attacks or raids or military decisions anymore. Not even marginally. Everyone had been instructed to leave him alone (which was quite nice, as Dolohov had become quite annoying as he slowly recovered, trying to get Severus to tell him just how deeply he was owed to Severus) but also to "not bother Severus with trivial affairs of business and battle." And the Dark Lord's order was law.

He would be unable to prevent as many deaths as he had in the past. It was a simple fact, that he truly would not be in the right position to learn about as many of the destructive attacks initiated by the Dark Lord or one of his minions on his behalf and alert the Order in time. He might not even know anything had happened unless Hermione told him or he had to heal someone. _And what if they launch another surprise attack on Hogwarts? Hermione will be there, and Potter and many important people to the Order. _Severus' stomach turned over and he clamped his lips down hard to keep the acid and bile down at the thought of Hermione being taken by surprise, falling under a green light…

_No. That won't happen. She's a smart woman and a formidable fighter. She'd hold her own. _He had to believe that, or he'd never survive so out of the loop and helpless as Severus now found himself. _All things come with a price. _Halloween was coming up fast, and it was a significant date. The Dark Lord had told him personally that there would be few raids and offenses this year as he spent most of his resources on the research for immortality and indestructibility. But how long would that last, with the common Death Eater becoming more and more restless like Severus could see in Bellatrix? The Dark Lord had to keep them appeased somehow, and Halloween was a favored date to do so—the day the Lily and James Potters had died to protect their baby. _The day most likely to target straight at Potter's vulnerability. I hope Hermione has had some sort of good effect on him. Otherwise, with the connection created from the blood shed between each other, even Occlumency won't keep the Dark Lord out of his head. _

But he had to believe that Hogwarts was safe, that even if _he _didn't know the plans or any of the scant information he was used to possessing, that the planning and preparation of others would suffice. _I hate not being in control. _Cursing softly, Severus decided that side-effects or not, he was going to go to bed early.

**A.N.: I know some of you really enjoy the Draco-Skye bits while others of you don't so much like it and prefer straight up Hermione-Severus. However, no matter your preference it's been a while since Draco and Skye got their own bit of the story so this chapter is mainly dedicated to their own trials (and most possibly part of the next chapter as well). I did manage to sneak in a bit of Severus in the end though for those of you who miss him. :) **


	52. Chapter 52

**Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.**

"If you're a child of Hogwarts too, then maybe you can explain something that's been puzzling me and Skye," Draco began. He looked challengingly at Hermione. She nodded the go ahead, still bemused by Draco's shock all over again once he had learned a bit more about what being a child of Hogwarts _was, _and that he was now included in a prophesy of sorts…even Skye hadn't known about the Morrigan's specific Seeing. _Ugh, Divination. Useless subject, _Hermione groused to herself internally. _At least the Morrigan was sensible and understood that Seeing the future is merely a glimpse of what might be if one path is played out. Sybil Trelawney might be a great fighter in a pinch and we've been getting along better now that she saved my life in that battle, but she still insists on being ridiculously reliant on visions, signs, and symbols entirely too much._

Draco explained what the White Witch had called after them and how it had seemed like she knew, somehow, about Skye. By the end of his narration, Hermione's mind was already racing way ahead of herself. "You said that she mentioned the other children of Hogwarts and that the way to put Skye back into her body lay in the same body of research as _that which the children of Hogwarts seek to destroy?_"

"As far as I can remember, those were her words," Draco replied, glancing over at Skye—or where Hermione assumed Skye was—to corroborate his memory. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

_That has to be the immortality project. _With growing dismay, Hermione realized once again just how crucial and sensitive the project Severus had gotten involved with was. _Damn. I don't know if I have the authority or right to tell them about it. On the other hand, the Morrigan _does _have some prescience and if she specifically implied the immortality project and its potential benefits in helping Skye regain her body, how can I withhold that from her or Draco? Sodding hell. What should I do? _Hermione sighed. "Frankly, I believe I know what the White Witch was talking about, although not how she knew that Skye was there," she informed them. "But—_but—_I don't have…the authority to tell you about it. It's a highly crucial secret, with the life of at least one person—perhaps even more—hanging on its absolute secrecy."

Draco stood up. "_Skye's _life is hanging on that bloody top secret stuff you have going on too! She can't stay like this forever—she can't even get further away from me than her own body or the boundaries of Hogwarts anymore! What if one day she's chained so tightly to me that she literally can't leave my side? What if something happens and she fades out of existence, or something happens to her body, or her aunt decides to take her off the magical supports that are helping her stay alive even though she's not in her body? You can't just leave her like this, Granger. You owe her for not protecting her better, you and your bloody Order. _I _owe her."

Hermione deliberately sat back slowly, keeping her breath even as she gazed calmly at the angry teenager in front of her. "Sit down please, Draco. I didn't say that I was going to just abandon Skye. What kind of person do you think I am?"

His attention was diverted by, presumably, Skye, and Hermione watched leisurely as his face turned slightly red and he muttered an apology to the empty chair beside him, reseating himself before shuffling his feet a bit and looking back up at her. "I will do all that is in my power to help Skye," Hermione told him seriously. She turned her head towards the empty chair. "Skye, I swear to you that whatever I can do, I will do it to get you back into your body. I can't tell you about the research going on _now. _I just can't—there are other lives hanging on this other than yours. But I can and will petition the Order to give Draco, and by extension, Skye, clearance to…join a forming research team that's being created right now. You're doing well with your training, am I right Draco?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "I'm getting lessons with Potter and Weasley now, and it's a bit tense but rather nice to be able to spar with someone else at my level."

Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't known that Harry and Ron were training with Draco. When had the Order decided to combine their lessons? _It makes sense, if you discount the obvious conflicts between them. It spares them Order members and time, both, to teach all of them at one time now that they're all at Hogwarts. I wonder why Harry or Ron didn't tell me though. _"Well, that's good," she responded. "I'll petition, and meanwhile I will do some research on my own about it, and see what preliminary hypotheses I can come up with. Is that okay for you two?"

Draco had a staring match with the chair. Finally, Skye must have won because he looked away somewhat sulkily. "Fine," he conceded roughly. "But you had better not back out on your promise."

"I won't," Hermione assured him, unruffled by his ungracious tone and unsubtle threat. _Merlin, he's definitely got it bad for Skye, _she thought. Traitorously, her heart stirred—_exactly like you about Severus, Hermione? Pot, meet kettle. _When Draco—and, Hermione hoped, Skye—had both left her to her solitude after some intense discussion of how best to alert Hermione if things went south during his meeting, Hermione remained in her seat staring into nothing in particular for a long time.

**--break--**

Draco sat in an uncomfortable chair—courtesy of Pansy's Transfiguration skills—and feigned a coolness he did not in any way feel. He knew that behind him, sitting in a slightly less affected position on his bed, was Skye. Next to Skye was their secret weapon: a very invisible Crookshanks, Granger's scarily smart cat. The feline, upon testing, was very much able to sense, if not see, Skye.

When Granger had postulated that magical beings could sense Skye, Draco had been skeptical. After all, weren't witches and wizards magical beings?

They were more human than magic, was his startling conclusion. For upon some testing and prodding Skye for details, it had become evident that magical creatures at least could somehow feel her presence. Or perhaps it was only just kneazles. They had mysterious attributes still puzzled over by animal researchers. Draco was reminded that the magical community of Egypt continued to worship Bastet the feline goddess. Whatever it was, Granger had only mentioned that she'd remembered something that Hogwarts had shown her and she'd brushed aside as inconsequential, which made her suspect that the more magical essence one was in proportion to physical, non-magical self, the more able one would be able to see Skye.

Draco would have pressed more, but they'd been short on time. So, he'd accepted that she'd pulled that theory out of no where and that it worked, whatever explanation it had for working be it Granger's sound theoretical hypothesis or the mystical being of cats. It didn't matter right now. What mattered was that Skye had admitted that the kneazles especially—Mrs. Norris the most, and several other familiars, had never walked through her and had, on occasion, acted almost as if they knew someone or something was there although they didn't react very much to the strange presence. It ascertaining this, Granger had given her cat some serious instructions, disillusioned it, and sent it off with them for the evening. If Skye thought Draco needed help, she'd stick her arm through Crookshanks' body and the kneazle would run to get his mistress.

It was a relief to know that he had a back up, but for now he was on his own. Draco raised an eyebrow at his Housemates as the silence dragged out. The new struggle for dominancy was broken by Zabini this time. "We're here to talk about your reasons for going over to the other side," he said bluntly.

Nott shifted uneasily, but did nothing to quell his classmate. Draco raised an eyebrow slowly, a move he'd copied from Uncle Severus. He'd noticed the effect of that eyebrow's expressions, and he exploited it now without shame on his former friends. It reminded them that he was still of Malfoy blood, that he considered himself still far above them, and that he was well aware of the rudeness of Zabini's question. Then he spoke. "Did you really want to know my reasons, or did you want a story to bring for favor?"

"Your reasons—Malfoy," Nott informed him. The pause before he gave Draco his last name irked Draco. _Don't show emotion. Don't show emotion. _

"I bow to no one," Draco said simply. He spread his hands wide. "I was not prepared to bend my back to one who would draw the blood of the pure. I'm sure you remember the whispers about what happened to Evangeline Cain when she first failed him. I prefer to be master of my own life and soul. Don't you?"

Like he'd calculated, he'd pushed Nott's buttons. Calm Theodore Nott abruptly threw back a scathing, "I _am _in control of what I do!"

"Oh, really?" Draco's amusement bled through to his voice. _Uncle Severus would be proud. Even if he's on the wrong side of this mess. I think he'd still be proud of me for having absorbed some of his rants about how to successfully manipulate other people. _"I see," he drawled. His tone very heavily suggested that he did _indeed _see, and that he didn't believe Nott.

"And aren't you just serving another master now anyway?" countered Bulstrode unexpectedly.

Draco glanced over at her. "I serve no one," he emphasized coldly. "I am _allied _with others, but I hold my own and make my own decisions. Can you say that much about yourself?"

"See here," Zabini burst out, "No need to get preachy on us, Malfoy. All this hostility is bad for my health. We don't have any sinister intentions towards you, and we just wanted to talk and find out what you were thinking, yeah? Can we just discuss things nicely among us?"

Taken aback, Draco nearly let his mask slip. Was he being serious about hostilities being bad for his health, and discussing things _nicely?_ But Zabini was smiling serenely, although Nott had shot him a vicious glare that could be comparable to a basilisk, Bulstrode looked supremely anxious, and Parkinson was unreadable.

"Why do you want to know?" he countered, unable to think of how else to respond to the truly odd and un-Slytherin turn the conversation had taken.

"_Don't," _began Nott, glaring at Zabini.

Zabini shook his head. "Don't you see, Theo? It's the only way we can get him to trust us enough."

_Internal trouble. I wonder what exactly is going on? _Draco narrowed his eyes, assessing just exactly how loyal the Slytherins really were to their families and to the Dar- to Voldemort. _Because it sure sounds like they aren't as loyal as they appear to be. Maybe they're beginning to see the inconsistencies and the lies that Voldemort spouts. _But he didn't dare hope unless…

"Oh, fuck you boys and all your internal politics and double intentions," Pansy snapped suddenly, her face coming alight with a passion that Draco was familiar with but had seen rarely in the girl. Blazing with confidence, she turned to Draco. "What Blaise is trying to say and Theo too—all of us—we're frankly sick of being our family's pawns, some of us are being asked to do things we'd rather not, and we want to know _why _you left and how you did it without being offed." _There's the crude, blunt Pansy I remember, _Draco thought, stunned. Zabini applauded softly, and Draco frantically searched for the right response—

"Thank Salazar you lot have finally grown a brain," he blurted.

There was a brief frozen moment where Draco felt his knees grow weak in horror at his own bold and uncensored statement, and then—unexpectedly—Pansy began to giggle. "There's the Draco I know," she snorted in an uncanny echo of his own thoughts just seconds earlier.

With that, the tension in the room broke. Nott relaxed, just a fraction, and Bulstrode visibly calmed. Zabini wiped his brow dramatically. "Whew, that was hard work," he said.

Draco eyed the group. "I can give you advice on how to go about solving your problems, and I can tell you my opinions on what you should do, but if you decide to leave—it won't be easy, and it _might _have some serious consequences," he warned them. "I hate to say it, but the stubborn egocentric trait that runs in the Malfoys really lessened the impact for me."

"Never thought you'd be glad for it," Pansy stated wryly. Draco flapped a hand lazily at her. "Hush, girl. I need to have _some _reputation left."

"So, what _would _your opinion be?" asked a quiet voice. Draco turned his head to look at Millicent Bulstrode, who had been silent until now. He met her eyes squarely, and she tilted her head slightly and stared back at him. Her entire countenance was serious, and she leaned forward a little as if already straining to hear what he had to say. _I think she's been having a lot of trouble at home. She looks the most…weary, or wary—both, I think. _But looking at each of the Slytherins he'd been friends with, or at least conversed with on a regular basis just a year ago, Draco could see that it was not just Bulstrode. Each of them showed hints of fatigue, of ever-present (although now subsided) suspicion, and above all, an unvoiced need for things to be relatively simple again. Simplicity—when being Slytherin and Pureblooded meant only that they had to have certain airs and manner, when families had been there to take care of you and not to demand things of you, and when school was a time to learn and to socialize, not to network frantically and spy on others. _Damn Voldemort with a pox. He's the one that's doing this us. I got out of it, but these people were just like me. I have to help them if I can. _

Affirming his resolve mentally, Draco folded his hands on his lap and leaned forward, and began speaking. He spoke of how he had been given the task of killing Dumbledore—they knew, and viewed him with solemn, fearful eyes. _I could have been the one ordered to kill a headmaster, a teacher, a friend, _their fear said. Draco spoke of his own confusion and terror, his raw feeling of inadequacy coupled with his instinctive recoiling at being the instrument of death. They were still, motionless in their seats, but Bulstrode and Nott both had flinched, minutely. _Have they already dipped their hands into blood? _Draco wondered with pity. He spoke of how he had built a wall, a shell around himself, ready to do away with himself just to bring blessed oblivion. _What is peace? _Their tense bodies, listening ears, calculating minds—never peace, no, not even in sleep when someone else could kill or curse you. Draco spoke of a cataclysmic realization of his own pitiful state of being and wrongness. He didn't dare look behind him, where, in the form of a beautiful ghostly girl who was no doubt both shocked and moved by the events unfolding before her, his cataclysm sat.

He spoke of his resolve, despite the consequences he knew could and would happen. He measured the hooded emotions and repressed glances between them. _I could go to Azkaban, like Evangeline Cain did, _whispered their thoughts and blank faces. Draco spoke of the spilling of his soul at the Headmaster's feet, and thought of another man who had, in a private talk just a bit before the horrible attack, professed to have done the exact same thing. They listened, rapt and slightly nauseated at how easily it could have been them—and Draco wasn't the only one whose expression described his complete shock at the kindness and support Albus Dumbledore had extended to him, even upon hearing the extent of his sins.

He did _not _tell them about the Order, or his participation in it. That was confidential, and Draco was fairly certain that if they _did _end up approaching someone—McGonagall being the logical choice—she would extend them an offer of joining as well. Or, rather, the offer of consideration for initiation. The High Council were very picky about the characters of those they allowed in. But he told them about Dumbledore's assistance in his summer plans, down to the back up plan of the portkey snitch he'd used when the Death Eater attack had finally occurred and robbed the Wizarding world of one of the best men—flawed, but great nonetheless—that it had seen in a century.

Before they left, subdued and thoughtful, Draco insisted on them swearing secrecy on everything they had heard. "You mentioned that there are others who may want a way out as well," he told them. "That's all very well and good, but I can't trust them. I can't trust _you _very much, in fact. How do I know that you won't spill to your family or someone who's connected back to _him?_ Even if you didn't mean to—there are ways of getting the truth from your lips that you are unwilling to give." He glanced at them meaningfully, and Pansy had the grace to flush at her own un-Slytherin honesty. Still, it had been the catalyst for the opportunity to win his friends from serving death, and if he could do it he would risk what he had.

They swore, and Draco, sending a silent thank you to Skye for all the research he'd done over the summer, cast a particularly useful if rather out-of-style spell that would do nothing to them irreparable if they broke their secrecy, like any of the normal oaths, but rather just warned them by a slight burning sensation on their tongues and notified _him _by the same persistent burning feeling to his ears. _I can't do anything to stop them from purposely betraying me, but at least I'll have some warning. And I can't do anything about potential Legilimency attacks. Although at least those are rare—as far as I know, only Dumbledore, Voldemort, and…Uncle Severus, were Legilimens. Oh, I suspect one or two of the Order members might be as well. But it's not a requirement of training like Occlumency is. _

When they had left, Draco waited a long minute—to make sure they had really left, and weren't lingering or coming back—before turning apprehensively to his bed where Skye had been sitting the entire time. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he certainly wasn't prepared for the sight that confronted him.

Skye was sitting cross-legged, gravely wiping her face with one sleeve. When she took her arm away, Draco saw that she was smiling brightly, although her eyes were reddened with crying—crying?—and so was her nose. _I didn't know that translucent skin could still look that red, _he thought fleetingly in fascination. "Skye? Are you all right?" he asked awkwardly, hurrying back to her. "What's wrong? Did I say something wrong or do something I shouldn't have?"

"You dolt!" Skye sniffed, blinking away the last of her equally transparent tears and allowing a grin to spread all over her face. "There's nothing wrong! It's all right! I'm so proud of you, Draco dear! Your friends are being truthful, I think, about wanting to get out, and they're serious about it. You'll have actual friends to support you, and things will get better, I just know it!"

Draco hesitantly seated himself on the bed next to Skye, facing her. "You're sure? I was okay, you think? I didn't know what to say, really. And Pansy was really just like she's always been, so I responded the way I would have before…"

Skye elbowed him to no effect. "You were _great, _Draco. I think they'll probably take your advice, or at least do something about their situation and not just passively accept it now. You've given them hope." Then her voice turned from the loving, bolstering tone to something suddenly ferocious. "Now, tell me exactly what _history _you are referring to with Pansy Parkinson. This instant."

"What? Ah—" Draco hastily scooted back an inch, eyeing his spirit girlfriend with trepidation, knowing that he'd definitely messed up somewhere there. "Uh, nothing. Really. I mean it. Nothing's happened," he said quickly.

"Don't lie to me, Draco Malfoy," she snapped. "I can just feel you oozing panic. Tell me!"

"Nothing—I really mean it," Draco insisted. "Yeah, okay, there was the Yule Ball but that was because neither of us wanted to go stag and we were friends. Then there was a bit of a crush Pansy had on me back in third year, but that was really short, and we were just friends really. She's got a bit of a sharp, acidic tongue and a wicked sense of humor, but she's nothing compared to you, Skye. Besides, I never liked her that way. I swear!" Draco pleaded, sweating bullets and trying to dig himself out of the hole he'd fallen into.

Skye glared at him. Waited.

Finally, just when Draco was about to collapse from anxiety, she smiled and relaxed, and his breath released in a whoosh of relief. "Fine, I believe you," she told him. "But—_but—_if I find out something funny happening between you two from now on, there will be hell to pay, I swear to you Draco Malfoy. You haven't been acquainted to the full wrath of a Corwin yet."

Gulping, Draco raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing. Nothing funny. I promise. Just helping out a friend, kay Skye?"

Relenting, she shot up out of his bed and smiled down at what presumably was Granger's kneazle judging from the way the sheets seemed to wrinkle even more and some ginger hairs appeared as tiny indents in his mattress told him the cat was standing. "Come on, Crooks," she murmured. "Let's get you back down to your mistress and thank her for her loan and her help, and inform her of what took place. I think she'll be very happy." Dutifully, Draco trailed after Skye, nearly tripping on the way to the door over a warm furry body that mewed indignantly at his ill-treatment, and they wended their way down to Granger's office.

**--break--**

Severus raised his eyebrow at the discomfited man before him, face impassive even as his thoughts reeled under the strain of keeping it together without a bout of projectile vomiting. His migraine was dulled now, but his stomach very much sensitive, and even the least scent made him want to rid himself of the little bit of water and crackers in his system.

As bad as he felt, Antonin Dolohov still looked worse. He was pale and haggard, and walked slowly wherever he went. And he bore a long, wicked-looking scar—Hermione's return mark for the one she probably still bore. _An eye for an eye…_ "You've been trying to get my attention for the past week, Dolohov. What is it you wish to know?"

"Cut the shit, Snape," Dolohov grunted. "You saved my life, or so Bella says. The Life Debt—it doesn't feel like it ought to."

"And how would you know what a Life Debt feels like? Or have you had your sorry ass hauled from the brink of death more than the once?" Severus snapped back, fast losing his patience for the man who had nearly killed Hermione when she had still been a child, still mostly defenseless against a grown Death Eater. He almost wished he had left the man to die in a sorry bloody heap on the floor—it would have saved so much trouble!

"The same way you yourself knew, no matter what you said, that you owed James Potter a Life Debt," Dolohov shot back.

The air stilled, froze. Into the crackling antagonism that had pervaded the library, Severus drilled his ice-cold black eyes into Dolohov, and when he spoke it was with a tense, crackling power that Dolohov could have sworn filled the room until there was no air to breathe, no room to move or flee. "Careful, Dolohov," he murmured, his voice suddenly three volumes softer than normal and very dangerous. "You are bound to me by ancient magic, and ancient magic often has a mind of its own. It would be very tragic for you to cross the Veil so soon after I saved your unworthy life. If I were you, I would tread—very lightly—around—me," he finished softly, gaze glinting harshly.

The tableau was broken by Cain.

"Severus—ah, there you are," the youthful boy called cheerily, and Dolohov jerked violently, went whiter if possible when he jarred the healing scar, and without a word turned and left the library. "Hullo, Dolohov," Cain greeted the reticent man as he passed by. "Oh, Severus, I was looking for you. Have you recovered from the failed experiment?"

"Certainly not enough to continue, not if you wish the best quality. There is also a risk that my physical and magical wellbeing could affect the more sensitive ingredients of the experimental potions. And I've already told you—I'm out of certain ingredients I'm at the moment trying to locate."

"Can't you just…money, or anything to speed the process of finding the blasted ingredients?" Cain asked petulantly.

"Fresh dragon's blood, drawn in the correct way for the highest potency?" Severus sneered. "It is obvious you did not learn much from Advanced Potions your seventh year. Fresh dragon's blood, the highest quality that our Master demands, is rare. Even rarer if it's from the Chinese Fireball, since it is extraordinarily difficult for any of the blood to make it to Britain in a timely manner. The international delivery service between China and the British Isles are unforgivably slow and rife with Ministry interference."

"Yes, yes, well see what you can do," Cain interrupted impatiently, obviously uninterested in the mini-lesson. "The Dark Lord is planning something fun for the foot soldiers, but he also expects something substantial from us by around Halloween."

"That's in barely less than a fortnight," Severus observed neutrally. _Dammit, I knew they were doing something for Halloween! I have to let Hermione know—I wonder if Cain knows what they're up to?_

"I know. That's why we must hurry," Cassius Cain muttered.

"What are they planning for the ranks?" Severus asked, his tone detached.

Cain sighed dramatically. "I find it unnecessary and a waste of resources," he exclaimed. "However, the Dark Lord considers the feelings of the lower ranks when he plans his attacks. Apparently, my dear sister Evie will _not _be kissing everything that moves." He shrugged, eyes brilliant and uncaring. "They were speaking of a possibility of contracting with you, before she was captured, you know," he said slyly.

_Contracting—_"What?" Severus demanded.

"Marriage, of course. My parents were quite interested in your accomplishments for our Lord."

"I am not interested in any alliance or relationship," Severus snarled.

"You'd do well with one in our family," Cain insisted.

"I will let you know when I am ready to brew again and when I hear back from the man procuring the dragon's blood," Severus fairly spat and strode away, not looking back. _Evangeline Cain, my wife? Never. _He felt a spurt of disgust and pure terror. _Ambitious, corrupt, powerful, and dark—not even her looks would convince me to bed the viper, let alone wed her! Never, not even if I have to find another woman to marry temporarily to be uneligible. _Intelligent luminous brown eyes and soft, tangled wild hair sprang into his mind and Severus cursed himself, the Dark Lord, and the entire race of Cains as he stormed his way back to his rooms, took a dose of Dreamless Sleep, and welcomed oblivion several hours too early.

**A.N.: I'm so sorry that I temporarily disappeared without any warning! I have had a sudden deluge of exams, papers, and projects in the past two weeks and have only just resurfaced. This chapter was written in my study breaks, and the next chapter will probably take longer than the customary week to write because I'm going out of town and might not have much computer access for the week. I will, however, be on track after that. My apologies once again!**


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer: I own…a lot of holes in my socks, but that's about it. HP belongs to JKR. **

It was a meeting day. Or, perhaps, more accurately, a Meeting Day, with capitalizations for all the significance Hermione placed on it. Or maybe it should be _meeting day. _However it was written, the emphasis was clear. In approximately thirty seconds, she was going to be confronting—er, convening with her crush. _Crush. That sounds so curst juvenile. Oh, for Merlin's sake! No wonder people are supposed to get eight hours of sleep each night. Going on much less for so long definitely messes with proper mind control and thinking processes. Just get on with it, and employ some of that good common sense your parents taught you, and a dash of the good compartmentalizing Severus pounded into your head! _Hermione apparated before she could rethink her sudden confidence, giggling a little as a random image of a musical she'd seen as a child and loved popped into her head with the snippet of song it accompanied. _"I have confidence the world can all be mine! They'll have to agree, I have confidence in me." _ Well, perhaps she didn't have the naïve confidence Maria did in the world. But she was going to be confident of herself if it killed her to do so, and most especially with Severus, who could smell a weakness from a mile away. _And tell me to my face to fix it, with his bluntness, and not risk the cause with my bloody childishness. I survived with concealing my…feelings…before. I can do it now. _

"Milena, prompt as usual," purred a silky voice that went straight to her…never mind. Struggling to keep hold onto the personality of the skin she was wearing, though it got harder by the second as waves of Hermione's emotion overpowered the comparatively weak, one-dimensional, thoughts of the constructed Milena. _Love conquers all and all that. No! Go away! _Milena had just barely managed to wrestle back into the seat of control when a dark shadow detached itself from the wall and walked—_glided—_over to her, and it was all Milena could do to stay in power as Hermione's body suddenly and unexpectedly experienced a rare wave of pure desire.

"Severus, it's _very _good to see you," Milena murmured, arching an eyebrow and sliding one hand smoothly to his arm. "It's been too long."

They started walking, and Severus placed a light hand on the small of Milena's back. Hermione was ready to dissolve into a pool of hormones and she'd had a realization. _Damn, it's that time of month. I'd forgotten about it. No wonder I'm so…responsive. That and I'm really tired. _Both Hermione and Milena did not object to the hand, leaning into it a little as they headed down the corridor and into Severus' quarters.

Where Severus' hand at her back seemed to linger just a little longer, perhaps, than was necessary. _And yet not long enough. _She bit her lip in consternation at the jolt of lust she'd become at the mere sight of the man—tall, clad casually in his usual black but in robes meant for lounging and not teaching, eyes with a hint of a spark that Hermione wanted to find and bring out fully into the light, and the way the comfortable material of his robes folded and flowed over his body rather than encasing it in a cloth armor…

"We have a problem." Severus bit, breaking through her wandering thoughts and stepping abruptly away from her as if he'd been cursed. "The Dark Lord's planning for his foot soldiers to do some damage this Halloween. Cassius Cain thinks they're going to break his sister out of Azkaban before her trial. They might take the opportunity to break out the other Death Eaters there as well."

"Damn it." Hermione cursed, and then cursed again. The sudden surge of desire that had nearly knocked her off her feet when she'd laid eyes on him subsided, to be replaced by a deep dismay and anger. The weariness of little sleep and much work and worry suddenly reasserted themselves over her hectic hormones.

"You'll have to hurry. All Hallow's Eve is in only a little more than a week," Severus said, his eyes dark with fatigue.

Hermione, equally exhausted and feeling extremely dull-witted and slow now that her hormones and emotions weren't running roughshod over her, nodded. "Yes. I will let Minerva and Li know," she confirmed. "Is that all you could find out, that they were planning something for Halloween and that it might be a breakout of the Death Eaters at Azkaban?"

"That's it," Severus shot at her short-temperedly. "Being poisoned and being a key member of a vital research team while trying to sabotage said research doesn't leave me much time for anything else."

"Neither does keeping a gaggle of imbecilic students from blowing themselves up in class," Hermione snapped back. Then she thought about what she had just said, and looked up to smile a tad ruefully at the highly ironic lifted brow Severus had just lifted. _Merlin, but his crooked eyebrow was irrepressibly sexy! _"Then again, I do suppose you know something of that," she acknowledged. "I'm sorry, Severus, I've been so testy lately. It hasn't been a good week. Slughorn's an idiot and isn't following your syllabus so I am holding tutoring sessions now for upper level Potions students, the second and third year students are the most unruly and obnoxious children and won't listen to me no matter what I say, I've been running interference for Draco for an important project he needs higher Order access to research, and—how did you ever manage your multiple roles when you were our professor, Severus? I'm fair fatigued, and it's barely been two months!" Hermione groaned and rested her head in her hands, the scarlet of her dress wrinkling at her disregard for its appearance.

"I am sure you are doing a fine job, Hermione," Severus said in an uncomfortable manner. Peeking through her fingers, Hermione noted that he looked stiff and almost uncertain of what to do—_oh. I think he thinks that I'm going to cry or do something utterly girlish. Poor man! I haven't yet met a male who could cope with tears. _

"They won't _listen _to me though," Hermione bemoaned. She sat up and thumped her fist against a cushion angrily. "I feel like a failure as a teacher on all counts. The second and third years won't listen to me for the most part. They have the worst attitudes. Did you know, one third year boy even _charmed a spitball _to attack his classmate right in plain view? And just yesterday, a second year decided that it would be fun to purposely dip her quill into her friend's cauldron? It was a Swelling Potion."

Severus winced. "I fear to ask what resulted in that experiment…"

"Of course the preservative coat on the quill feather reacted badly with the puffer-fish eyes in the potion! The cauldron exploded, the quill went up in a ten foot blue flame, and a student had to go to the Hospital Wing! The second year holding the quill managed to get himself a minor concussion from diving out of the way. If I hadn't managed to get a shield up fast enough, they could all have been burned badly!" Hermione flung her arms out. "I'm not cut out to be a teacher, Severus! I had never planned on being one until I had to. I can't even protect my own students or get them to learn. Two of the seventh year advanced Potions students came to me to ask about some esoteric question or other because Slughorn had directed them to me, and _I didn't know the answer. _I couldn't even tell them where to begin, except for to go to the library or back to Slughorn!"

"That was Horace Slughorn's prerogative and duty in the first place," Severus said firmly. "He is to blame, not you, for that. You were not in a seventh year advanced curriculum Potions class. You did not get the benefit of an actual Potions teacher for your last year, and besides which—it was not your first choice of subject to go into, was it?" He looked at her narrowly.

Hermione shook her head disconsolately. "I love Potions, it's fascinating, and I can brew competently—sometimes even brilliantly in moments of divine inspiration. But it was never really something I wanted to base my entire life around. It still isn't. No offence—" Hermione looked at Severus anxiously, but he gave her a small smirk that reassured her immensely.

"You would make an acceptable Potions Mistress," he told her. "However, you would do even better with something that drew your heart as well as your mind."

"That's it, exactly," Hermione cried, ridiculously relieved that he understood—that Severus _got _what she felt and couldn't quite say to anyone else. "I could never aspire to be as devoted and as brilliant as you are to Potions. It just doesn't consume me. And I didn't ever really consider teaching as a job I'd want—maybe back when I was younger, but it wasn't something I truly thought about. I actually never really was sure what I wanted to do after Hogwarts. I was going to take a couple of years off in the Muggle world and maybe catch up with my studies there, go to Uni, maybe even a temporary job. But…" she sighed.

"Did you think that teaching was my first choice of career?" Severus asked. Surprised, Hermione furrowed her forehead. "It wasn't," he affirmed grimly. "I knew I wanted to pursue Potions further. I gained a Mastery, but before I could even begin to look for a way to employ my skills—perhaps at an apothecary—the Dark Lord had planned my future for me to his benefit. And then even when he was gone, Albus held my redemption in his hands, and it lay in atonement at Hogwarts."

Hermione swallowed, and after a moment, impulsively—albeit nervously—reached over to lay her hand over his long, callused hand. She clasped it briefly, squeezed, and then reluctantly let go and drew her hand back. "You have paid for anything you might have done wrong ten times over, Severus," she said fiercely. "Don't believe anything different. You're the one that keeps us relatively safe in our homes and at school, and prevents evil overlords from taking control of the world. Albus may have been a wonderful, amazing man but he was human and he made many mistakes in handling your life, Severus. You deserved better—you deserve better. I hope that after this, whenever it may be, you'll find the happiness that you should be enjoying even now."

The silence engulfed them, and in the wake of Hermione's passionate, un-planned speech, Severus looked flabbergasted and astounded. He stared at Hermione like he'd never seen her before, and Hermione tried not to duck her head down and fix her eyes on her feet. My _feet too, since I'm back in my un-Polyjuiced self. _It was a risk, but one Hermione was willing to take and Severus had said nothing but only given her a veiled glance of approval when her Polyjuice had worn off soon after they repaired to his quarters, leaving her as plain Hermione in the slightly ill-fitting clothes of the glamorous Milena. Just when Hermione was beginning to wish she'd not opened her mouth at all, that she'd stayed quiet and saved herself the embarrassment, Severus—wonder of all wonders!—_reached out on his own initiative, and took her hand! _

Trembling, Hermione allowed him to pick up her left hand with both of his and turn it to examine her palm. One thumb rubbed absently across the cold, dry surface and it left a blazing trail of heat that prickled and played havoc with each and every nerve ending in her hand, shooting all the way down her arm and flooding her entire body with hopefully unnoticeable shivers of delight. _Oh, my…_

"You give me more credit than I could ever imagine, Hermione. There are things I've done that are simply unforgivable," Severus murmured, his dark eyes never leaving her breathless gaze.

Somehow, she managed to find enough functioning brain cells to scrape together a semi-coherent reply, still hyperaware of the way his hands cupped around hers. "That's because you haven't forgiven yourself yet," she replied. "One must forgive oneself before the unforgivable becomes forgivable. Er…" she blinked at her rather convoluted answer. "I mean, some things we can't earn on our own merit, right? That's why words like mercy and grace exist. For cases like yours, when a lifetime of devoted work to preserving life and love and light for others may not balance out some ugly deeds of the past, but the intention and the repentance is true and are what is counted for in the equation of forgiveness. Oh dear. I feel as if I'm not making sense. Am I just confusing you more?"

Severus half-smirked. "A dreadfully unorganized, un-encyclopedic answer, Miss Granger, but barely acceptable." He glanced down at their connected hands. "Albus…Albus used to say that love was the greatest power in the world. I wasn't sure I believed him, but it seems to me you're speaking about much the same thing, only in different ways. Albus considered love as a driving force that would defeat evil. You seem to be saying that love is a compassion _for _the…the foolish, the fallen, the second chance without having to earn it physically. Love as a saving grace, rather than an attack on the dark."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Hermione agreed. She paused, savoring the thrill that Severus' focus on her, his warm fingers around hers, and the most distant fleeing thought in her brain wondered, _might he actually _like _me in that way as well? _It was banished quickly, but the lingering seed of hope had been planted.

**--break--**

"You look so peaceful," Draco breathed. He was standing at the foot of a white hospital bed, in St. Mungos, and Skye was both standing solemnly next to him and lying serenely in the bed before him. "Like you're dreaming about something good."

"I'm certainly not dreaming at the moment," Skye replied tartly. She strode over to her body and put her hands on her hips, sighing exasperatedly. "Skye Corwin, I demand that you wake up this instant!"

The wax-pale body didn't stir.

Neutrally, Draco said, "Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity you know."

"If that were true, at least half the student population and probably that many professors would be committed to St. Mungo's permanent ward for the mentally instable," Skye retorted. She tilted her head to gaze thoughtfully down at her sleeping self. "This is most inconvenient and possibly the oddest thing I've ever experienced, really, just watching myself. I never get used to it no matter how many times I come. I'm glad you came this time though." She smiled radiantly at her solid boyfriend, who had jammed his hands into the pockets of his robes and was now staring at the still face of his girlfriend's physical body as well.

"You had better be, it took some convincing to get permission to visit St. Mungos at all, and even more to get into your room," he fake-growled.

"All you had to do was flirt a little with the receptionist and give a bit of money to St. Mungo's latest charity fund, and she was practically tripping over herself to show you to my room. Doesn't say much for my security," Skye grumbled.

"Yes, but she was old enough to be my _mother, _and ugly besides!" Draco protested. "Ow!"

"Don't be a baby. You can't feel my punches anyway," Skye said snippily.

Draco subsided sulkily, and for a long moment there was nothing but silence and the distant murmur of voices farther away, out in the hallway. Taking the opportunity at hand, Draco examined his girlfriend's comatose body with care tinged with true regret and remorse for his role, however unwanted, in landing her there in the white hospital bed unconscious in the first place—and her parents in the cold, earthen graves beneath pale gravestones. Yet even as he mourned having caused Skye so much pain and harm, he could not help but be selfishly glad that things had occurred as they had done, for the tragic events that still haunted Skye (though she might not admit it, he could see how much she missed her parents and being able to interact with the world) had also brought Skye into his life in a significant way. He didn't think he could imagine life without her now, and it terrified him when he stopped to think about it—that she might still slip away, that she might one day disappear and her body pass away into the Veiled Realm, or even that she might come to her senses and spurn him, or become resentful of his hold on her existence. _Gods, I can't lose her. She's everything good about me. I couldn't do a damn thing without her. _How easily he'd fallen in love, the boy who had vowed never to do so! He'd had crushes before, of course, but all of them paled in comparison to the overwhelming flood of _emotion _associated with the beautiful girl who was both lying deceptively still in St. Mungos and the contemplative spirit gazing down at herself with troubled and longing eyes.

He still couldn't believe that such a wonderful creature reciprocated his feelings, but she did and Draco considered himself the luckiest person alive. _If only Uncle Severus was—_

But that was another thing altogether. Uncle Severus, as far as he knew, was on the opposite side of the war. Or, perhaps more likely, playing his own game completely and on his own third front. That would explain his reasoning in not giving Draco away when he'd confessed his desire for an _out _of the darkness. There was still that unspoken belief in his heart, Draco mused, that made him unwilling to think that Uncle Severus would deliberately cause him harm. Not the man who had often held his little secrets for him from his parents, and had often taken care of him when his parents were too busy holidaying or socializing to bother with a little boy.

_Besides, as the consummate Slytherin who knows where his true loyalties really lie? Common sense says with the Dark L—with Voldemort, but the infuriating man always had unexpected tricks hidden up his sleeve even in a simple game of chess. I'm not going to pass judgment on his apparent murder of—of the headmaster, until I hear him explain himself and can look him in the eye. _

Ruminating, lost in thought, Draco didn't hear Skye's sudden exclamation or the door to the private hospital room turn, until it was too late. Jumping to his feet, Draco gulped and threw a terrified glance towards Skye—spirit Skye—before squaring his shoulders and turning to face Danielle Corwin.

"_What. Do. You. Think. You're. Doing. Here?" _she thundered, wand clutched threateningly in her hand and nearly touching the tip of his nose.

Draco opened his mouth, squeaked, and swallowed, then tried again. This time, his mouth was slightly less dry though he was no less intimidated. "I'm—uh, I'm visiting Skye, Ma'am. Headmistress said I could, you see, it's a Hogsmeade weekend and she gave me permission, that is, she said—"

"Quiet, boy." Draco shut up immediately. He tried not to stare crosseyed at the wand in his face, but waited. "What I want to know is, what are you really doing in my niece's hospital room and how _dare _you even show your face around her after all you've done?"

"I was—I was apologizing, Ma'am," Draco babbled. "I'm truly sorry, I really am, for what happened. I never knew what my father was going to do or anything until it was too late, honest. I would take her place right now if I could, she doesn't deserve what my father did. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you. Why should you, a Malfoy, have a sudden attack of the conscience now? The…those higher than us may have decided to trust you but I don't."

The wand moved swiftly to dig into the side of Draco's neck. Panic began to set in. Draco flicked his eyes up to meet Danielle Corwin's desperately, and just beyond her saw the girl he loved hovering with worry in her lovely eyes. "Tell her about me," she called suddenly. Draco started, and the smooth wood increased its pressure.

_What? _His eyes conveyed.

"Do it. Tell her about me being like this, and what we're trying to do to get me back into my body," Skye ordered. "She'll never let go of the vendetta she has against you otherwise. It's better to have her on our side than against, and she could maybe help bolster Hermione's petition in the Order to get us in on the information we need."

_Are you sure that's what you want, Skye? _

"Do it."

"Okay," Draco spoke aloud.

"What?" Corwin demanded.

Draco took the plunge. "Ma'am, please, I have something of crucial significance to tell you. But I can only do that if we perhaps were a little more comfortable. Would you be amenable to hearing me out like civilized beings, perhaps?"

She seemed on the verge of saying no, but something in his steady and earnest gaze must have convinced her to change her mind, because she abruptly took her wand away from his neck and clamped a hand around his wrist, dragging him forcibly outside. Skye followed, and murmured encouragement as he was yanked down the hallway and into what looked to be a large storeroom. When she'd transfigured two boxes into chairs and thrust him into one of them, seating herself in the other, and put a privacy spell up, she fixed him with an expectant glare. "Well, go on," she ordered.

Draco, now that he wasn't being held at wand-point by a formidable warrior related to Skye, loosened a little and drew strength from the girl in question who was sitting cross-legged on a third box nearby. "To tell this story, I'm going to have to go back to the beginning," he mused, keeping a wary eye on the wooden stick still lying across the woman's lap but slipping into a more relaxed state. "It all started when my father decided that it was time to contract for my eventual marriage…"

"Skye is here, in a sort of spirit-ghost form. Right now." Danielle Corwin stated flatly.

"Yes," Draco asserted confidently. "She is. She's sitting on that box right now." Skye sketched an ironic little half-bow from her waist from where she was sitting, and Draco smirked back at her.

"You expect me to believe this fantastical drivel?" Corwin exclaimed incredulously. "You'll have to prove it for me to believe it."

"Tell her when I was five, my mother had a miscarriage and it took months for her to recover from the guilt," Skye told Draco.

When Draco dutifully repeated it (with an inquisitive glance directed at Skye) the woman visibly started, before her face hardened again. "You could have gotten that information from someone at St. Mungos. That still doesn't verify anything except for your bribery skills."

"Oh, for heaven's sake Aunt Danielle," Skye sighed in exasperation. "Um…let me think of something else." She tapped her fingers to her bottom lip. "When I was seven, I went flying by myself and Aunt Danielle caught me. She tanned my backside good and proper for disobeying my parents."

But Corwin didn't accept that either. Draco began to feel his life expectancy drop drastically as Skye frantically searched for something else that might satisfy her aunt's suspicions and said aunt stared at him grimly. Finally, Skye's eyes lit up triumphantly. "I've got it! This one she _has _to accept, no one but she and I know about this. When I first fell in love with glass-blowing, my parents weren't too keen on it, and I felt torn because I felt almost obligated to go into something like Auror-work. One day, before they had grown used to the idea, Aunt Danielle took me aside and told me that 'sometimes, the bravest thing in the world is not to fight evil with spells and incantations, but to combat the darkness with beauty. If you feel that beauty wanting to come out, honey, you must let it out and never let anyone—no matter how much they mean to you—tell you no.' Those were her exact words."

Draco sure hoped they were, as he repeated them to the woman who currently wanted to slow-roast him, behead him, cut his bits off, and feed them to the hippogriffs—not necessarily in that order. And while he thought Skye might protest at the last without having, er, tried them out for herself first, it wasn't as if she could do anything while in the insubstantial form she currently possessed. _I haven't even had a chance to live yet! _He pleaded with the unknown deities that might be listening in at the moment. _Let her listen to me, and I swear I'll…I'll…I'll give Potter a compliment! _

And perhaps the gods had some sort of sick amusement in toying with his life, because the Unspeakable's façade cracked from cold fury into pure shock, grief, and incredulous pain. "What…no, it's not possible," she whispered, and her wand dug into his neck for a brief instant so far that Draco thought that the tip would emerge from the other side soon. Then the pressure relaxed abruptly as the wand dropped, following the limp hand holding it. Draco resisted lifting his hand up to rub at the painful hole he was sure he now sported. _Do I really have to pay Potter a compliment? _He whined mentally in the general direction of the deity that had apparently decided to keep him around a little longer. He directed his attention up, and exchanged looks with Skye—who looked watery-eyed and emotional. Blinking, and realizing he was trapped between two highly-emotional, about-to-cry women—though perhaps Danielle Corwin would not allow him to see her tears at least, thank the gods—Draco sighed, and gently and slowly pulled out his own wand, holding placing it on the box right next to where Sky was sitting, indicating his own harmlessness. "Look, Unspeakable Corwin, I swear to you by all I hold dear that I am speaking the truth. Skye is here right now, sitting on that box right there, and she's been visible to me since the end of last year. Before the Hogwarts attack happened. She misses you a lot."

"It's hard to believe…I still don't know…but only Skye and I knew what happened that day, and those exact words! Are you really here, Skye?" the woman cried, voice trembling.

"I'm here, Aunty Dani," Skye whispered, tears now spilling down her cheeks. She lifted her hand to her aunt's shoulder, just barely touching it.

"Is she…is she doing something?"

"She's touching your left shoulder," Draco told her softly.

Madame Corwin placed a slightly shaking hand up over onto her own shoulder, and perhaps just by luck, managed to place it right through Skye's. Both women gasped, simultaneously. "I can feel her!" They both exclaimed, and Draco looked between the two, flabbergasted.

"What? You can feel each other?"

"Yes," Skye said breathlessly, her nose still stuffed from crying but eyes bright with excitement. "Not like _feeling _feeling, you know. I haven't felt felt like a real person since…well, you know. Since I stopped being inside a real body. But it feels…"

"Warm," Danielle Corwin whispered. "It feels warm, and with the tiniest pulling in my veins, almost like my blood recognizes hers."

"Can you hear her?" Draco asked in fascination, still in shock.

"If she's spoken, no, I haven't heard her," Danielle admitted. She tightened her hand on her shoulder, fingers going right through Skye's. "But I can feel her. She's here. She's really here."

"I love you, Aunt Danielle," Skye murmured, and gave her aunt a full hug.

_She still needs me, _Draco tried to assure himself. _She still likes you. It's good that she has this connection with her aunt. She's been missing being able to touch and feel objects physically, that's been one of the hardest things for her. You know it has. She's a physical person, and it was slowly driving her mad that she couldn't _touch _anything. And reuniting with her aunt, her only living blood relative, is important. Significant. I shouldn't be jealous. _But he was, watching Skye and her aunt communicate—her aunt apologizing profusely for everything that had gone wrong, Skye trying to tell her aunt that it wasn't her fault despite not being able to be heard—all the while hugging each other in a fashion. Feeling some sort of sensation from each other as blood recognized blood. _I would give anything to be able to just hold hands with Skye. Feel her hair brush against my fingers, touch my lips to hers. Hold her when she's upset, even get whacked in the head when she's fed-up with me without her arm passing through and me being none the wiser if I didn't visually see it._

_If—_when _she got back into her body again, would she need him anymore? Would she still feel the same way? _Draco wanted to think so, but his stomach clenched and the voice that had been with him for forever but had recently subsided to the background came back with a vengeance, murmuring insidious words that made his head hurt and his heart go cold. _She only needs you now because you're the only one who can see her and hear her. She only likes you now because of it. When she gets back into her own body she won't need you anymore, she'll realize what a burden it was to be bound to you that way, and she'll be resentful. She'll have wider prospects. She'll leave you. _

"Draco?" Draco looked up at the sound of Skye's voice, concerned and still a bit thick from tears. "Draco, what's wrong?"

_Merlin's balls, I forgot about the bond. She can sense my strong emotions. _Draco immediately employed the little he'd managed to learn from Uncle Severus by the way of Occlumency, and said faux lightly, "Nothing's wrong, Skye. Just a bit tired. I didn't get much sleep last night, you know."

Skye still looked suspicious, but she lost the majority of worry from her face and her brow lifted from its furrowed position as she looked back at her aunt. "Do you think Aunt Danielle would be able to help us out with our research a bit? Maybe give Hermione's word a bit of weight?"

"I can ask," Draco replied, and turned resolutely to the older woman, who now looked years younger with the revelation of her niece's conscious existence despite the rather unfortunate aspect of not being within her body. "Madame Corwin," he began with the utmost politeness, "Skye and I, we were wondering if you could help us with a bit of a dilemma we're having in getting Skye back into her body. You see, it's like this…"

**A.N.: I'm back! I'm sorry for the delay and sad wait. But in the interval between my last update and this, I did manage to see—or rather hear, real life, an amazing rendition of several themes from the Harry Potter movies including "Hedwig's Theme," performed by the Honolulu Symphony. Absolutely magical. :) **

**So, I'm going to try and readjust myself back into Friday/Saturday updates, which is generally what I try to aim for. I might not get a chapter out by the end of this week, but hopefully next week will be back to normal. Cross your fingers…**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, burst my bubble why don't you. I don't own…**

There weren't many times that Severus Snape was truly, thoroughly shocked to the core of his being. Unpleasantly surprised, yes. Beset upon by unexpected unfortunate events, yes. Even the occasional interesting realization. But something that rocked his very soul's foundation—that hadn't happened since he'd realized that he'd essentially played a hand in killing Lily, so very long ago, and Dumbledore had forgiven him.

But now he was shaken, so shaken that he couldn't even pace as he was wont to do when he confronted any problem or obstacle. Instead, he sat wearily in his chair, staring vacantly off into space and wondering just exactly how he'd managed to go and get himself a…an_ attachment _to Hermione Granger.

_More like a silly and completely inappropriate infatuation with a girl two decades younger than you! _

But no. Though he wanted to protest and call himself a sick paedophile, he couldn't lie—the 'girl' was not truly a child, and had not been for at least a year now. _That doesn't excuse you—she's eighteen—or is it nineteen?—barely of age! _No matter her maturity, experience, or appearance, he was a perverted old man to have developed such a fascination, and yes, desire, for her. _You're truly a monster, Severus Snape. Didn't think you'd stoop to such levels. You're no better than all those you call scum of the earth, your fellow Death Eaters. Once a Death Eater…_

Now that he was thinking about her in that way, he couldn't stop. Severus' mind insisted on digging up the most innocuous times he'd spent in her company, and seeing her with the hindsight of his just-realized attachment, he cringed at sullying her—even the thought or memory of Hermione—with this…unacceptable fondness. _The motions of her body, fluid and golden as she faced off with him and moved through sally after sally…the sweat trickling down her neck, trailing past her collarbone to dip—there…her voice, soothing in its cadence as she chased after an elusive concept and argued points of debate with him…her unmistakable hair tickling his arm as she impulsively hugged him…the determined stare of an equal rather than a student when she'd confronted him and finally had it out with him about being his peer and no longer his pupil…the sight of her, flushed and talking and ignorant of the way she'd transformed mid-sentence from the elegantly lined body of a stranger into the warmth of herself with those seductively bare feet and expressive eyes…his hands on her soft, soft skin at her delicate throat, pressed too close to her—what? _

Severus clapped one hand to his forehead in dismay as he remembered just how he'd attacked her, oh it felt forever ago, when she'd surprised him in his office and he'd pushed her up against a wall and nearly killed her. _How could I have forgotten that? _he agonized, reliving the moment again. "Even then, I realized just how soft her body was against mine, despite all the muscles," he murmured and then shook his head violently. _No! She's off limits, Severus Snape. She belongs to a child of the light—Potter, perhaps, or Weasley. Someone her age, who doesn't have the blood of too many on his hands, on his soul. Someone who can give her what she deserves. _Rubbing his face, Severus muttered, "I'm a fool."

Somehow, and at some point, Severus Snape had gone from not even truly liking the girl, to feeling—_something—_for the woman she'd become. Just how it had happened he didn't know. Just what he _felt, _Severus didn't dare explore. _It could be just lust. I'm just a dirty, perverted man. _But he would _not _examine just what it was, because Severus feared, oh how he feared! For the last time he'd experienced any sort of sensation similar in the slightest to what he suffered now, he had been a young boy-man and he had been in love with Lily Evans.

"You're an idiot and a pathetic cretin of the highest order, even more so than Potter, Severus Snape," he sneered to himself. Silence answered him.

**--break--**

"Herm—uh, Professor Granger," Ginny greeted as she caught up to Hermione in the hallway. Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly at the younger redhead, making a wry face.

"Hello, _Miss Weasley," _she teased with a slight smile. "How are you this fine Monday morning?"

"Wondering if you have time to talk sometime today," Ginny replied promptly. She flicked her eyes around, scanning the mostly empty corridor. It was earlier than when the usual masses of students ventured down to breakfast. "About stuff."

_Stuff. Hm. _Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "Do you have a free period today at all?"

"Yes, at two," Ginny confirmed. "I didn't take Divination." Hermione managed not to laugh, and instead mentally accessed her teaching schedule for the day.

"I'm free then, I have a planning period," she mused. "Professor Slughorn will be teaching the fourth years in the classroom so we can use the small office. Is that alright with you?"

"Perfect," Ginny breathed with gratefulness. "It's not urgent-urgent, just…important. Stuff."

"Right. Well I'll see you then, Miss Weasley," Hermione nodded as they parted ways to head for their respective tables for breakfast.

When the bell had rung for the next period and Hermione had started grading a stack of Slughorn's fifth year Potion essays, Ginny appeared at the door. Behind her, bouncing happily along, was—Lionel Jordan? "Come in," Hermione waved, and Ginny shut the door behind them with a dull thunk. She stood for a moment, and after a brief pause Hermione realized that she was giving her a significant eye. "What—oh!" She picked up her wand from the desk and gave it a practice roll and flick, murmuring under her breath as she did so. "It's safe to talk now," she informed them. "Sit down. Hello, Lionel. How are you?"

"Enjoying Potions with you much more than the git," Lionel grinned. Hermione couldn't help but smile back at the infectious boy, despite the painful twist her heart made and the angry defense that sprang to her lips for Severus.

"You certainly have a talent for livening the class, though not always to its betterment," Hermione commented in amusement. She raised a brow laconically at him, and he blushed. In class, Lionel was one of the most rambunctious third years Hermione taught, and while some of his call-outs were sometimes relevant and sometimes funny, he also had a propensity to disrupt the class, and he'd already melted a cauldron while brewing the most un-inflammable potion Hermione could imagine. Hermione had had to give him a detention for that one, and had taken points from Ravenclaw more than once for his constant nattering and interruptions. _Still, he's such an intelligent young boy. Just unable to sit still and quiet for longer than ten minutes at a time. _

"Lionel here came to me with a very valid proposal as well as an intriguing offer," Ginny spoke up. She flashed a smile at him encouragingly. "Why don't you tell Professor Granger about your idea, Lionel?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Well, over the summer my friends and I were fiddling around with some Muggle stuff, and we asked my Mum how cell phones work. You remember, when I had mine with me last year, and it somehow managed to get signal here?"

"Yes, and you received detention for that," Hermione noted with suppressed mirth.

"Yeah, that time. Well my Mum explained to us about cell phone towers and lines and everything and we started wondering why cell phones work here but other Muggle technology doesn't, and then we got to thinking about how we could help because none of us want to end up like Headmaster Dumbledore or like that Indian twin girl in Gryff." Lionel frowned, momentarily sidetracked. "Padma's been really different since then. Her sister was an honorary 'Claw, so all of us wanted to do something. Oh, so anyway I thought, why can't you all use cell phones here for…like, instead of Floo or something if it's being watched by a spy or something? And then I also thought, a lot of us younger kids, especially in Ravenclaw, want to fight too but we're not old enough for your DA group so why can't we have our own if there's someone to teach us? So I asked Ginny and she said we still were too young to fight but learning how to defend ourselves was a good idea, and then she got interested in the Muggle tech and wanted to know what else could be useful and I tried to s'plain about computers and electricity but I guess I wasn't very good at explaining—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mister Jordan," Hermione interrupted hastily, her mind awhirl and awash with the beginnings of ideas and Lionel's chatter. "Calm down, lad. I get the picture. One thing at a time, yeah?"

Ginny was stifling laughter, and Hermione shot a glare over in the girl's general direction. "_So, _you were saying first of all that you think the cell phones might be useful to us?" Hermione asked cautiously. Lionel nodded vigorously, and she sat back and bit her bottom lip in contemplation. _Cell phones. Muggle technology. I'd never seriously thought about it. I didn't even remember that Lionel's phone worked here at Hogwarts, but it must have had to for it to ring in class and land him in detention. So…cell phones work in the Magical world? _

She must have said that aloud, because Lionel replied, a little more subdued. "No, not _everywhere. _Only in a couple spots in Hogwarts, and in the Leaky Cauldron, and certain hotspots in Diagon Alley. I dunno about the rest of the Magical world but my brother tested it out around. He can call me if he's in the Muggle world and I'm in exactly the right spots in Hogwarts, or from the Leaky Cauldron. But the signal's really weak and the battery goes out real fast. We fixed the battery problem, me and some Claws, but we can't figure out how to fix the signal strength and connectivity without another of those towers closer by us. I think the magic weakens the signal."

"Hmm. I suppose—well, you know, I've always thought magic as a fifth element that operated within a higher physics than Muggles have currently experimented with. A type of energy, really. And according to the first law of Thermodynamics, energy and matter are interchangeable. If one could convert the potential of magic to the potential of something else—say, amplification of cell phone tower strength, or electricity, or even to access the internet…"

"And find an equation to work out the conversion rate from magic to normal energy to matter—isn't that what we really do, except we don't have the step in between of energy, when we're, like, Conjuring something?" Lionel piped up, his eyes lighting with enthusiasm.

Ginny blinked, her eyes ping-ponging from her friend to the little midget, and she groaned. "Dad would have a field day," she said in disgust with a slight temperance of humor.

"That's it!" Hermione jumped up excitedly. "Ginny, that's it!" She turned to Lionel, sobering a little. "It'll take a lot of effort on your part, and on the part of your friends, and anyone who joins, but there's a way you can contribute to the war effort and still stay as safe as we'd like you to be." She leaned forward a little, her voice becoming earnest. "Do you think you all can manage it, between classes and work and still keep your grades up?"

"Of course!" the boy exclaimed proudly. "What do you need us to do?"

Hermione smiled, and Ginny suddenly had a glimpse of the Slytherin lurking in her friend's character. Eyes widening with surprise, she listened as Hermione slowly outlined her plan. "Lionel, and all the fourth years and down—those too young for the DA still—you can form a group, like the DA, only you'll be our specialized team. You'll learn basic defense during your mass sessions, like we do, so that you aren't helpless in case the worst happens and you need to survive to make it to where someone can help you out. Then you can handpick some of the best minds of the group, and Ginny'll pick some of hers from the DA, and that'll be the special team where you do the research for this kind of integrative Muggle technology and magic. That's when you can solve the problem to get the cell phones working—you're right, Lionel, I think it's a wonderful device no one is expecting us to have to communicate for emergencies. And you can also work on getting things like computers to work here at Hogwarts. Even if we can't use it directly for the war, that's what we're really fighting this war for, right?" Hermione gestured expansively, eyes glowing with zeal. "That's what we're fighting for—for the Wizarding world to finally give up its prejudices and step into the twentieth century with the rest of the world! To show everyone here just how advanced the Muggle world really is, to acquaint them with it so that we aren't hopelessly backwards. To make it safe and _possible_ for people to be able to want to have a CD player in their dormitory, or be able to talk on the cell to their parents. Right?"

The boy was captivated by her galvanizing speech. Ginny swallowed, her own soul already raring to get up and fight once more. But she wrestled it down and stayed still, watching Hermione warily. She'd never truly seen this side of Hermione before—for just an instant, as Hermione had talked, Ginny thought that if Hermione ever went _bad _she'd be as charismatic—and as dangerous—as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Hermione was the one who broke the intensity of the room as she deliberately laughed and sat back down in her chair. "My apologies, I waxed rather eloquent on the subject," she said. "It's been simmering for a while." _And I think I just convinced Lionel and hopefully he'll convince his friends to stay out of real combat. I'd do a lot more manipulating in order to keep the littles safe. _Still, Hermione disliked using such grand oratory to hoodwink a young boy into what she wanted him to do, despite it being a great idea nonetheless. _And a little selfish as well, since I can't get away from the Magical world at all for the foreseeable future and I'd really like to get in touch with my friends. _"Mister Jordan, if that is all I will authorize the creation of both the beginner's DA (although I'm sure you can come up with a better name than that), and the specialized team, pending the Headmistress' approval. Ginny, you'll help Mister Jordan with his task and recruitment process? You've done it before, you know the drill."

"With pleasure," Ginny responded, and rose, cueing Lionel to slide out of his seat as well.

"G'bye, Professor Granger, I'll do all you asked," he promised as he left, almost floating with the responsibility he'd been given.

Ginny hesitated at the entrance to the office, and turned back to look at her friend. "Hermione, do you really think it'll come to this? That the littles will have to know how to defend themselves?"

"I hope not." Hermione looked up into Ginny's worried large eyes. "Ginny, I sincerely hope not. But one thing the past year has taught me is to always be prepared for what you _don't _want to happen, because it just might."

**--break--**

Danielle ran a trembling hand through her hair and stared blindly out the window of the dank, slightly sinister living room of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Despite the appearance of the place, there was no more dangerous traps and tricks and Dark magic in this place. She and Hestia had gone combed through the place with a fine-toothed comb when the Order had first moved their Headquarters to the old Black place, left to Harry Potter in the care of Albus Dumbledore. The kid had been asked, and willingly given the go ahead for the Order to utilize the disgusting old house that reminded him "Just what Sirius Black stood against for his life, and went down fighting," were his exact words. _Poor kid. Don't blame him for never wanting to see Grimmauld Place again. _The only downside, of course, after they'd spent two intensive weeks cleaning up the place of the nasty works and artifacts and plain grime it had accumulated over the years, were the surly and sly house-elf that belonged to it and the equally surly but much louder and aggravating portrait of the deceased Madame Black.

The house-elf, Kreacher, had been more or less dealt with when Potter specifically ordered the hideous thing to _obey the orders of the head house-elf of Hogwarts unless it went against what Potter himself demanded, and stay at Hogwarts and not tell, show, or otherwise try to alert _anyone _to what he had already observed or guessed or knew…_The portrait, unfortunately, remained stuck to the wall and resisted al attempts of destruction, removal, or silencing. At least it would not be a security risk at the present unless they had to abandon the house to Death Eaters. Li had cautioned everyone to be wary of what was said in the sharp hearing of Mrs. Black.

Danielle was waiting. She was waiting on the Order decision that could make or break the future of her only surviving relative, whom she had almost given up on. _Skye…_a tiny bubble of hope in amongst the midst of her drowning despair that even Hestia had been unable to pull her from of late—the only child of her brother and his beautiful, vibrant wife—a joyful, intelligent, golden soul of a girl whom she'd almost been unable to face lying still and pale in the uncaring hospital bed. _She was alive. She was alert. And she _would _get back her life! _As long as those upstairs debating on whether they could risk their security and resources to help…

The sofa she was sitting on squeaked every time she shifted, and so she resisted moving an inch, instead sitting bolt upright with her hands primly folded on her lap. She felt like a schoolgirl, and resented it. She was a damned important contributor and member of the Order of the Phoenix. She did _not _sit around and wait on people to decide whether or not her niece was a "worthwhile cause". _If they don't decide in our favor, I'll do it on my own. I might have to do a bit of sneaking and going against the rules of secrecy, but I won't drop this. _A roughened hand on her shoulder had her jerking, and nearly stabbing her friend in the eye with her wand. "Hestia! Don't startle me! I could have taken your eye out!" Danielle cried, hastily withdrawing her wand.

"Jumpy, aren't we," Hestia grinned mischievously. She held up her hands placatingly, her well-defined features throwing shadows in the dusky light of the room. "We've finished upstairs." Danielle stiffened, and could have sworn that she felt her muscles seize up and lock down in place. Frozen, she could only manage to croak out, "What…"

The look in her closest friend's warm eyes—despite her still dabbing tentatively at the one that had nearly been put out by twelve inches of willow—was compassionate as she nodded. "We're in all the way, Dani. It went in your favor by a unanimous vote."

A flood of disbelief, joy, and gratefulness turned the previously hardened solid muscles into a liquefied waterfall that had the taller woman abruptly crumbling down towards the creaky and dubiously-stained floor. Hestia caught her before she hit the ground, and hauled her back to the sofa, which gave a particularly angry groan at the abuse of a bottom being plopped unceremoniously onto its surface. "You all right?" she asked, kneeling to efficiently check Danielle's pulse, forehead, and eyes. "You're not going to faint on me? Here—" pulling out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. "Eat that."

"That's yours," Danielle protested weakly, but tore the wrapper off and took a bite anyway, allowing the sweetness on her tongue to wash away the sudden release of emotion.

"No skin off mine—Remus gave it to me the other day after I came back from an official visit to Azkaban. It was my turn to check up on things there. But I didn't need it because, to be particularly honest, sex works so much better for banishing the cold and the depression the Dementors invoke." Hestia grinned at her friend, and despite the crudeness, Danielle couldn't help but giggle in an altogether too childish way. _Oh, Hestia. Always willing to say the crudest, rudest things. _She'd always been that way, even as an eleven-year-old when they'd first met on the train to Hogwarts and Hestia had told Danielle that she couldn't wait for the first Quidditch game of the year—the boys were always _the most delicious things ever, all muscles and strength, _shocking the conservative quiet Danielle quite 'd been friends ever since.

"I'm sure our Minister of Magic didn't complain. Has he started increasing your visits to Azkaban for that sole purpose?" Danielle asked wryly. She ate the last bite of the rich, honeyed chocolate, mildly surprised that she'd eaten it all so fast.

"It's a contributing factor and a very rewarding decision on his part," Hestia noted solemnly, a smirk hovering around her mouth. "Nothing to do, of course, with the concerns our mysterious spy has brought to us about a possible Azkaban breakout soon. All to do with my sexual prowess when forced to remain very close to one's partner for some body warmth."

"Oh, Hestia, when will you stop being obsessed with sex?"

"Oh, Danielle, when will you start having it regularly?"

They both burst out laughing, and were still laughing when Filius Flitwick and Tonks entered. "What's the joke?" Tonks wanted to know, while Filius merely looked on in confusion and a touch of nervousness.

"Oh, just discussing certain needs a girl has to stay healthy and sane," Hestia flippantly stated with a mock-solemn face.

"Oh, yes," Tonks nodded sagely, her hair flashing what one might call in the Muggle world "siren red" before darkening to a shade of red that looked almost black. "Ohh, yes. Remus does make sure I stay healthy and sane indeed. Can you say the same?"

"Our Minister is a _very _giving man concerned with the well-being of his citizens," Hestia returned seriously.

There was a silence, in which Danielle gave up and rolled her eyes, Filius began to back out of the room cautiously, his diminutive form shrinking further if that was even possible in his attempt to escape the scary women in the living room, and both Hestia and Tonks seized each other up.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, you two are beyond hopeless. Stop comparing sex partners and tell me what exactly the Order decided upstairs," Danielle finally snapped, a small smile hovering around her lips contradicting her otherwise stern tone. Taking pity on the poor man trying to duck and scurry out of the room unnoticed, she deliberately got up took both women firmly by their ears, and sat them down in the broken sofa she'd just vacated, enjoying the twin looks of outrage directed at her. "Be good," she informed them crisply. "Filius, dear, do come in. They won't bite, I promise."

The small professor made his way warily back into the middle of the room, still keeping the door closer to him than the women on the sofa. "Unspeakable," he greeted her respectfully. "Good to, ah, see you again! And under such surprising news—I'm very happy to hear Skye's ghost-spirit is very much conscious and wandering Hogwarts. Remarkable girl, that one. Easily the smartest Ravenclaw of her year—quite possibly the cleverest in her year, top of all her classes. Always thinking, that one. We were all devastated to hear what had happened to her and her charming family last year…"

"Thank you," Danielle murmured sincerely, now struggling once again to hold back tears. Hestia saved the day again by jumping into the conversation cheerily.

"So, after a whole lot of big long words you wouldn't understand, the upshot of the decision is that the Order is unanimous on the decision that Skye being integrated back into her body as a priority of the highest degree. As such, a small research team has been briefed and will be working almost exclusively on her situation and are authorized to any information and resource the Order can spare that may help your niece."

"By necessity, young Mister Malfoy will be in that team and will be granted a special pass to all relevant and sensitive information, _pertaining to the research. _Anything else must remain secret to him—he isn't a full Order member out of training yet and even most members don't have full access to sensitive information unless its necessary." Filius cut in.

Hestia shrugged ruefully. "Sorry, love, I know you despise the little blond ninny and I don't blame you, but as of now he's the only one that can see and hear Skye."

Danielle remained quiet, but a tiny twitch at the corner of her lips reassured Hestia that she would be okay with the Malfoy boy, if not particularly thrilled, and Hestia subsided.

Tonks, her hair now turning a grave navy blue for the more serious conversation, piped up now. "Those you see here are the other members of the team. There's Filius, for all the charmwork expertise we're inevitably going to need when working on how to actually get Skye back where she belongs and reconnect her spirit to her physical body. You, obviously, since Skye is your niece and since you're a darn good researcher. Hestia—she insisted on being in on this, although she'll have more responsibilities outside as well since she's being tapped for the possible breakout of Azkaban this Halloween our spy thinks is going to happen. Hestia will probably be good to bounce theoretical ideas off for you, Danielle. I'm not worth two knuts at abstract theory, but I can help Filius out once you give us something solid to work with. I've a growing knowledge of Arithmancy—not like Vector has, but good enough to help out with formulating an actual solution once you solidify your theory on what happened. The kids—your Skye, and my esteemed cousin Malfoy, will be working closely with you, Danielle, if that's okay. They're better off doing the research like they've been doing already, so you told us."

"I'm fine with that," Danielle said absently, her mind already a-whirl with plans and ideas. "And the sensitive information that Malfoy said that Hermione mentioned? Oh, and wouldn't it be logical to pull Hermione for this as well?"

"I did ask that. Li briefed us on what Hermione thought was what we're looking for, but she's apparently already tied up with important Order business and Li refused to burden her with more responsibilities. His words were something to the effect of, 'We have placed a large responsibility on her already, initiating her into full member of the Order, and what she does for us now is indispensable. And yet she is still in years, if not in maturity, a young girl. I will not have her tasked beyond her endurance, and making mistakes as a human is wont to do when overworked. No, her work right now is too all-important.' You know, in that sober, powerful way of his when he decides something is to be done."

Filius offered, when Danielle furrowed her brow and wondered just what Li had Hermione working on that was so important none of them had been told, "She certainly seems quite overwhelmed when I see her sometimes at Hogwarts. I don't think she enjoys teaching as much as she had hoped she would, and she often looks either very far away from the moment or simply too tired to do anything. I understand Horace has her doing his scuttle-work for him as part of her 'training' under him."

Tonks shook her head. "It has to be something else other than teaching," she insisted. "Otherwise Li wouldn't look so bloody omniscient and at the same time worried for Hermione."

Hestia, who had been silent up till then, weighed her words thoughtfully. "I have my suspicions of what her job is, but nothing of solid evidence. She did come to me with an unusual request this summer that leads me to believe…" she paused, and the other three leaned forward, a captive audience and bound by gossip, that old companion of humanity that connects the entire world. "Leads me to believe—though I can trust that none of you will mention anything at all?—" they nodded—"that Hermione is our unknown spy's handler."

"What? Young Hermione?" Danielle asked, shocked.

"Miss Granger, a handler—you must be mistaken!" Filius exclaimed, unable to believe Hestia's assertion.

"No way," Tonks added. Her hair was now bright orange in disbelief.

"That's what I think," Hestia stoutly defended herself. "And it makes sense if you think harder about it. She's the perfect handler _because _no one would expect it of her. Most people don't even know she's in the Order. Many assume she's still just Harry Potter's sidekick and dictionary. Even as a teaching fellow, they think she's just followed through with her priggish know-it-all nature and taken it a step further in the natural direction of teaching what she's learnt. And yet—I haven't forgotten what I saw when she was initiated."

Danielle sobered, and remembered last Christmas—when Hermione Granger had reappeared after her ordeal, injured, looking as though she'd been mauled by a hippogriff, and bearing the head of what had been Harry Potter. Hestia hadn't been part of the council that had heard Hermione's ordeal story and judged her worthy. She'd merely been one of the members watching that night, and still did not know what happened as was customary for a personal ordeal. _It's true. Hermione did a hard thing when she killed her best friend—albeit in a different universe, for a good reason. I call her a friend of sorts, but we still don't know each other really well. She could very well have learned the skills of such deception during her time spent in an alternate world. Not to mention _Snape _was her mentor…_

"Snape was her trainer," Hestia added in an eerie echo of Danielle's own thoughts. "He's a lying, murdering bastard but he knew his business well. She had to have picked something up from him, smart girl that she is."

Filius' eyes had cooled considerably in a frosty anger when Snape's name was mentioned, and Danielle noted that there had to be some sort of personal grudge between the two men. Most people didn't spare a thought for the man they couldn't figure out who'd somehow managed to betray them and his oaths to them. Some whispered that he was still somehow loyal to them and that was why his oaths weren't killing him. Others thought he was dead already, quietly somewhere, for no one had heard of him or seen him since his flight from Hogwarts that horrific night. It took too much energy.

"He was a traitor who broke the sacred trust between himself and his students, and his employer and redeemer," Filius snarled. His small size was suddenly in no way "cute" or "unthreatening"—furious, the little man was every inch the formidable dueler he'd been when he'd taken the world championship several decades ago.

To try and lessen the suddenly tense atmosphere, Tonks deliberately morphed her hair to bright purple and pink. "Well, regardless, Hermione still could very well have learned something from him intentional or not. I suppose it does make sense that she's our mysterious spy's contact and handler. I don't envy her the job. I just would like to know how they found another one so fast!"

"And who he or she is," Hestia added.

"Someone probably revolted and scared by Albus' death. Or the careless death of a student." Danielle shrugged. "Someone dissatisfied with the promises unfulfilled by You-Know-Who. Probably male, there are proportionally more males drawn to him—or maybe, are accepted into his ranks—than there are females."

"Whoever it is, I hope Li tested him thoroughly," Hestia said fiercely.

There wasn't anything else to say after that.

**A.N.: Thanks for sticking with me, guys! I know, so little of Sev here and no HGSS. But it'll hopefully pick up a bit later. For now, I hope you enjoyed a glimpse into some other characters. **


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer: Of course it doesn't belong to me. I wouldn't be a starving student if it did.**

October 30, 5:59 pm. Severus waited rigidly, leaning back into the embrace of the cold shadows of his house that he now knew almost as well as he did the back of his hand. One minute. The manor was, for once, eerily quiet in a way that didn't make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in warning. He was alone—all his "house guests" had left and would not be stumbling back until around midnight or later, having gone to Lucius' and Narcissa's dinner party. The Dark Lord would make a brief appearance at the gala, but most likely continue with his aloof higher-than-thou standard. Severus had already pleaded off the night in stating that he had much brewing to do to restock his healing potions in preparation for…tomorrow's events. It was a good excuse—no one, not even a Dark Lord, would dare interrupt a Potions Master in his work when what he was making could very well save your life. Or a follower's life. Wouldn't do to waste an already recruited able body, after all.

He was waiting for Hermione.

They had a meeting scheduled, to go over any last minute plans, changes, and information for the upcoming Azkaban prison break on the morrow. So soon after his abrupt and unpleasant realization of the nature of his attachment to the infuriating, amazing woman whose mind rivaled his own—Severus thought that he would either be confronted with the truth that he really wasn't infatuated with the chit, but rather the fantasy of her which the human would not, could not, live up to, or the confirmation of his worst fears and his own unexpected and unwelcome susceptibility.

The Tempus he had cast shimmered and faded as the numbers finally inched, curled, and clicked over to 6:00, and not two breaths later, the wards on his home signaled the impending arrival of the witch. _Blue, tonight. She chose blue, _was his first thought upon seeing the familiar-but-strange and ill-fitting form of the woman that had seized the entirety of his mind and soul and dumped it upside down and inside out. The slight twinge of _wrongness _made him slightly irritable, though Severus knew that it was an irrational feeling. Hermione had had no choice, really, but to use Polyjuice. There was no other ruse effective enough to place her beneath the notice of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord and yet able to slip in and out with relevant information and knowledge that could save lives. So why did he feel disgruntled, angered on her part that she would have to demean herself thus by utilizing the experienced, lean body of a common call girl?

_No reason at all. Just a means to an end. _But he did, feel dismay on her behalf that she had to endure the denial of herself, even if it was just her physical body, for even the slightest amount of time. And denial to such a lower level! Oh, this Milena creature was gorgeous, almost Veela-like in sexual aura and practically sculpted by the gods. Severus didn't doubt that the French pastry that had come to Hogwarts for the Triwizard competition some years ago would have found Milena a threatening rival. But for all that, the stranger did not have the warmth or spark in Hermione's brown eyes, nor the natural wildness and freedom evoked by Hermione's soft and untamed hair, the intelligent quirk to small, pink lips when appreciating some dry sarcasm, or anything else that made Hermione Granger a special witch indeed. Indeed, in Milena's body, all of these looked foreign and awkward.

Tonight, she wore a shimmering royal blue, just a touch brighter and more brazen than that of the Ravenclaw shield. The cut of the robes allowed tantalizing glimpses of a long leg and foot, the many yards of silk in the skirt alternated with small panels of fine black lace. He wished that she were in her own body, and not someone else's impersonal one.

"Good evening, Milena," he murmured. _Well, it wouldn't do to drop appearances even if there is no one around to observe us. I may have missed a listening device or two after all. No sense in taking that risk. _"You are a sight for sore eyes. I need a break from brewing."

"Good as ever to see you again, Severus," she responded, taking his proffered arm and allowing him to pull her closer and sweep them down the customary corridor to his room. He wasted no time, but hurried her down and into the by now familiar, comfortable quarters, tonight equipped with a dancing, crackling fire and hot tea already ready to be poured on the table. _Thank you, Mippy. _He'd have to remember to find enough time to teach the dratted house elf how to play checkers, now that the little creature had mastered chess. _With a vengeance too, gave me a run for my money! I'd like to see him play against the Weasley boy. That would be an amusing sight indeed…_

With the door shut and the chances of an eavesdropping spell greatly lessened, he relaxed a fraction, and looked down with a more welcoming shade to his eyes, trying valiantly not to show his bloody damn heart on his sleeve. "It truly is good to see you again, Hermione," he said.

Her unfamiliar face brightened. "I've missed you as well, Severus. It's such a pity our chances to talk are so far and few between, and in the 'enemy's territory'. It's quieter than normal, though—where are the Death Eaters?"

_That's my girl, always observant. Dammit, she isn't 'my girl'! Get a hold of yourself, Severus! _"They are enjoying a dinner party courtesy of the Malfoys. All terribly boring, and which will involve far too much alcohol and backstabbing—hopefully figuratively only, though one never knows with these types of events," he informed her, absently guiding her with the hand still on her elbow to her customary seat before he himself settled down.

"I see. Well, that's a relief," she replied wryly, kicking off the contraptions on her feet with evident relief and reaching for the tea. "The Polyjuice should wear off within a half-hour. I didn't want to take a risk and be caught out of form before we'd made it to relative safety, but I will admit no matter how beautiful F—Milena is, I also much prefer my plain, old, bookish self."

Severus nearly flushed uncharacteristically at the memory of his completely impulsive action in telling her how he'd preferred Hermione as herself and not some…some bimbo. At the same time, his cooler logic filed away that tidbit of information should he ever need it: _the girl whose body Hermione is using has a name beginning with an "F". Possibly a "Ph". _"Well, there truly is not much news on this end of things to convey," he mentioned in an entirely un-Snape-worthy change of subject. "Nothing else has been shared with me, except for the insistence that I stock up on standard healing potions, most especially ones that deal with emotional disorders. It wasn't specifically stated, but most definitely implied, that they might be needed for our escapees from Azkaban. I sincerely hope you have everything set on your end, Hermione. They're sending a large contingent of Death Eaters there, and the last time they attacked Azkaban was at the beginning of the summer and they were quite successful."

"We are as prepared as we can, without knowing the exact time or number of people we're up against," Hermione assured him. Sighing, she placed her cup back down on the table and curled her feet up under her. "I won't tell you the specific details, but Hestia Jones and Alastor Moody are on point for this one, and through Hestia's…_connections_…they have the full support of the Ministry. The few people that know about the coming attack, anyway. Hestia's favors are good, but not _that _good to make Minister Scrimgeour risk ridicule in the public eye if it leaks that the Aurors _might _have an anonymous tip that Azkaban _might _be broken into, so soon after the last one. There are really not that many Death Eaters in Azkaban, not since the last break out."

"Ah, Hestia's useful proclivities…" Severus murmured in a humor-laced tone, his face straight and blank as a stone. "Such a sacrifice she makes to have the right…_connections." _

Hermione broke out into surprised laughter, and despite the slightly superior look he gave her—which was lost to the giggling witch—he gave in, and an instant later his own rich baritone laugh had joined hers.

After the exchange of general news, updates on the Order and Hogwarts and, on his part, the sudden liking Bella seemed to have taken to him—_bloody creepy, he stated frankly, _to Dolohov's enraged frustration at Snape's reticence on the subject of the Life Debt he owed the Potions Master, they had fallen to discussing with some spirit the latest _Potions Periodical _and the controversial article on just how useful newts eyes really were in Potions—_none at all, Severus dismissed. You had a jar of them in your classroom! Hermione had protested. For show and intimidation tactics, he'd responded with a daring quirk of his eyebrow. She'd groaned in exasperation. _

She'd just taken a sip from her by-now tepid tea when he blinked, and she rippled and seemed to both draw in on herself and also expand, and then she was sitting before him with a bemused smile on her lips, hair a familiar mane around her small, sweet, stubborn face, and Severus swallowed hard, suddenly aware of a buzzing noise and the heat of the room suffocating him. _So much for hoping that it would go away if I saw her, _some distant part of him remarked while another part of him begin to ring with warning bells aplenty. _They go rather nicely with the buzzing, at least. Merciful Merlin, does she have to look so…wanton? _The blue robes, that had looked impersonal and costume-like on Milena, though not cut exactly right for Hermione, made her look like some sort of mischievous but royal goddess—Venus, perhaps. And the way the black lace panel carelessly let the hint of an expanse of smooth, soft flesh up her thigh, which had done nothing for him when that leg had been Milena's, now had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat and praying to whatever gods there were that his robes were concealing him…ah, adequately.

"I felt it, this time," Hermione noted, tilting her head to one side and putting the mug back down. She patted perfunctorily at the sudden growth of hair, brown and glorious, and winced a little before shrugging. "I do apologize you have to see my hair au naturale, though. Usually I do have a bit of stuff in it to keep it to minimum proportions, but I didn't have time after my shower this evening to do more than dress and take the Polyjuice, which solved that problem temporarily anyway."

"It suits you," he found himself saying, and if his voice was just a touch huskier than normal, well, the fire was unnaturally hot and he hadn't touched his tea for a while. The delight in her cinnamon-heated eyes and the beaming smile she gave him dissolved any regrets that he might have had for saying such a, Salazar forgive him, a _nice _compliment.

Abruptly, he cleared his throat, feeling awkward and altogether too much like a randy teenager on his first date. _This is _not _a date. And I am _not _a pimply-faced teenager who wants a grope in the dark or a roll in the hay! You may be infatuated, man, but you will bloody well keep hold of what dignity you can salvage out of this deal. _"I know this was an inconvenient time for you to come. You've of all likelihoods missed dinner. Would you care to join me in mine? My…house guests, should not be home before midnight at the earliest."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose on you or anything…" she fluttered, looking anxious and as uncertain as he'd seen her for some time. And…it had to be just the fire, for it was affecting him adversely as well, but had he seen the tiniest glimpse of color riding high on Hermione Granger's cheeks?

"No trouble at all," Severus assured her. "If you don't mind a slightly more exotic fare than Hogwarts offers?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked as she followed his lead in standing. He courteously offered her his arm to take, and was taken aback by the sudden surge of emotion that threatened to knock him flat on his arse when she, without hesitating, despite not needing to put on a show, took it and tucked her arm securely in his. He did detect the slightest tremble of her body, and he wondered what it meant. She felt hot—hot to his touch, even through the barely semi-respectable fabric of the robes, and her eyes were unnaturally bright. _Was she coming down with a fever? _Surreptitiously, he examined her as he led her to the next room over, which contained a small reading room with a square, four-person dark wood dining table and matching chairs. _No, she doesn't feel hot enough for it to be a fever, and if she were feeling ill I'm sure she'd mention something. She knows I'd have a potion to fix just about any small ailment, anyway. It must be simply sitting too close to the fire for too long. Or perhaps being overtired. She has far too many responsibilities for one so young. _That reminded him of her true age, which despite any gains through time-turners and spending months in an alternate universe, was still roughly two decades behind him, which in turn flooded Severus with shame and guilt once more for his now undeniable attraction to the young woman.

Trying not to choke on the guilt, Severus answered her with a mysterious, "You'll see," before calling for Mippy.

The house-elf, wearing a lurid purple tea towel in a style all too reminiscent of Albus' unfortunate color choices, was delighted at being able to serve not just the master and his unwelcome house guests. "Mippy is making special meal for Master! Master has not those nasties in his rightful house tonight so Master and Mippy is celebrating, and Missy is very welcome!"

Severus blinked at Mippy's exuberance. Perhaps the isolation in Prince Manor was not good for his house-elf, who was now bubbling over Hermione, who took it all with a bemused grace though he thought he detected the glimmer of a grimace—no doubt she still did not enjoy the thought of abject servitude no matter the species. He could still remember Minerva speaking with some mingled amusement and respect, if not agreement, about "Miss Granger's ideals and the group she's trying to start up—SPEW, I believe."

_A noble motivation, and a cause that I wouldn't mind seeing, but she went about it the wrong way. She was naïve then. Today, I think that she would know to start more subtly, and start at the basic level of influence—the house-elves themselves. Perhaps after the war…_but that was an unimaginable point of time away, and Severus dismissed it.

Mippy had taken some care with the presentation of the dining atmosphere more so than usual. A candle flickered and created a soft aura of shadows and light on the table. The lamps around the room had been dimmed as well, and there was a bottle of elf-made red wine already breathing in a decanter. He raised an eyebrow. _Alcohol, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Especially since this is still a dangerous place for Hermione to be in, even if the Death Eaters are all out. Not to mention elf-made wine is potent and loosens the tongue quite easily…_

Hermione had, apparently, also been taken aback by the sight of the wine and the altogether lovely set up which veered too close to a romantic dinner date atmosphere than Severus was comfortable with. But she took it in stride with aplomb, gamely sitting opposite of Severus. She cast an undecipherable look at the decanter before she said slowly, "If it does not offend you I would rather not risk any mind-altering substances tonight while I am still technically out on an assignment and in the enemy's territory."

"Precisely my thought. I don't know why Mippy brought it out," Severus jumped in hastily. "Perhaps tea, or coffee then?" He refrained from asking if she wanted juice. It reminded him too much of the fact that if it hadn't been for special circumstances she would still be a student—_his _student—this year.

"Water, actually, please," Hermione said with a sweet smile. "Hogwarts always offers pumpkin juice as the primary drink and I'm beginning to feel as if I never drink plain old water anymore."

"Mippy, water for both of us please," Severus asked as the little creature popped back into existence carrying a silver serving tray laden with food that he had dug out of the kitchen somewhere.

"Mippy is being right back with it," Mippy squeaked cheerily. "Master and Missy be enjoying meal from Middle Kingdom!"

"Middle Kingdom?" Hermione queried quizzically, her eyes fixated in fascination to her dish. It smelt heavenly—like exotic spices and a foreign land, or sea rather.

"Scallops, shrimp, and mushrooms—all traditionally Chinese, although neither I nor my house-elf are particular connosseirs of its actual authenticity," he informed her. "The name the Mandarin people give China in their language can be roughly translated to 'middle kingdom' or 'central country' in prosaic English. Mippy and I have been experimenting with different cuisines."

"I can see that," she breathed. "It looks good. I've never had much opportunity other than the occasional Muggle restaurant to eat anything other than British fare."

There was a slight pause, where they both contemplated the steaming food. Mippy brought them both glasses of water which Hermione gratefully sipped at, before they both stared at each other again. Struggling not to drown in her warm eyes, Severus self-consciously cleared his throat. "Please, begin," he said, feeling extremely ridiculous. Almost as if he were back in his classroom telling his students to begin brewing, except for that he'd never have said please to _that _rabble.

There was another fleeting instant of being drawn inexorably to meet her eyes again, and then the spell was broken when Hermione herself pulled a wry face and divulged, "Well, I can't—I mean—I—uh, I don't know how to use chopsticks." She motioned at the smooth wooden pair next to her plate, and shrugged, looking back up to him with a rueful, self-deprecating air.

The unexpectedness of her announcement, when he'd half-expected something monumental—something _significant, meaningful—_to occur, broke some of the quiet, fairy-tale ambiance and Severus was not able to hold back his relieved chuckle before picking up his own, resuming once more the role of teacher to explain how to hold and utilize the alien cutlery.

**--break--**

The first thing she'd noticed about the room were the books. Hermione thought that they overshadowed everything, including the beautiful settings and mood of the room. They were in shadows, so she could not catch the titles, only the flickers that denoted the ending of one book and the beginning of another. She had to severely chasten herself to stifle to urge to ask Severus to brighten the lamps so she could peruse his shelves to see both the books and to gage his own literary leanings.

But if the books had been the first to capture her attention, for once they did not overwhelm the rest of her impressions by much. The second thing to strike her eye was the decanter and the beautiful, ruby-colored liquid that seemed to have a life of its own in the inconstant light, glittering and sparking and hinting at deeper depths, reminding her oddly of Severus' eyes despite the wrong color. The Dark Lord's eyes may have been red, but they were superficial, cold, and flat, nothing like the teasing, melting depths of Severus' eyes…er, the wine she meant. _There is absolutely no reason for you to develop butterflies in your stomach and get sweaty palms over a simple dinner in a nicely decorated atmosphere, _she scolded herself fiercely, but she could not get up the strength of will to quite trivialize their meal-taking and the almost sensuous air that seemed to permeate the quiet peace of the obviously well-used dining-room and study.

When she realized that Severus probably knew his way around unfamiliar food and the even more unfamiliar chopsticks and she didn't, Hermione was glad for the shadows and the dimmed light. It effectively hid her blush, a color that only intensified when, as the meal progressed, more food found its way to the table than her mouth. The lower lights did nothing to hide Severus' smirk as he watched her struggle with the ridiculous flimsy sticks while he smoothly ferried food to his own mouth with ease. Of course, the arrogant air about him only made the man more infuriatingly damn sexy. Hermione was appalled to find that she was hungry for something else altogether, even as she fell into soft discourse with Severus and alternately shot glares at him for laughing at her predicament.

The subjects they spoke of were wide and varied. They had a fiery argument about the latest findings of a renowned pioneer of Magical theory in healing and mental disorders which Hermione thought might be the first step towards helping, ultimately, people like Neville's parents and Severus thought was too fantastical and not entirely supported. They discussed why Hermione found her first year Potions class much more tolerable and cooperative than the older years (_It's because they all don't have House affiliations and so no bias and no dictated enemy, _Hermione asserted. _What about those who have older siblings already at Hogwarts, or those whose parents went to Hogwarts? _Severus pointed out.) They talked soberly of the progress or non-progress made on either side in the war that dominated their lives, and Severus thankfully refrained from sneering and insulting Harry and Ron although Hermione could see the strain on his face and body and steered the topic away from her friends. Severus remarked on Bellatrix' unusual and unexpected politeness to him as well as Viktor Krum's dour silence in the few meetings their research group had had. Hermione was certain that Severus noticed her reluctance to speak of the boy she'd once been friends with and considered an intellectual peer, because he did not dwell on that subject long either. They spoke of light things, like Tonks' latest yelling match with the painting of the Black matriarch which had ended in Tonks changing the color of the cloth that covered the shrill woman to a disgusting puce color and leaving the old biddy to stare at the vomit-inducing haze over her portrait and scream some more.

At some point, their empty plates had been taken away by a suspiciously silent and almost dignified Mippy (well, it would have been dignified if he had emitted a muffled, rapturous cackle of glee just before vanishing in his odd mode of house-elf instant transportation.) Hermione was astounded to find out that Severus had a working, if slightly antiquated and outdated, knowledge of famed Muggle movies and books.

"You _liked _'Lord of the Flies'?" Hermione asked, aghast. "It was a horrid book! They had twelve-year-old boys murdering each other without the slightest hint of remorse!"

"I find it an interesting and quite a realist study of the psychological states of men," Severus rejoined. He raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you might recognize some of the impulses of the boys to reflect your experiences."

Hermione paused. Slowly, she said, "Is that how you think it starts, with those that become Death Eaters then? They had no one to answer to, and the Dark Lord was like them being wrecked on an island with no law or man to answer to?"

"It is a heady thing to hold the power of a life in one's palm to save or crush as you will, and liberating to be set free from the chains of society's laws and expectations," Severus responded. His voice was low, his shoulders hunched a little as he tended to do when he was tense or blaming himself for something. Hermione knew that he was speaking from his own experience. On an impulse, she stood from her seat and rounded the small table to where Severus was sitting. In an unconscious mirror of what he had done for her in what seemed years ago to comfort her, she laid her hand gently on his shoulder, facing him, her head a little higher than his.

His breath quickened—so did hers. He swallowed noticeably, and shifted a little in his seat, his eyes shooting up to meet hers. She flushed, but was unable to tear her gaze away from the hold of his, nor did her hand seem to retain any connection to her body anymore because it disobeyed her original intention of simply squeezing and letting go by remaining on his shoulder, cradling the firm muscle encased in casual black fabric, a lighter material than his stiff teaching robes.

They must have remained like that, a frozen tableau, for only several seconds at most but it felt like an eternity. "Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, and he—oh, Merlin, reached out with a hand for the merest soft brush of her cheekbone, skimming along barely against her face until it reached the lock of unruly frizz that had, as always, disobeyed her tie and sprung free. He hesitated, then with the careful motions of a man handling a precious treasure, tucked it behind her ear.

Her limbs were both leaden and yet so sensitive that the rasp of her robes against her skin was intensified. The silly urge to sneeze suddenly bloomed. Something of the involuntary urge must have shown on her face in annoyance because Severus' features went impassive and he immediately drew his hand back, dislodging her hand when he stood abruptly. "My apologies. I have been inexcusable in my actions," he said tightly, backing away and heading for the door.

"No!" Hermione called before he could reach the entrance. "Severus—I—" she faltered, and he turned fiercely to glare at her, his entire demeanor one of cold fury that made her shiver and her bones turn to water in an entirely different way than just minutes ago.

"I—I—"

"Leave," he ordered. "We are done here. You need no other information. Go back to Potter and Weasley. Just get out of my house, damn you!" The room filled with the crackling energy of his anger, his truly terrible, icy anger that threatened to pierce Hermione's soul. And beneath that wrath, black despair lurked, in his eyes and his rigid stance and the paleness of his cheeks and his white lips.

Somehow, somewhere, Hermione summoned all the courage she could find. "No," she stated. It came out uncertain and wavery. Disgusted, she tried again, finding it easier a second time. "_No." _She straightened, and placed her hands on her hips. "I just needed to sneeze, that's all!"

He stared at her as if she had spoken Greek, or Swahili. "Excuse me?"

_Well that wasn't exactly the most eloquent of explanations, but what the heck. _"I never explicitly said that your…your actions weren't welcomed, even looked for," Hermione pronounced. She looked at him with a dare in her eyes and a challenge in her firmed jaw. "You just took me by surprise. And I needed to sneeze. It's a human response that we can't control. You read my facial expressions wrong, overreacted badly, and…and I never said I didn't welcome your attention!"

_A little on the whiny side at the end, but that's frankly the best that's going to come out of my mouth while my heart feels like it's dangling off the edge of a cliff and all that descriptive drivel in romance novels that Sofi likes to read and I'm going to die of embarrassment and hurt if he rejects me _now…Hermione waited breathlessly for Severus' response.

The normally inscrutable man seemed…well, he seemed beyond stunned. Was he in shock? Hermione began to worry when it seemed as if he hadn't taken a breath in ages. Just as she began to step forward cautiously to make sure he was okay, he started breathing again more or less normally as he focused once more on her. "And…do you…welcome these…my…attention?" he asked somberly, so tentative-soft that Hermione had to strain to hear each word.

"If you meant them truly, then I would welcome them happily," Hermione whispered.

He began to shake his head, almost mechanically and in denial. It felt like a physical blow. "No, you cannot possibly," he murmured. "Even if…you are two decades younger than I. I am a man hovering on the abyss of dark, Hermione, with very little chance of full redemption or surviving this war. I have tortured people until they died unable to scream anymore. I have murdered—I killed Albus Dumbledore!"

"You put a suffering man out of his agony and doomed fate. You might once have been a man that walked in the dark and reveled in it, but you are no longer that man. You became a new man when you realized your mistakes and chose to confess them and work to mend them instead of continuing along the easy path of evil. You are a great man, Severus Snape, far greater than Albus Dumbledore because you were strong enough to ask for forgiveness and change your life, yet go back into the dark and risk yourself once more to protect others so they never have to be threatened by it." Hermione stopped, out of breath after her impassioned speech. Severus seemed both disbelieving and riveted. _Oh, Merlin take it. Now or never, girl. _Her feet felt like they were buried in quicksand, but she pried them up off the floor and moved firmly in his direction. He backed up, looking for the first time almost ungainly in his movements as she advanced on him.

When his back hit the wall, part of his spine pressed uncomfortably against the raised door-frame, Severus struggled to regain his equilibrium by fixing her with scowl. She ignored it, steeled herself, and strode forward until she was millimeters away from his black-clad chest, and had to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. Just before she leaned up and in, the foreign glitter in Severus' eyes had her flashing back to a similar situation yet completely flipped, when he'd attacked her because she'd startled him forever ago. The thought of the odd role reversal put the tiniest smile in the corners of Hermione's lips as she finally gathered the nerve to succumb to her foolish, illogical, stubborn heart and place her hands on his shoulders and press her lips to his.

The same mouth that had voiced the insults that made Harry and Ron furious and her cry; the same mouth that had uttered curses she didn't want to imagine him capable of, had uttered the curse that ended the headmaster's life in a flash of ugly green light; the same mouth that had confessed a love for another woman, a dead woman whom Hermione was jealous of; the same mouth that had whispered secrets to high places and said what was expected of him, spoken both truth and lies—

_The faintest hint of a tremble—at this close quarters, no slight emotion or tremor can go undetected. Cool, firm, an instant of impassiveness and then his mouth responds to her initial touch, covering her lips in warmth as sweet as sunshine and with a marveling sensation that trickles from each point of contact: his hands now cupping her face and chin tenderly, their bodies not quite crushed together but neither existing in two separate and disjoint entities, but most especially from their caressing kiss which tastes of wonder, exploration, and scallops-shrimps-mushrooms. _

It was a short kiss by most standards, almost over before it had begun and yet it held the promise of something like eternity that Hermione was afraid to let herself contemplate. As they slowly drifted apart, Hermione realized that she'd kept her eyes open the entire time, mesmerized by Severus' intensity and emotion.

What might have happened next Hermione would speculate on for years to come. What might have happened if Severus had not started like he had had cold water thrown on him. She took a step back, concerned, dread once more pulling at her. "What's wrong?" _Oh gods don't say no, don't tell me to leave…_

But his answer was entirely different and filled her with a new alarm. "The others—they're back. And so is—"

"Master and Missy must hurry!" screeched a worried voice from behind them both. Mippy was wringing his hands and hopping up and down, his tea towel askew and his pallor evident. "Bad evil nameless-one is back!"

"The Dark Lord," Severus finished. They stared at each other, and icy fear gripped at Hermione's heart. It was reflected in Severus' features. _What were they going to do? _

**A.N.: First of all, my apologies. Last chapter I introduced the concept of cell phones in Hogwarts and possible usage in the Order. This idea was not mine—it was Requiem for a Sunburst's idea in a review she gave all the way back in chapter 17 when Hermione first meets Lionel. All due credit for this brilliant idea goes to Req. Thanks! **

**Second of all—well, I am super nervous about this chapter. Obviously, since this is the actual **_**start **_**of something solid and tangible for our favorite people here, and I don't know if I rushed it (even after 54 chapter!) and if it was realistic, if it was satisfactory and didn't disappoint people. I hope you all liked it, because I'm biting my nails off about this chapter. And I **_**never **_**bite my nails. **

**Anyway, drop me a review and tell me what you thought. Flames will be sent direct to Lucifer as per our arrangement. **


	56. Chapter 56

**Disclaimer: I do not claim the works of JKR.**

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Hermione cursed explosively, her hands still residing on Severus' shoulders involuntarily gripping tighter as she spiraled into panic mode.

"Hermione. Hermione!" Severus shook her to get her attention and snap her out of her hyperventilation. She stared at him, her eyes wide and scared and for once, almost entirely like the eyes of the girl she'd been a year ago before her parents had been attacked and started the sequence of events that had created the wise, ancient-souled woman he now considered his…friend…or, Severus didn't dare hope, _more?_ That look on her face, so soon after the adrenaline rush of the unexpected sharing of…Severus didn't know how else to term it but the utterly sickly and disgusting notion of two hearts beating as one, in the instant their lips had learnt each other. It had felt as if the universe itself was aligning the rhythm of their pulses to match each other's.

He looked at Hermione again and swore. She wore a glazed over expression, a doe caught in the headlights. Cursing to himself, he closed the still-small gap between them with his hand to grasp and pull out a slender, nearly invisible chain hung around her neck and tucked beneath her robes. The brush of his roughened fingers against the soft skin of her exposed neck seemed to awaken something in Hermione—she blinked, and clarity began to seep back into her expression. He dangled the tiny bottle on the end of its chain before her eyes. "You brought enough Polyjuice for about three hours," he noted, analyzing the contents of the phial.

Hermione swallowed visibly, but when she spoke Severus realized with relief that the efficient spy's apprentice that he had trained and knew well was back in charge and the trembling child had been tucked away somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind to be let out later, preferably back at Hogwarts and in safety. "I'll take a little now, then shall I? I had better drink all of it right now, in case I need another dose much later on." She looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded. She took the phial from his hand and unscrewed the top.

The woman standing before him now bore no resemblance to his Hermione. She grimaced, presumably at the taste of the potion, while she capped the phial and tucked it once more under her clothes. Her voice, when she opened her mouth, was sultry, a cultured sound far from her usual clear direct tone. She was an utterly flat and uninteresting character that Severus abhorred for taking the place of the breathtaking and very real woman he knew she really was. "What's the plan then?" Hermione, or Milena now, asked as she extracted her wand from a slender pocket and flicked it. The time revealed itself in the air: 1:03 AM. "Merlin! We lost track of time well and truly. They must just be done with their party. Severus, you know them much better than I am. What scenario are they most likely to believe that will keep the both of us safe and out of suspicion?"

Severus thought furiously, mind frantically going over possibilities and discarding them in his mind. _It truly depends on the Dark Lord's mood and how well the dinner party at Lucius' went for Bella and the other Death Eaters. If the Dark Lord is in a good mood, he'll likely accept that I finished the preparation for the potions and needed to let some simmer for a while—which is true—and desired the company of…Milena. If he's in a bad mood, he won't accept that so easily. _Still, it was the best he could come up with on the spot, and he would have to play it by ear as he always did, improvising based on what he thought the Dark Lord would be most willing to hear at that moment. It would be a dangerous game, especially for Hermione.

He explained it to her, and she accepted it with a firmness that suggested that she was compartmentalizing and clearing her mind with some success. _Blast, there's a high possibility that the Dark Lord will try Legilimency on her. She hasn't succeeded in controlling her Vaccuumency yet, not without those flimsy mental walls she has assembled. We can't risk her going into a state of un-feeling, she'd just as likely to give away all Order secrets if she felt as if it were in her best benefit to do so. _

Almost as she were reading his mind, she said grimly, "I'll do whatever it takes not to let him into my mind or trigger my Vaccumency, but if I do…" she shrugged. "I think, her, the alternate her that I become without emotions, wouldn't see it in my best interests to say anything about the Order or you. It would simply reveal me to be someone other than a simple prostitute and it would be harder for me to just walk out without anyone accosting me. I'd want to stay away from all of that, I think. Without emotions, I'm not evil, I just don't…care." She looked at him, her heart in her eyes—in Milena's eyes, such an odd-looking show of emotion. "But you'll try and snap me out of it when you can get away, right? I…" she hesitated. "I trust you to be able to do whatever is necessary—_anything at all—_to shock me out of my own mind, literally. I don't think anyone else can do it but you, Severus."

Swallowing, Severus gave her a curt nod. "You have my word," he promised gruffly. A hand went up to the face that wasn't Hermione's, but before it made skin contact it dropped away, an aborted motion. Hermione glanced at him uncertainly, more uncertain now that she was wearing the appearance of another woman and meant to be in the person of a call girl. "Come," he ordered, unable to take it anymore. Unable to find the words to tell her—tell her that she had become the little light still filtering into his world, that without her constant interference he would have simply become a dead man walking in the eternal shadows after the night on the tower when he had killed his dearest friend of his adulthood. Instead, he let the aura and idea of Snape the Death Eater settle like a seething, angry cloud around him until not a hint of the man who had just kissed his heart away remained. And with only the slightest delay, Milena reemerged once more as well and gone was the woman who had given him the world by the simple, sincere touch of her lips, her voice, her earnest and sparkling eyes.

The Death Eater and his favored whore left the quarters to a distressed and angry house-elf, who muttered obscenities no human ear has ever been privy to about the monsters and madmen who would interrupt _his _master and mistress—er, missy—and spoil the night. Having been left to his own devices, the elf glanced sharply around the quarters, sighed heavily, and began to straighten the rooms, extinguishing the low lights in the study before he too vanished, leaving his master's quarters to their expectant silence.

**--break--**

"What is the meaning of this, Severus?" demanded the Dark Lord.

_Shit, he doesn't look like he's in a good mood. _Severus gracefully knelt at his Master's feet, bowing his head. "Master," he greeted him. "Welcome once more. I had not been expecting you at this time of night."

"When the cat is away, the mice will play?" the Dark Lord drawled, almost pleasantly. Then his disfigured features hardened and red eyes glowed malevolently, drilling cold spikes of ice into the back of Severus' neck as he remained kneeling. "Answer me, Severus! What is the meaning of this?"

"Master," Severus began. "I have already completed what of the potions I can make for you today. Another potion is currently in its simmering stage and will not be ready to complete until the morrow."

The madman hissed, "So…you have finished all the potions I set you to brew, Severus? Have you? The Draught of Peace? Calming Draught? Sleeping Potion?"

"All three of them require powdered moonstone, Master, and I ran out of it before I could make more than one batch of the Draught of Peace. The stores were all closed by then, Master, I—"

_"Crucio." _

_Agony. Fire rippling down his spine, and eagerly screaming through his body to hurl at his Occlumency barrier. _Severus vaguely thought, _No matter how many times one experiences Cruciatus, it always takes you by surprise how extremely unbearable it really is. _He did not make a sound other than his strained, panicked breathing, irregular as his chest struggled to gain the air despite the unceasing, mindless pain that swamped him.

It was quick—the Dark Lord did not generally _Crucio _a follower further than an instant, a little longer if he was truly angry. It did not improve morale or support among the Death Eaters to have them be in true fear that they might one day be subject to the Cruciatus Curse to the point of the Longbottoms. Panting, Severus slowly collected his limbs together, pushing himself off the floor back into his kneeling position, although he trembled visibly now with the aftershocks of the curse and the acute sensitivity of his tortured muscles. "You could have simply gathered whomever you wanted from Lucius' party and gone to take what you needed. You should have known that you were almost out of moonstone before. I may have favored you of late, Severus, but do not presume to overstep your boundaries. I am your Master, and when I order something I expect to see it done efficiently. Not tossed aside to loll around with your little there." Coldly, the Dark Lord observed his servant, still in obeisance to him. "Let that be a reminder that simply because you rid me of a nuisance does not put you any higher than your fellow brethren. And sisters," he added as an afterthought when a faint noise of protest drifted to his ear. _Bellatrix. Oh hell, when did the gang come in? _

"Forgive me, Master," Severus murmured, fighting to keep his tremors to a minimum.

"My apologies for the unpleasantness you had to view, madame," he heard the Dark Lord say. "I trust you will be silent on this these domestic household matters?"

There was a clear warning in his tone. Severus felt a jab of worry for Hermione. If they didn't play their cards right, she would never make it out of here. Alive, that is.

"Not at all, Sir," a cool feminine voice answered. "It is my pleasure to meet you here again."

"Milena, correct? I do recall you," mused the Dark Lord. Severus was starting to cramp up from his awkwardly held position on the floor as well as his attempts to keep himself from shaking from the Cruciatus curse, and he was begging Hermione silently in his mind to both maintain character and say the right things, because he currently had no control over their safety. And feeling helpless was one thing Severus Snape did _not _enjoy.

"I am flattered, my lord," she answered lightly. "I am sorry for having been present at a bad time for you. I will take my leave, and you may rest assured anything short of true harm to my person or my rightful earnings falls under a confidentiality clause I have already taken as part of my contract."

"You are indeed a beautiful woman," the Dark Lord pondered in a manner that sent cold, dead fingers of dread thrumming down Severus' spine. He ignored Milena's obvious bow out. "Severus has good taste. Look at me, Milena."

_Damn. He's going to Legilimize her. _Severus felt every nerve in his body, though he had thought them already as tense as they could be, tightening further. _Blank slate, Hermione. Calm mind. Merlin and Morganna shield her mind and keep her in knowledge of herself still…_

There was a pause too long for comfort, and Severus desperately wished he could see what was going on. He did not dare to move from his kneeled position. Then, just when he had begun to frantically try and figure out just how he could make a grab for Hermione and run, somehow get her to safety, because surely the Dark Lord would find out, discover their treachery, the Dark Lord—laughed?

It was only a small chuckle. It terrified the entire room. From his vantage point on the floor, Severus noticed that the room of Death Eaters had taken on the silent quality of prey frozen in the eyeshine of a predator about to pounce, unable to run and save themselves but simply pressed to the ground and waiting for death to take them.

"It is a pity you are not certain of your heritage. If you are ever interested, I would not hesitate to welcome you to my cause," the Dark Lord hissed in amusement. _Whatever he saw in Hermione's mind, it wasn't what he was expecting. Is she using her Vacuumency? _

"My thanks, lord," Milena murmured sensually. It matched the Dark Lord in color—that is to say, it felt like ice on already frostbitten limbs. Wrong, somehow. Cold. Colder than even the Milena Severus saw Hermione display. _I suppose that answers my question of whether or not the Dark Lord triggered her Vacuumency defense. Damn it, Hermione, why didn't you find a way to control your dangerous abilities? _

"I will not interrupt your…job." the Dark Lord casually spoke. "Get up, Severus."

Hastily, uncertain of just exactly where this conversation was going, Severus eased himself off the ground and onto his feet, backing away from the Dark Lord's feet but allowing his body to retain a subservient pose. "Surely Severus would miss your company after having engaged you for the night, as I assume he has?"

"His problem," shrugged the woman carelessly. "He may call me at another more convenient time if he wishes. I care not."

"And no other of his brothers have expressed a wish to…book you, despite your beauty?"

"I currently already have the maximum amount of customers. If your other followers wished, they would have to engage the company of another, I'm afraid. Not to mention I am…selective."

"What a pity," came the sly hiss. "But I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave tonight without having…consoled Severus for his weakness."

_What? _

"Very gracious of you to your followers. Why so considerate?"

"Why, Milena, I would be a very bad overlord to my people if I did not allow them equal pleasure for pain when they deserve it. Severus, despite his foolishness and disobedience, has worked hard for me and tomorrow he will work hard again to finish his potions and then use his talents for healing among those of his brothers and sisters who need it. I can spare him tonight for his own."

"Master, you give me too much—I will simply work on more of what healing potions I can—" Severus protested, his mind whirling like a dervish in panic and shock.

"No, Severus, you have paid for the night with this sophisticated young lady and you shall enjoy it," the Dark Lord said decisively. Then red eyes slanted towards the woman in question. "Unless Milena has a problem with this? Is it too much for you to…stay with Severus instead of enjoying the company of another?"

"I see no difference," she smirked.

And Severus nearly caught his breath in shock and guilt before he smoothed his expression to one of gratitude, bowing once more to the Dark Lord and assuring him of his eternal servitude before taking the proud and haughty woman's elbow to lead her back to his room. _I see no difference…_it rang in his ears and he remembered a young girl with oversized teeth, the result of a cruel spell, and his own harsh mocking voice. _I see no difference. _She had not given away their secrets, but she had taken the opportunity to jab and twist an unexpected knife of shame into his gut. _It's not really her. It's a Milena who doesn't care. She said so herself. She has no feelings, no emotions. She's not the same woman who kissed you. She's not…_Severus wasn't sure if he was succeeding in convincing himself but he knew that Hermione had entrusted him with bringing her to herself if she entered too deep into Vacuumency and he was _not _going to let some pale version of her win!

Reentering the rooms, Severus shot Milena a warning look, a brief flash before clearing his throat. "My sincerest apologies, Milena, for the trouble and distress I've put you through in my own negligence to my duties."

"You are a hardworking man, Severus Snape, and you pay well." The woman tipped a thin shoulder slightly and turned to the man. "I am sure I can forgive you for your utter lack of sense just this once, since you so rarely make any mistakes." Smugly, she threaded a slim and elegant hand through his loose, dense black hair—hair that, without the damp atmosphere of the dungeons and the condensed fumes of potions wreaking havoc daily on it, was no longer limp but instead normal, oily but only with the usual amount anyone's hair might accumulate over the course of a day. Severus granted her the liberty as he himself pulled her closer to him, closer—

_Close enough. _He abruptly clasped her wrists roughly in one of his hands and yanked her into the bedroom. When the click of the lock had sounded, he closed his eyes, inhaling, and then opened them again with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "This room should be safe from prying eyes," he said to her. "I wouldn't trust himnot to have overridden my wards in the other rooms somehow, but the bedroom of the master of the house—which, in name and blood if not in anything else, is me—is off limits to even the highest of high. If certain things weren't so, he would have no support at all."

"How convenient," she sneered as she wrested her wrists from his grasp and strolled over to his bed, making herself comfortable on it. She raised an eyebrow at him, and Severus steeled himself.

"Hermione. You can stop employing Vacuumency now. It's safe."

"Tell me, why should I?" Idly, she stretched out languorously on his dark bed sheets. "It's rather fun being this way. Give me a reason."

"Because you aren't the real Hermione."

"And you would know this because? Because I decided I was attracted to you on a physical level and kissed you proper? Please, Snape. Really."

Paying no heed to the sudden uncertainty and misery her words had evoked, Severus narrowed his eyes at her. _Well the nice talk isn't going to work, not that I thought it would. On to the nasty tactics. _He scoffed, "You flatter yourself greatly, little girl. Your kiss was lacking in much." _Yes, lacking in any fault. _"Do yourself a favor, _Milena, _and give up. You're truly pathetic as you are now. The real Hermione's worth a thousand of you in her most annoying state."

"Oh, but she's the pathetic one. She never takes for herself, only gives. It's quite a bleeding heart she has. I should thank the Dark Lord, really, for getting rid of that weakness for me. But excuse me—it was I who got rid of that weakness myself, by perfecting Vacuumency. The Dark Lord simply allowed circumstances to overcome my initial fear of using it."

"_Enough._" Severus had had enough. He was not able to control himself anymore, but took two large strides forward, crossing the floor to the bed where the woman wearing Milena's face and possessing Hermione's intellect lounged. Without enough warning for her to snatch up her wand to defend herself, he reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "If you do not somehow snap out of it this instant, then any chance we have of any friendship—or more!—is completely nil. Do you understand me? Get a hold of yourself this instant, Hermione! Find yourself!"

It was futile. It should have been a futile exercise. Physically shaking the woman until she rattled, screaming at her, was _not _how Severus was going to get through to Hermione. And yet, somehow—

"S- Severus?"

_Hermione's voice. Soft, slightly unsure, full of the gloriously Gryffindorish emotion Severus never thought he'd be glad to ever hear or see. _And indeed, when his eyes shot to hers, although she was still in Milena's body, it was as the body had somehow regained a soul—as if it had not possessed one before, but was merely a body and brain. "Hermione? Are you back?" _Are you back? What kind of idiot are you? You sound like a fourth year student! _

"I…yes. I'm back," Hermione whispered. When the words penetrated his brain, he finally relaxed and gave her a rare smile. She smiled back tentatively, apologies flowing thick and fast to her lips. He could almost actually see it happen. She opened her mouth—"Uh, Severus, could you perhaps let me go now?"

He was still clutching her shoulders with a iron grip. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Severus hastily loosened his hands, jerking them away from her as though she had burnt him. Still, there was a bit of reluctance as his hands left her warm arms entirely. "My apologies," he said stiffly. "I was unnecessarily rough. Let me fetch a bruise balm for you."

"No! Severus, I'm fine." Hermione reached out and touched his hands. "You did what you had to. It should be me apologizing to you, really, for all the nasty things I said and implied. I'm so sorry!"

"You were not yourself," Severus told her. "You have nothing to ask forgiveness for."

"Nevertheless, I'm still sorry. I know I must have stepped on your toes a little, especially after…"

_After our unexpected kiss, _Severus finished in his mind. He moved away a little. "No need to apologize," he repeated.

"Yes there is. I'm sorry. I didn't mean a word I said when I was employing Vacuumency. And I…we were interrupted. Before, I mean. Oh hell." She hesitated, chewing her lip. It looked odd on Milena. Then she seemed to gather up determination and she plowed on. "Well before we got interrupted, when we were…you know, I meant it. All of it. And…I enjoyed it too." She blushed. "A lot. I mean, I understand if you aren't interested, or if you don't want—I mean, I would like—I—oh!" she stopped in confusion. Severus felt a sense of disbelief steal across his mind. _Is she really implying what I think she's saying? _

Slowly, he said, "I have to check the potions." He fled the room before she could prevent him, but he didn't leave quick enough to miss the look of startled hurt on Milena-Hermione's face that shot straight to the heart he preferred not to remember owning.

_Check the potions. _Severus prevented himself from panicking then and there over what he was supposed to do and instead went to check on his potions. They were all simmering quietly, and Severus wished as he often had on cold nights brewing, that he could possess the peace of a softly bubbling potion made perfect in every way. To have no purpose, no duty other than to sit in a warm cauldron and _be…_to have no desire to choose this or that or be confronted with such conflicting emotions, but rather be a neutral force to be used for good or evil. Healing potions like these were especially hypnotizing as they brewed. The raw ingredients, superheated into a blend of potent Calm and Peace, were a thousand times more powerful than the finished product. Many an inadequately self-controlled Potions Master or Mistress—and countless unattended apprentices—had been tempted and tasted, and either wiped their minds right then and there and turned them into comatose catatonics lost in oblivion, or simply become so addicted to the raw substances that they'd eventually end up that way later after an overdose.

Too much of a good thing can be bad. Severus knew this, and though it didn't stop him from yearning a little every time he brewed the Draught of Peace, it kept him from partaking so selfishly in a useless destruction of himself. Noting that everything looked right, the color and consistency of the potions were perfect for this stage and nothing looked out of place, Severus replaced the stringent spells he had layered protectively all around the cauldrons and the lab both, spells that he knew no one would dare cross because they were keyed not just to his magic, but to the blood of his ancestors back and back and back. _The benefits of having a potions lab in what used to be the sacrosanct workspace of a wand-crafter. Like potions, wand-making is a dangerous and fragile business that no one would dare risk allowing anyone or anything in when work is in progress. Not to mention thieves would be disastrous. No foreign magic can occur in the space of a wand-crafting taking place. That would spoil the wand forever. _Extinguishing the lights, Severus took a breath. He was once again tempted to just stay in his lab, a place of solitude and safety, rather than return to a room that held a volatile and highly desirous woman who evoked far too many rollercoaster emotions in himself, and the potential wrath of the Dark Lord.

Traversing his way back to his personal quarters, Severus steeled himself and went in. Hermione—in her natural form, he was both delighted and unhappy to see, lay propped up on his bed, a bowl of red grapes by her hand, eyes closed as she popped one of the small fruits into her mouth and chewed luxuriously. The image of her went straight to his groin. _Stop that. Old man. Ugh. Regain your senses, man! _Thankfully, he managed to do so although it took some effort and a particularly unpleasant contemplation on the Dark Lord. He waited patiently, and was rewarded when she scrambled up with a little embarrassment. "Mippy, uh, brought some grapes for us. He though we might want a snack," his erstwhile and infuriatingly alluring companion explained anxiously, sitting cross-legged now. Hermione was wearing cotton pajamas in pale mint green. They still looked a little scant and rather too short for her, but that was answered when she ruefully said, "the problem with the first law of transfiguration is when one does not wear much material in the first place."

The first law of transfiguration, if Severus remembered it correctly, had to do with it being impossible to multiply or expand an object past what substance of being it already contained—therefore, Hermione could not change very little fabric into a great deal of fabric unless she also changed that fabric into something less substantial, like wool into silk or cotton into tulle, which had to do with the second law of transfiguration. Severus laughed. "Would you like to borrow some clothes, perhaps, that cover all of you and are warmer than thin cotton?" he enquired.

"Yes please!" she bounced up on his bed eagerly, nearly spilling the bowl of grapes. He turned away, and drew open his closet doors to peer inside. Gingerly, he extracted one of his larger shirts, a dark grey remnant of his Muggle wardrobe, and before he could decide whether it would work, it was snatched out of his hand. Bemusedly, Severus looked away while Milena—or Hermione—changed on his bed without asking his permission. _This is the oddest day I've ever experienced. _

"You can look now, Severus," Hermione's voice laughed. Severus turned around, and was struck dumb by the sight the woman made in his shirt, her legs still modestly covered in her pajama bottoms, curled up on a pillow on his bed, hair a tousled mess now that she'd lain down and gotten up again. It looked like a bird's nest. Her small face was glowing in the soft firelight, and both amusement and a deeper worry painted her expression with just a shadow of the deeper soul that lurked within her.

She was breathtaking.

"Severus?" Awkwardly, Hermione patted the bedcovers beside her. "You don't have to stand over there and gape at me like an idiot, you know," she said half-cheekily, half-seriously. "I don't bite."

"I don't believe that for a minute," Severus muttered, recovering from the devastating blow her unconventional beauty had on him but nevertheless cautiously picking his way over to the bed.

Hermione ignored that comment and reached over to pluck a grape from the bowl. For a heart-rending instant Severus feared that Hermione was going to try and seduce him by feeding him grapes. Then he nearly chuckled at his own reaction when, without hesitation, the woman popped it unsexily whole into her own mouth and chewed. "They're good," she informed him, swallowing. She grinned. "Help yourself, and then tell me just exactly _why _the Dark Lord wanted me to stay tonight."

He refused the grapes, but launched into his theory. "I think," he said consideringly, "that the Dark Lord is suspicious of us. Not enough to really suspect anything," he said hastily when she sat up straight and stared at him. "Just enough to want to make sure you are really who you are. Rest assured, tonight he'll have an eye on my quarters and what occurs between us. Like I said, the bedroom is off-limits, as is my potions lab for security and safety reasons. But the rest is fair game and I don't know if the Dark Lord had enough power—or rather, is willing to use that much power, to…override the protections I have on the other rooms."

"It feels rather useless, to just keep me here for the night," Hermione mused. "But then—when he looked into my mind, the deep intrusion was too much for my flimsy Occlumency. The Vacuumency blocked him entirely except for a tiny portion of un-faked indifference to everything going on except boredom and wondering what I could exploit for my own purposes. He appreciated that, I think. Enough to offer me a place with the Death Eaters." She shuddered. "I really don't want to imagine it, but do you think he might try and keep me here to be one of his?"

"Not by force," Severus assured her immediately. "He'll let you go back tomorrow. He also very rarely admits women. He does not have a high opinion of them. But…" Severus furrowed his brow. "It is possible that he will try to court you to his side, if he was that impressed by what he found in your mind. In that case, he will be sending someone to check the records at your…establishment, possibly interrogate the girls and the owner there about you, or rather, Milena," Severus warned. "He's already done a background check on you, when he first met you briefly the first time but now he'll make sure to find out all the details he can about you and anything he can use against you."

"Hestia and I took care of those details. She doesn't know who you are," Hermione added at Severus' involuntary twitch. "She just knows about as much as the others, that I have something important and it requires odd requests."

Severus remained silent. Hermione sighed. "I promise, Severus. Honestly, _you _trained me, you should trust my skills a little more. They may be suspicious of _me _and what I'm doing for the Order, but they'll never suspect you having to do with it."

"I shall have to trust your word on that," Severus replied. He eyed Hermione soberly. "You do realize that you are quite effectively trapped here until tomorrow morning. Do you even have a way to contact Minerva or will they go mad worrying about you?"

Hermione cursed. "Merlin…that's it, Lionel Jordan had better get his group working on that cell phone fast. I don't care how expensive it is, Minerva and Li are just going to have to approve spending Order money on the project." She shook her head. "No, I don't have a reliable way to contact Minerva. I'm going to have to go through Harry or Ron—if the galleon works." She took out a galleon, and Severus watched curiously as she attempted to do—something—with it. Nothing occurred that he could see, and Hermione sighed and slumped back. "Nope, the wards on this damn place are too thick for the charm to work through," she said regretfully. "I just hope they don't tear the whole place down looking for me. Thank goodness I don't have a first period class tomorrow."

"If they broadcast that you are missing that morning and the Dark Lord hears about it, he won't chalk it up to coincidence," Severus pointed out.

"Argh!" Hermione let her head fall back with a thunk onto the headboard. "I'm such a dunderhead!"

"That's my insult," Severus sniped. "And that's not the right word for you. You, my dear, are an insufferable know-it-all."

"Git."

"Girl."

"Bastard."

"Shrew."

"Cretin."

"Sycophant."

"How is this accomplishing anything?"

"Relieving our frustrations, I imagine."

"Oh, go shove a grape in your mouth."

"Why thank you, madame. So kind of you."

"Shut up, Severus."

"I see, very productive conversation indeed."

"Ohh…"

"Now now, let's not take out our anger on the pillow Hermione."

"So basically I'm stuck with an annoying git, in his bedroom, not to leave on the pain of death or Cruciatus until after Death Eater morning inspections, which will probably be later than my first class tomorrow. I can't contact Minerva or anyone else because your bloody manor has way too many paranoia spells on it. And the Dark Lord might still find out about us anyway if there is undue panic at my disappearance tomorrow. Which coincidentally, is Halloween and the day that your compatriots will probably be attacking Azkaban."

Severus nodded, and tried to look self-assured sitting on one side of his bed and having a discussion over a bowl of rapidly disappearing grapes with a woman who was casually and infuriatingly alluring without even meaning to, who was dressed in his shirt. And green cotton pajama bottoms. Perhaps he didn't fail after all, because Hermione didn't call him out on it as he smirked at her.

"Severus?"

"What is it?"

"Did I mention that I will be highly offended if said annoying git does not at least attempt to kiss me back after all my effort earlier, he will regret it?"

**A.N.: Okay. Yes, I know. I'm late posting this chapter. I'm so sorry! I had my wisdom tooth extracted last week, and underestimated the amount of time it would take to recover. Or rather, underestimated the side effects of my pain medication. So for half the week I was either unconscious…or, well, wishing I was unconscious. And a large section of this chapter is also written while I was still on some rather strong pain medication so…uh…if it seems, I don't know, odd, blame the drugs okay? :P **


	57. Chapter 57

**Disclaimer: I don't any of the below...**

She really didn't know what had possessed her. Perhaps it was in retaliation for the momentary stab of uncertainty, of pain he'd given her when he'd fled to check his precious potions like she was a bad smell. Or perhaps it was because when he had left, his feisty little house-elf had immediately appeared and pleaded with "Missy to make Master happy again, because Master is not beings as happy as when he is spendings times with Missy, he is always being walking hard his floor before and after Missy's visit thinking, thinking. Master thinks too much sometimes, Mippy says!"

Maybe it was because she had, once he had left, she remembered the horrible things she'd said to him once more, when she had been employing Vacuumency. Or maybe it was simply…that she had, when she first kissed him, thrown all caution to Zephyr. _The war makes us all a little crazy, I think. In all the instances of battles I've studied, there is a significant phenomena of war brides or men and women finding comfort in each other during all that violence and not knowing whether you're going to live or die the next minute, if your side will eventually win and it will all be worth it, or if you'll one day just be a footnote in a history book as one of the "died during the blahblah wars" people. _So, with a little encouragement from the scheming house-elf whom she deeply suspected, was trying to match-make them—not that she minded although it felt rather odd to have a short, disfigured little creature trying to play a subtle yenta to them—Hermione made herself comfortable in Severus' spacious bed and waited for him to return, resolute that the enforced night together would not pass without them resolving the awkward tension, not to mention the _hormones, _between them.

"Did I mention that I will be highly offended if said annoying git does not at least attempt to kiss me back after all my effort earlier, he will regret it?"

His reaction, his face, was priceless. Although after a long time had gone by, Hermione began to worry that Severus would suffocate—he wasn't breathing at all. "Severus?" she asked, daringly reaching out to poke him hesitantly in his arm. When he didn't move nor blink, she frowned and reached to poke him again. This time, it was her turn to freeze, her own breath catching audibly halfway down her throat when, before her finger touched his arm once more, Severus had moved his hand with the speed of lightning to capture her outreached arm.

"Don't play with me," he rasped, his voice several octaves huskier than normal. His eyes glittered in the light, and his grasp on her was hard enough to make the small bones in her wrist rub together and ache, although not enough to quite bruise.

"I'm not," she whispered, willing him to believe her. She met his eyes, laying every emotion on her face bare for his perusal.

"Yes you are," he insisted, almost frantic.

"No. Really. I'm not. I swear, Severus." She smiled tremulously, her heart in her very dry mouth. "I mean it. I…I like you, Severus, and damn it, I'm willing to risk something for…for whatever," she finished helplessly, unable to find the words to describe the indefinable that had occurred between them, that drew her to the man like a bloody _moth _to a sodding flame for heavens sake! _He's reduced me to clichés, the git, _part of her rational mind wailed.

"It's too dangerous, and I'm not your type," he said menacingly, but his protests only served to further Hermione's slowly growing sense of conviction that the kiss had been authentic, the real thing—something she _wanted _and more, even more—something _Severus _wanted too. She had already gone over and over in her mind the multitude of reasons that they could not, should not…and, Hermione found it ridiculously easy to cast off all of these rational arguments now.

"What we're doing is already as dangerous as it gets, the rest is just excitement to the risk. And since when did you get to decide why 'my type' is?" Hermione demanded.

"It could affect our jobs adversely. And I don't presume to know your type but I am not it!"

"Our job is to be observant and cover each other's ass so that we don't get found out," Hermione said bluntly. "As long as we continue to do that I don't see why we can't at least try…not to mention I think you're exactly my type. I wasn't sure before but the more you try to convince me you're not, the more I think you are. I think you're just like my mother."

That took a little explaining as Hermione had to calm down an enraged-beyond-words Severus and recount the story of how her father had wooed her mother and her mother had refused to answer his pleas for a long time. "You're just as stubborn as she is, and just as unable to see the good possibilities," Hermione asserted. "You're just scared—scared that this might lead to more than just being friends. Scared that I might reject you once I've gone deeper than any other human being currently alive. Scared that I won't turn out to be like I promised. But Severus, this is how normal attraction and healthy relationships happen. Friendships start, and then the friends start feeling more for each other. It can either work out or not, but either way we can still remain friends and we might have something more but if we don't try then how do we know?"

"And if I don't want something more?"

"I do," Hermione whispered. "I think you do too, you just don't know it yet or admit it."

He was silent, and turned away from her, staring blindly out…somewhere. Hermione felt tears of frustration come to her eyes. _Why does he have to be so, so _difficult? Just when she thought that this would be the way things would end between them—"the rest is silence," to quote a certain tragic prince, Severus spoke.

"You are twenty years my junior. Several months don't make a difference, you are still a great deal younger than I am in age, if not in…an acceptable maturity your…_friends _still do not possess and I doubt they ever will. I have…by the time you were born, a wailing red-faced new babe in the world, I had already killed, tortured, and maimed, maligned the only friend I had, and then regretted it all with an overflowing cup of bitterness when the fruits of my labor bore death to the innocent—to the woman I had loved. I was already old when you were born, Hermione. I was your _teacher, _for Merlin's sake. How can you sit there in my shirt with your large eyes and tell me that anything we might have between us wouldn't be the result of an old man's perversion and willingness to prey on a young woman, the effects of a hard-pressed waging of war, the idea of the forbidden? You have no idea, no matter how much you have gone through, of what you are trying."

It was Hermione's turn to look away, ashamed, for what he had spoken, while mostly false, still rang with some semblance of candor the way the best lies are laced with an iota of truth. What could she say to convince him that he was wrong? That there _wasn't _a significant barrier of both age and experience between them? That was pointless, and neither she nor Severus were stupid. One couldn't deny that they were twenty years apart in age, give or take. One also couldn't deny that Severus possessed a wealth more experience with the painfully seductive dark side, had lived it and _believed _it for some time, no matter how short. He had killed and destroyed and tortured, both forthe Dark Lord and for the purposes of maintaining his cover. Hermione had killed, certainly, but she had never inflicted agony on another human being needlessly, had always tried to be efficient in any fight she was in. Even Harry. Especially Harry. _Not Harry. Potter, the person who was once Harry in another world. _There was truly nothing she could say to refute the arguments that Severus had pointed out. He had been her teacher. There wasn't a way around that one. What, then, could Hermione say?

"Severus…" she stopped, and swallowing brokenly, tried again. "Severus. I can't…I can't refute any of your arguments about our age difference or that we have vastly different experiences, even with me doing my utmost best to catch up to you in the recent years." She grinned weakly her own attempt to lessen a bit of the tension. "I won't try to deny any of your reasonings, you've always been smarter than I," she continued. "But Severus—I can say that I have grown to known you better…better, I think, than anyone since Albus. You are my _friend, _Severus, one of my most valued friends. And knowing you, and some, if not all of your past, knowing you even when you had to kill Albus, despite all of that—or actually, _because _of it!—I see so much good in you, Severus." She took a breath, went on recklessly before he could interrupt. "You have a strict sense of right and wrong, good and evil. You understand what it means to walk between, to see the subtle nuances of every action and motivation. You're the only one who really understands what my life is like, living a lie, because you do too. Harry and Ron don't get it, obviously because I can't tell them, and even my parents don't understand it. They never had to pretend to be someone their not. More than that, I honestly enjoy your friendship, your company. You're sarcastic and wonderfully funny, you're well-learned and able to hold your own and _enjoy _debating. You're the only other person I know that has read _Hogwarts, A History _cover to cover too, even if you think its drivel and out of date. You don't look at me like I'm your sister or resource for the next essay, or some sort of wonder-woman who can take on more tasks just because they're important and _for the war effort. _You tell me the truth. You have the most graceful hands, and the most seductive voice I've ever heard. When you laugh, I get these silly prickles of happiness and shivers down my back, and you're about the only thing that can reduce me to speaking and thinking in damn _clichés." _Out of breath and nearly speaking at the top of her lungs now, Hermione got up on her knees on the bed and for the second time that night, kissed the infuriating, irresistible, stubborn man.

It tasted like fire this time, crackling and roaring and licking their chapped lips and grape-stained tongues, lapping lazily in tidal waves down to their lungs and the rest of their body. There was nothing sweet about this kiss—Hermione grasped Severus' collar, yanking him forward to meet her lips, and after an instant Severus responded with the same unfamiliar hunger that had awoken in both of them.

It ended only when both of them were gasping for air, Hermione's lips swollen and Severus'…well, she must have bitten him at some point, because there was a tiny drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that he licked away absently even as she noticed it. He looked as disheveled as she felt, panting and hot and flooded with a foreign desire that Hermione had always felt was overrated but now was only starting to comprehend the wildness of. "Can you deny that?" She asked gustily.

When he opened his mouth to answer, she moved just a bit closer to him, letting a hand brush just slightly over his outer thigh. His face contorted, and then he groaned and gave in finally, all his defenses crumbling in the face of too great a temptation. "Damn you, its your fault," he muttered as he succumbed and reached out to bury his hands in her hair, bringing her face to his again.

"I'll take the blame gladly," she murmured back just before their lips met again.

They didn't do anything that night. First, Hermione was not the sort of girl to jump into bed (figuratively speaking, since she _was _technically in bed with Severus) with someone she had only just started a relationship with. Second, Severus would not have had it anyway. Third, both of them were truly exhausted from the lateness of the hour and the events of the day. But Hermione reveled in the warmth of Severus' arms possessively tucked around her.

"I suppose there truly is no way to get word to Hogwarts at all, or anyone else, is there?" Hermione eventually asked.

Severus shook his head, although the motion was limited in the current position he was in. "I cannot think of any—"

"Missy is not to worry at all! Mippy is being able to tells Minny house-elf at Hogwarts any message for her Mistress Headmistress for Missy," Mippy cried cheerfully, appearing abruptly and interrupting them. Both Hermione and Severus shot up, and the house-elf found himself facing his Master and Mistr—er, the Missy, both standing with their wands pointed dangerously at him. He waited patiently. Soon enough, when the Master and Missy had realized who it was that had interrupted them, the wands were lowered.

"Mippy, I don't recall giving you permission to go to Hogwarts. In fact, I do remember asking you _not _to go in the near future. It could very well jeopardize us, especially if you are caught or if Min- if the Headmistress questions Minny or the other house-elves and you've told them who you belong to," Severus scolded.

"Oh, but Mippy will be very careful," said house-elf assured his master. "Besides, Minny and other house-elves is already knowing I is belonging to you."

"_What do you mean?" _Severus nearly roared, his eyes widening in horror.

The diminutive little house-elf waggled his ears hard. "I means, Master, that we's knows—we house-elves, we's knows things about each other. Masters, mistress. Who is belongings to who and who is beings freed or bonded and to which little witches or wizzes." Taking in the gaping expressions being directed at him, Mippy sighed loudly and began speaking slowly, as if he were a teacher explaining to his dimwitted students on something ridiculously easy to understand. Rather like Severus, even—Hermione stifled a giggle at how much the elf took after his master. "House-elves is entirely magic," Mippy lectured sternly. "House-elves is not like humans, oh no! House-elves is not entirely self- self-" he concentrated hard, and with much effort, carefully said, "self-gonvorn."

"Governed, Mippy. The word is self-governed," Severus corrected absentmindedly, his brow still furrowed from the discovery that his position might have been compromised.

"Gon- govon," Mippy repeated, savoring the word. Then he went on. "We is not that. We is…connected, we's is. If one elf is dying, we is knowing it, feeling it. If one elf is having clothes, we is losing that elf entirely in us here—" Mippy thumped his brain. "Is no more exists, that house-elf that is free. That is very sad always, because one elf by self is lonely, lonely. Usually it is driving free elf mad."

"Let me get this straight," Hermione said incredulously. "House-elves are somehow _connected _to each other? You know everything that happens in each other's lives?"

"Missy is being stupids, we is not knowing _everythings,_" giggled Mippy indulgently. "We is only knowings _big _things. Like death, and new babies, and if elf is given clothes or changes masters, or freed elf gets new master in bond and joins back with elves."

"Pardon me. So you only know the important events in each other's lives. And only if you're…" she grimaced, "enslaved?"

"Bonded," the house-elf corrected. "Bonded."

Hermione glanced over at Severus, staggered. "Did you know this?" she demanded.

"No," Severus admitted. "I don't think this is very well-known knowledge, and I admit I have never truly been interested in just exactly how house-elves function as their own society and with their own magic. I don't think any of the Death Eaters know this about house-elves either. Studying about lower earth forms like house-elves, unless it was about how to use them or control them, is much frowned upon as classless and tasteless and altogether lowbrow."

Mippy chimed in. "It is being very long since wizzes and witches have remembered house-elf magic. Mistress Nimue is knowing and she is writing about it, but all her writing is gone now."

"The arrogance of the Wizarding World," murmured Severus softly, as if to himself. "Ah, the pure hubris that led Achilles to his poisoned sleep and our world to lose such precious knowledge…" he shook his head regretfully. "Well, it cannot be undone. _Now _we have this information at our service, and the Dark Lord does not. _But—_Mippy, if the Headmistress orders Minny to tell who you belong to, Minny would not be able to lie or disobey would she?"

"No," Mippy answered apologetically, his entire body drooping.

"Then I'm going to have to trust _you _even more, Mippy," Severus said seriously. "You know my precarious position, Mippy. One wrong word, one wrong move, a bit of information in the wrong hands, and I could be killed. You could be transferred back to Lucius, or to any other Death Eater, or even killed too. It is imperative for our safety, and for the safety of Hermione too, that you do not tell anyone—not even Minny!—anything about me or my loyalties. It will be very hard, especially if you are caught. But I am entrusting you with a very important secret that could affect many people and even the outcome of this war, and you have to stay quiet. Can you do that?"

Eyes bulging and enormous with a mingling of awe and reverence as well as a good bit of fear—Mippy was, for all his bossiness, only a young house-elf still—he nodded his head up and down, ears flapping comically with each motion. "Mippy swears. Mippy never tell! Not even Minny!" he squeaked, his voice getting higher and higher with emotion. "Master will not regret trusting Mippy!"

Shuddering at the house-elf's dramatic reaction, Severus impatiently waited for Mippy to retain control of himself. Hermione smirked at the improbable sight of the forbidding potions master, helpless to do anything but glare down at the extremely grateful and quite hilarious house-elf. Finally, Mippy stopped weeping and Severus said gruffly, "I suppose the only way to get any sort of message to Hogwarts then for Hermione is to give you a note and have you leave it somewhere. Can you get in and out Hogwarts—perhaps the Headmistress' office—without being seen by anyone, including the other house-elves?"

"Of course!" Mippy exclaimed, puffing up with pride and looking at Severus as if he were an idiot or a small child who had just asked something extremely stupid.

Hermione looked at Severus. Severus looked at Hermione. Then they both simultaneously turned and looked down at the house-elf. "Mippy, here's what we're going to need you to do…"

**--break--**

"Potions class for first to third years will be cancelled today due to an unexpected illness on the part of our Apprentice Professor Granger," announced Headmaster McGonagall during breakfast.

Harry looked across the table to where Ron and Ginny were sitting. Ron was too busy stuffing his face. Ginny, however, caught Harry's gaze and shrugged. "I don't know anything about it," she said, correctly interpreting his question.

"I hope she's okay," Harry worried. "She didn't seem like she was coming down with anything. What if it's serious?"

"I'm sure they'd tell us if it were that serious," Ginny said confidently. "I bet she's fine. Maybe she's not even sick—she's been overworking ever since school began, did you notice? She's been looking really tired and stressed out. Maybe she's just taking a day off or something."

"Whassat?" Ron looked up finally, swallowing his mouthful with difficulty.

"Hermione, Ron, we're worried about Hermione," Ginny sighed.

He took a swig of pumpkin juice. "Oh." Ron frowned. "Wouldn't she tell us if there was something wrong?"

"Exactly," Ginny said, looking at Harry triumphantly. "Just give it a rest, there's nothing wrong. Don't go looking for trouble, okay Harry?"

Harry sighed. "I guess." But when he looked back up at the professors' table, he couldn't help but thing that there was a pinched, worried quality to the methodical way McGonagall ate her breakfast, her eyes sliding once in a while to the empty chair where Hermione should have been. And he couldn't ignore the sick, foreboding feeling that started in his gut and welled up to his throat, the sensation that something was wrong. Because, after all, it was All Hallows Eve, and nothing ever had gone right on the anniversary of his parents' murder.

**--break--**

But by evening, Hermione was once more at her place at dinner time and she was radiant—in fact, Harry had never seen her so…_happy, _in a long time. She was almost glowing, walking as if it were a dance and completely oblivious to everyone around her. She was speaking almost _pleasantly _to Slughorn, who was seated several places away from her on the other side of their table, when Harry, Ginny, and Ron walked in. Harry narrowed his eyes. He knew very well that Hermione despised the man for his general inability to hold an intellectual conversation, his tendency to suck up to the influential people, and his utter disregard of his duties to her as her advisor-mentor for Potions-teaching. Slughorn wasn't her favorite person, that was for sure, and Harry wanted to know why she was talking to him as if she didn't mind it at all.

Beside him, Ginny whispered, "looks like the rest really did do her good. Or maybe Pomfrey gave her an overdose of a cheering charm."

Ron said nothing, but exchanged a sharp glance with Harry. Something was off. Hermione had not been that luminous with joy since…since before her parents had died, really, Harry realized with a shock. _She's been happy, she's been busy, and she's been a great friend but I never really noticed until now that she hasn't truly been this happy since forever. _What kind of friend was he not to notice? Wrapped up in his own misery, his own life, his own guilt, his own emotions, in Ginny now primarily—Hermione had always been there for him and Ron. When had he been there for Hermione?

That was a sobering thought. Harry ate his dinner automatically, the good Hogwarts food he usually craved and never took for granted tasteless and cold in his mouth. Just how much might Hermione not be telling them about herself, simply because he hasn't asked?

**A.N.: My sincerest apologies again for any non sequiturs and odd emotions last chapter. I am now off my pain meds and mostly recovered. :) Unfortunately, I also have a zillion things to do for the end of the semester, so the next few weeks will be rough and I'm not sure if I'll be able to stick to any sort of schedule for updating. But after May 10, I will be have three months free to write!!**

**Oh, I know this is kind of not related to fanfic at all but if anyone here likes spoken word poetry, go to youtube and look for Taylor Mali. He is the most amazing person ever!**


	58. Chapter 58

**Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is a whole lot of imagination and not a lot of time (sadly). JKR owns the stuff that actually makes profit.**

Second Azkaban Breakout in Past Five Months!

_Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

In a shocking turn of events, Azkaban Wizarding Prison was attacked by Death Eaters yesterday, October 31st at 11:11 P.M. Two were killed, and four high profile prisoners lost. The prisoners escaped are Evangeline Cain, still waiting trial for the murder of Hogwarts student Parvati Patil and the attempted murder of the Abbott family, Miles Bletchley and Sarah Fawcett both accused attempted conspiracy to murder, and Damascus Malfoy, cousin to Lucius Malfoy who was serving a life sentence for the ritualistic rapes of six different women committed in 1957.

Fawcett and Bletchley were caught in the process of escaping by Auror Greene, who in the scuffle lost her life but also alerted the others and wounding both escapees significantly. Officials believe that additional Death Eaters arrived at this juncture, overwhelming and killing the Auror, allowing both prisoners to escape.

Except for Malfoy, the escapees all bore the Dark Mark. Camden Warrington, a fifth prisoner, was killed in a scuffle with Aurors while trying to join the other escapees.

All of this not five months after their first raid of the jail not five months ago, which resulted in the escape of many dangerous criminals, among them Bellatrix Black-Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov!

Readers, I saw with my own eyes the security measures that had been put in place in my own visit to Azkaban the instant I found out about this breaking news. There were Aurors all over the place. One wonders if the Ministry received a tip-off to the attack. Does the Ministry of Magic have spies in You-Know-Who's regime of terror? Do they know something we do not?

Despite the probable tip-off, it seems that even the information of spies was not enough to withstand the assault of You-Know-Who's followers in Azkaban. Your humble reporter can only hope that the Ministry and our Aurors will protect the citizens of Wizarding Britain in a better fashion than their actions promise.

**--break--**

"Irma," Hermione murmured in greeting. The librarian gave her an unreadable glance.

"Good morning, Hermione. What brings you here so early this morning?"

Hermione grinned. It was a weary one, weighed by the events of the day before—and alternating between prayers to…anyone, that Severus was safe, and that Harry and Ron wouldn't do something stupid. Or Lavender. The girl had surprised Hermione, and it served her right, Hermione supposed. _I am supposed to be observing neutrally! Fat lot of good that did, it took this to open my eyes to just how much the little fluff-head has changed since Parvati's death. _The training that she was still trading turns watching with Remus in the DA had helped too, no doubt. Between her conflicting duties of friend, authority, and spymaster—and—the whatever she had with Severus, which Hermione found herself unable and almost reluctant to define with cold words, Hermione had not had a good night. "Your company, of course," she replied.

"Flattery will get you no where," Irma Pince informed her wryly. "The password for the library of dreams is still the same."

"I'm shocked, how could you think I wanted anything other than a bit of chat with you?" Hermione exclaimed dramatically.

Irma snorted. "You can't act worth a knut, Hermione."

_I'm going to take that as a compliment. _Hermione covered her extreme amusement at Irma Pince's assessment of her acting skills. The librarian didn't know half of it! _Which is rather odd, _she mused. _I'd have thought Albus would have inducted her into the Order by now. She's remarkably trustworthy and she's been here for years, and she's intelligent. Perhaps I ought to bring this up with Li or Minerva. _"Why hasn't the password changed?" Hermione asked, as she began to walk away from the librarian's desk.

"By general consensus, you are the next professor to pick a password to Morganna's library," Irma stated offhandedly. Hermione nearly tripped. "Careful there," Irma smirked.

"I…you're letting me pick the password?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

Irma stared her down in a manner reminiscent of the time Neville had come dashing in, nearly knocked over a table and did topple three chairs and several books, in pursuit of his flying toad—a result of a prank. "You are a trusted professor—or if you want to quibble words, assistant professor—here at Hogwarts. You have known loyalties to the school, you already know the existence of the library of dreams, and you use it regularly. Yes, I rather believe that you qualify in the duty of password-choosing." She snapped her mouth shut, pressed her lips together, and began to sort the returned books pile with large, exaggerated motions. Without looking up, she said, "pick one while you're in there and tell me on your way out."

Bowing to the implicit dismissal and still stunned by the rare display of deep-seated trust from the generally distrustful, suspicious woman, Hermione turned and once more began to pick her way across the quiet, unopened library. It was peaceful, silent save for the comforting rustle of book covers and pages as Irma sorted books and stacked them, and Hermione's even softer footsteps. The thick, woolly blanket of early-morning peace surrounded her fully when she entered the secret section of the library that she had grown to love, despite the fact that she had been unable to frequent the place as often as she would have liked. The old books drew her in like a warm, friendly house. With a sigh made of part-relief and part-melancholy, Hermione lowered herself into a chair. "I've missed you, room," she whispered, eyes closed. She paused, and then admitted, "I've missed the times I've spent with Severus here."

Nothing responded. Hermione opened her eyes reluctantly. She felt a little silly for talking to an empty room, but the overwhelming self-pity steam-rollered it. _Why can't be like normal people? Meet each other, become attracted, go on dates—heck, I'd even settle for a cheapskate place, or a really bad outing idea like going to watch Quidditch, if it meant we could spend our time together like normal people doing normal things to get to know each other! _But even at that last thought, Hermione chuckled a little at the thought of Severus taking her to a Quidditch match. The man knew her much better than that, she hoped! If he ever asked her to go to a Quidditch match with her, she would thump him over the head! _But it would be nice if we had the opportunity to do that kind of thing, _her thoughts continued plaintively. _Get to know each other slowly, have girlfriends to gossip to about how the romance is going and what he's like, be able to see him without having to put on someone else's face and persona and run the risk of discovery, torture, death, and other generally unpleasant occurrences. _

But her vein of daydreaming even as she thought of them rang false and flimsy. They _did _know each other already, much more so even than they knew themselves sometimes! The spy and handler relationship as well as their own burgeoning friendship had ensured that. Gossiping—Hermione couldn't imagine Severus telling anyone about the trials of being in a couple, and she groaned aloud when she tried to see herself talking to Ginny about anything having to do with men. Ginny would immediately go starry-eyed and demand to know _everything, _including the exact angle they had kissed at, the very words Severus had said in goodbye, the clothes the man was wearing, and the brand of alcohol he drank. That was in an alternate reality, of course, where Ginny wouldn't think that Hermione had gone off her rockers or been seduced or Imperio'd into a filthy murderer's arms, or both.

Still, it would have been nice not to have to conduct any sort of relationship—Hermione thrilled in the feel of that world against the edges of her mind—with Severus. Nice, to be able to tell the world what an intelligent, sarcastic, deep bastard her man was. Nice, to tell the world that Severus was no murderer, no traitor, and no deceiver. Nice, to live truth instead of the layers of lies she operated on now.

But none of this angsty musing was helping Hermione in her current quest, which had been to find a certain book for Severus and copy a passage out of it to bring to him the next time they met. Like it or not, Severus had to have something to show for his efforts on the "make-the-dark-lord-immortal team," and Hermione as his handler had a duty to see that he remained in favor or at least out of sight and out of mind of the vicious tyrant running his life. Jumping up, Hermione lifted her eyes to the stacks of blurring, yellowed parchment and began her methodical search.

Belatedly, as she was closing the door of the still room behind her, a small, crisp scroll the fruits of her labor tucked in her palm, Hermione realized that she still had to choose a password. _Something secure, so secure no one would guess it, _she pondered, hand still on the handle. Unbidden, her mind flashed to Severus once more. _It wouldn't exactly be discreet if the staff of Hogwarts were told that the password to the library of dreams was to be "Severus," _she mused ruefully. _Something else, then. Oh dear, this is harder than I thought it would be. Rather like espionage—one thinks it is so easy, watching shows like James Bond and reading stories of the like, but I still have trouble with all the aspects of being a good spy and I've been doing this since last year! I don't know how Severus manages it…_

"So, what is the new password to be, Hermione?" Without realizing it, Hermione had absently meandered her way to Irma's desk once more. Hermione blinked at the stern-faced woman.

"Paper faces on parade," she murmured.

Irma furrowed her brow. "Perhaps you would enlighten me as to why you choose the phrase?"

Hermione remembered a time not so long ago when she had had two parents generally accessible and still practicing dentistry, an entire life in the Muggle world that had abruptly been ripped from her when the attack on her parents had happened and they had been whisked into her complicated, confusing world of magic and war. There had been the one enchanting Christmas when her mum and dad had taken her to see their favorite musical in London.

"It's a phrase from a song," Hermione told Irma Pince with a sad twist of her wry lips that the librarian couldn't quite decipher. "A song that means a lot to me right now."

"Very well. It seems random enough that no one else will guess it," Irma nodded, sharp eyes aware that Hermione was not saying something but wisely deciding against prying. "Have a good day."

"You as well," Hermione reciprocated, exiting the library. It was still early enough for her to drop off the scroll in her room before going to breakfast.

**--break--**

Ginny glanced over at the Slytherin table unobtrusively. They were a subdued, stony-faced lot today—_understandable, _she thought, _with the news of the second Azkaban breakout, not to mention Warrington's death. I wonder what they think of the whole debacle though? Half of them probably are glad, little Death Eaters in the making they are. _Examining them under the cover of reaching for the pitcher of juice and filling her glass, Ginny snorted softly to herself. It would be bloody unlikely she would get anything from their faces, other than their stoic neutrality. Only the first years showed any sort of emotion, and even they presented an almost flawless unreadable façade. Typical, really. _Give me a Gryff any day, at least we know how to show emotions and we're not afraid to!_

Still, perhaps she was being unfair. Theoretically Ginny knew that not all Slytherins were evil mini Death Eaters, or even just nasty or cold people. After all, she only interacted on a minimum level with a few Slytherins in her classes. _But all that neutrality is just not natural! _Sighing, she turned her attention to a subject she knew much more about.

Her boyfriend had already voiced his disgust—and confusion—at Skeeter's article in the _Daily Prophet _at breakfast. Disgust and deep-seated anger, of course, that the Death Eaters had once again broken out. Puzzlement, for the new tack the beady-eyed reporter seemed to be taking. There had been no swinging of events to wildly color the picture against Hogwarts, no sly insinuations of Harry, nothing at all in the article except for an unfounded rumor-mongering about spies among the Death Eaters and a non-so-subtle criticism of the Ministry and the Auror division. Granted, Hermione had gotten Skeeter to stop printing the majority of her blatant lies and horrible things about Harry some time ago. Blackmail—a brutal, vicious, and altogether effective method of mediating, if not controlling, what Skeeter wrote. Still, she had never turned against the Ministry before. Harry had been both wary and nonplussed by the abrupt change in tone, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Most of his reaction had been, thankfully—if rather oddly—obscured by Lavender's reaction some ways away at breakfast, though. Ginny had never seen the flirt so fired up before, eyes flashing in anger and holding the attention of many when she'd deliberately ripped the article to shreds and then promising loudly that the _filthy Death Eaters and their satan-spawn would be sorry they ever messed around in the lives of ordinary folk. _

Ron had finally taken her to Madame Pomfrey when it became evident that she would not calm down, where Ginny assumed that she'd been given a Calming Draught because now, at lunch, she was sitting and staring vacantly out at nothing in particular. Harry too seemed almost back to normal to most everyone who saw him. He laughed, chatted with friends, and discussed the latest Quidditch strategies with Ron. Occasionally he would let a hand brush against hers briefly, his body absently half-turned to her in a telling way even as he was talking to Dean, three seats away. He looked fine, as if the shocking news of the morning—no doubt Voldemort's idea of a morbid anniversary present for Harry's parents' deaths—had not affected him at all. Ginny knew better. His hands, when not in use, were tightened into fists unconsciously. There was a tiny crease between his eyebrows, and his smile was a little grimmer and wider than normal. She hadn't had a chance to truly get him alone and talk to him about the second Azkaban attack yet. Biting her lip, the copper-haired girl resolved to corner her boyfriend as soon as their classes were over today. If Harry needed to vent, then surely keeping all his anger inside, after the initial explosion this morning, was not good for him.

Just then, his liquid green eyes caught hers and warmed. Wordlessly, Harry reached out to twine one finger in her hair, letting a long straight strand twirl around before he allowed it to run easily through his hand before falling back to frame her face. His simple action, and the unbarred emotion in his face, made Ginny's throat swell with wordless love. Ignoring the _awws _and Ron's noise of disgust, Ginny leaned in and have Harry a resounding kiss. _Whatever happens, we'll make it. We just have to. I love Harry, and he loves me, and that's the important thing here. We'll survive. _

Several tables away, sitting with the other teachers, Hermione gazed half-wistfully at the unexpected and yet wholly romantic scene before her, and in her mind it was not Ginny kissing Harry, but she, Hermione, pressed close to the heartbeat of her own dark-haired hero, a man with a voice like silk, a mind like a rapier, and eyes that were truly the windows to his fascinating soul and yet reflected only what he wanted others to see—a man of many sorrows, of many mysteries, and a man Hermione was only beginning to realize the depth of her feelings for. It was like finding a lake, golden ripples glinting in the sunshine, an unexpected sight and one to cherish and explore—then, when the first tentative raft had been built and launched out into that lake, discovering that, wonder of wonders, it was not a lake at all but a sea—an ocean! Remembering her confused and slightly bitter musings of the morning in the Library of Dreams, Hermione cast one more glance at the enamoured couple at Gryffindor table and sighed, looking down at her own plate. The feeling, strange and foreign, of _longing _swelled up in her like a cloud until Hermione didn't feel hungry anymore. Instead, she murmured her apologies and took her leave, uncaring of the worried look she _knew _Harry was giving her at the moment—that boy was becoming much too interested in her well-being for Hermione's comfort, watching her with evident concern or curiosity at times. At least he was no spy or Severus, to be able to hide his sudden concern over her. And while it was sweet that he seemed to be looking out for her, it was bloody inconvenient and Hermione would have to try harder in the future to appear normal. _Not today though. I have excuse enough with the Azkaban breakout, that's thrown a lot of people off. _

She slipped into the blessed peace of her own quarters, relishing the feel of privacy settling onto her shoulders. And then, only after she had methodically seated herself at her desk, did she bring her watch up to eye level to turn a dial. She had to know if Severus was alright after the harrowing night and day after he must have had, trying to treat the Azkaban prisoners for the aftereffects of prolonged exposure to Dementors as well as the physical injuries.

The communication of the watch was still faulty and unreliable as it navigated its way through the wards at Prince Manor, but it would eventually get to Severus and hopefully he would find some time and space to reply her. Hermione did not have another class till later in the day, and so, still alert for any warming on her wrist, she allowed herself to sink into a slightly meditative state, pursuing once more that elusive _peace in nothing _that Master Li had repeated again and again would be the only way she would be able to ever control her Vacuumency effectively. It had hurt her, and worse, hurt Severus, and she would not let it happen again!

Two hours later and still unsuccessful, Hermione bit off a cry of frustration and swapped it with one of muffled shock when her watch warmed unexpectedly. Shock soon gave way to anticipation and Hermione greedily devoured the brief, too-brief, message that her screen held for her, words that Severus had spoken aloud wherever he was in that earnest and—in apparent contradiction—slyly promising voice of his.

"Safe but drained. All accounted for. Big info mtg nxt. DL plans research up. Be well."

Translated: Severus was flat on his back exhausted probably from overextension of his magic again in healing the Azkaban escapees. He had something important to tell Hermione but not so pressing as to schedule a meeting too soon and risk catching the attention of the Dark Lord again. Said Dark Lord was also planning to ramp up the research and was leaning on the team headed by Cain to make significant progress with regards to capturing immortality in a phial or spell. And…be well. _I care for you more than I will admit. I'll eat my boots if that isn't what he is trying to convey. Oh Severus, the most articulate man who has reduced countless students to tears and still gives Neville nightmares, and yet when it comes to this…_Hermione smiled radiantly at the watch. She wouldn't have him any other way!

_Be well. I will, Severus. It's you I'm worried about, out there risking your neck every single instant you live under the Dark Lord's rule. Stay safe, Severus. Stay safe. I will personally come and kill you myself if you don't. _

**A.N.: My apologies for the brevity and the choppiness of this chapter (and how long it took to update). I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. I literally wrote each paragraph during study breaks the past two weeks, so it is rather hastily strung together. However, I am officially DONE and on holiday in several days, and should be able to actually work on this story in a more responsible way than I've been doing…**

"**Paper faces on parade" is a line from the song **_**Masquerade **_**in the Phantom of the Opera, which is an amazing musical you should watch on stage if you ever get the chance. I believe the lyrics go something like this: **_**Masquerade/Paper faces on parade/Hide your face so the world will never find you…**_**rather appropriate for a story about spies, I think!**


	59. Chapter 59

**Disclaimer: The last time I intentionally stole something, it was a handful of rice in the grocery store when I was seven, because it felt really cool running through my hands, and because the rice was not prepackaged—therefore, it was loose, it was in a large barrel out in the open, there wasn't anyone around, and it was just begging to be dipped into. The last I checked, Harry Potter & co have big bad bodyguards hired by JKR to protect her property. So no, my seven-year-old self and I agree, albeit regretfully, that it would be stupid to attempt to steal any of her stuff. **

"You look stressed," Luna said dreamily to her friend—at least, she'd like to think of Hermione as a friend. True, they differed in many theoretical and theological debates. Luna still didn't understand why Hermione couldn't _see _the wispy little Nargles that had infested Hogwarts. Quite unusual, really, that the Nargles hadn't chosen to find a place with mistletoe, their preferred habitat, but then the little creatures really thrived on love and not the plant itself, though the mistletoe was one of the best places to live in if one wanted to feed off love. Perhaps it did make sense after all, Nargles living in Hogwarts where the atmosphere of the ongoing war had hastened the realization of love for many, in a time-honored fashion of war romance. Harry and Ginny always had a large number of Nargles hovering around them, as did Draco Malfoy. Not quite as many as those that trailed Hermione of course, but then Hermione was an extraordinary witch. No doubt she loved as fiercely as she studied, or watched people as she had for the past year.

"I'm just a little tired with all the truly horrible essays that Slughorn insists on assigning and then having me grade," the brown-haired witch confessed wearily. She brightened. "Yours was quite good, though, Luna."

"It did seem a little pointless to be writing about what we would do with an Invisibility Potion if we possessed a dose of it," Luna agreed. She seated herself next to Hermione. They were outside, by the lake—evening was just beginning to conquer the sky, and other than the whooping Quidditch players, Hufflepuff, practicing, most of the Hogwarts staff and students were indoors, enjoying their Friday night. She didn't believe Hermione one bit. Sure, the witch _was _probably overwhelmed and exhausted from the grading. But, Luna remembered through a haze, that she had once read somewhere that the best lies are mostly truth or even all truth. And there were the Nargles to consider, too.

Still, Hermione didn't want to talk about it, and Luna felt comfortable enough to simply sit and stare out at the glittering surface of the lake that housed the Giant Squid and the mermen and women would be out there somewhere below the reflective mirror of the water. Luna wondered what Hermione was thinking, staring intensely at the rapidly darkening ripples like that. She wondered if she would survive the war, and if she would find someone to love as much as Hermione did. She wondered if Draco Malfoy would find a way to fix whoever was obviously invisible and in love with him and make her corporeal again. It was rather an interesting sight to see a handful of Nargles gamboling around empty air where Luna assumed the mysterious girl was that was attracting their attention. She hummed an air her mother had taught her when she was a little girl.

_Are you going to Scarborough fair…parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…_

It was only when the last bright and heartrending rays of sunlight had caught the two girls up in its final defiance and then dipped below the horizon in deference to the encroaching night that Hermione finally stirred, drawing a deep and more peaceful breath. "Thanks for sitting with me, Luna. It's been hard getting any peace lately. You sing well."

"Thank you," Luna replied serenely, pleased at the compliment. "I thought you might enjoy the song. I like it a lot. It always calms me, although I can't imagine what kind of potion she was trying to make with all those herbs. I don't think even Professor Snape would have been able to use those ingredients together to make anything useful, let alone a Memory Potion."

Blinking, the other woman nodded slowly. "Probably not, Luna. But it's getting late, and I have lessons to plan for next week. We should go inside before it gets fully dark."

"Okay," Luna acquiesced with her usual sweet smile, and they began to pick their way back to the castle. Luna paused and then continued to warble the same song, enjoying the tickle of breath and words passing from her throat into the still air around them. When they finally got indoors and Hermione turned to part ways, Luna put out a hand to stop her. "Hermione, you should not worry so much. You can't ever love someone too much." That said, she skipped away airily, continuing to repeat the chorus of her song as she wound her way up to Ravenclaw tower. _She was once a true love of mine…_

Behind her, Hermione Granger stood frozen in a position of shock, staring after her almost-clairvoyant friend whom, she suspected, she and many others had underestimated for far too long. _How had she known? And more importantly, what exactly does she know or is she just being Luna? _

**--break--**

Severus watched warily from his position among the ranks of Death Eaters that had gathered in an unknown location out in the wilderness of somewhere that reminded him of Ireland. It most likely was, but where in Ireland he didn't know. It didn't matter. It was the location the Dark Lord had chosen for his rally. All around him, other black-clad, white-masked men—and the occasional woman, very rare indeed—were rapt in the drama that was proceeding before them.

Before he had become _The Dark Lord, _Tom Riddle had been a charismatic and captivating leader. Despite his deteriorating appearance and his demented state now, he still retained some of what had catapulted him to the top of the Pureblood movement for blood cleansing years ago. Today's ceremony, meant to bolster any flagging faith and inspire his Death Eaters to rededicate themselves wholly to his cause, as well as quash any stirring discontent, was certainly effective. Even Severus, who knew exactly the lies that the Dark Lord was spewing, could not help the heightened emotion and the quick, sudden blast of fervor he hadn't felt for the tyrant's cause since before Lily's death. He allowed it reign in his body, letting the tide of passion play his body like it did to the countless other wizards around him. What better to deceive his former friends and companions and master with than real and unfeigned, if fleeting, emotion?

Still, when they were finally released, Severus wanted a good scrub to wash off the filth of having to even believe for an instant in the Dark Lord's words once more. Unfortunately, that bath would have to wait. The Dark Lord was calling the research team in for a private meeting. Ensconced in a magically enlarged room within what had looked like a falling apart, decrepit shack, Severus waited impassively for the Dark Lord to speak.

"My friends," he hissed. "I appointed you all as the most brilliant minds in my entire Inner and Outer circle, men and women of intellect and curiosity in your own fields of expertise. But time drags on, and I see no progress. I hear no success. I am disappointed."

"My lord, forgive us," Cain rushed to say. "We have been working nonstop on this project you have given us. We have reached a plateau at this moment—much progress has been made, but at the moment we are struggling to find a way to make the theoretical into reality."

"I know you are striving hard, brothers and sisters of my Dark Order," the crazed megalomaniac replied. Severus mentally raised his eyebrow. That tone meant that the Dark Lord was not truly angry, but rather out to make a point—usually one in which he held an advantage, and as generous benefactor, would grant his lowly followers. _What has he got up his sleeve? _"That is why I orchestrated the Azkaban breakout instead of an attack, which many of my men would have preferred. I had to retrieve a valuable resource for us. You may come in, Damascus."

The blond aristocrat, cousin to Lucius, strode in. Severus remembered the man. He was older, much older than Lucius was, and by the time Lucius had graduated from Hogwarts Damascus had already been caught and tried for the rape of at least six girls, perhaps more. Each rape had had the traces of Dark magic, the signs of some unknown ritual, and the girls he had assaulted had—with the exception of the last one—fallen into a coma from which they had never awakened from. Two still lived in the permanent ward of St. Mungos. The others had died in the same, eerie way: one day unconscious and stable, the next found in the morning, eyes wide open, staring vacantly at the ceiling in the manner of soul-sucked victims of Dementors, still breathing shallowly. By the end of the day their bodies had followed into death.

Damascus had never given up, in his trials and after, just what he had done to the girls, all of them ranging from nine to fourteen years of age. He had been caught in the middle of the act of rape in the last case, a lucky break, and the girl yet survived albeit without magic—the Healers had been baffled, for she still registered magically and was not affected by Muggle-repelling spells, and yet she could perform no magic, not even accidental. Three Aurors had been injured, one killed, bringing Damascus Malfoy in. By all rights he should have been sentenced to the Kiss, but his family connections had gotten him out of it, though not out of Azkaban. And with his ensuing silence, despite their best efforts the Aurory, the Department of Mysteries, and the Healers had never been able to figure out just what the sociopath had done and what spells he had—wandlessly—cast, nor what he had been attempting other than simple rape.

He had been, of the rescued, Azkaban's longest inhabitant. Severus had expected him to be as insane, if not more so, than Bella. He had expected to need the myriad of potions and Healing spells to treat Dementor-induced depression, and delusion. He had not expected the man to thank him politely, refuse any treatment save a simple Sleeping potion for the night and a good meal and soft bed.

He was haughty and arrogant, but not in the maniacal, obsessed way Lucius was. It was more as if Damascus didn't just know that he was The Best, he _expected _it. He wore it like a woman might wear a pair of ordinary cotton knickers, as common and so much of him that it was not a show the way too many other Purebloods had made it a show or parade.

He gave Severus a cold, chilled feeling.

"Damascus here, before he was wrongfully sent to Azkaban, was well on his way to making immortality a reality for himself," the Dark Lord said, waving the tall gaunt Pureblood down into a seat by him. Red eyes gleeful, he continued. "He began with the same theories we have even now formulated, but his own line of expertise brought him a step further than you, my research team. Damascus, would you care to explain?"

The man did not raise his voice, but his soft tone, explaining what he knew, sent chills of fear down not just Severus' spine. And as he began his description of just what direction their research team—now to be headed under him, as per the Dark Lord's appointment, despite Cain's disgruntled look, had the bile in Severus' throat rising. _Oh Merlin, I need to talk to Hermione. I need to talk to her _now. _They need to know this. This could mean the end of the war—for the wrong side's victory. _

**--break--**

"Bottle your potions and bring them up, please. Class is over." Hermione surveyed her class of littles—the tiny first years, still Houseless and many of them for the most part good friends with each other in a way her own Potions class had not ever been. And yet, with the majority of them good friends with each other, they _still _caused much mischief, though most not out of malice. Hermione winced when she thought of the headaches and work _her _class had probably caused Snape, with the blatant antagonism between the Slytherins and Gryffindors—namely, Harry and Draco. _Although he exacerbated it a bit with his anger at Harry for being James' and Lily's son. Still, I can't even blame him much for that anger. Even Harry thinks that his father was a prick and a bully, even if he won't admit it, and I think Lily was worse—she spurned years of friendship over a single rude word said in a fit of anger and humiliation. I'm embarrassed for Gryffindor, truly, if that's the kind of loyalty that we display. _

"No running in the hallways!" she added hastily as the first years poured out of the slightly smoky classroom eagerly. They slowed momentarily, only to start racing again once they were outside the room. Hermione sighed and reached for her things—

"What?" Stunned, she froze, stared at her wrist where the telltale warming of her watch told her that something was wrong. Something with Severus. _Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. _Bringing the face of the watch to her, Hermione read the cryptic message and, a minute later, had made a stop at her quarters before Flooing hastily to Minerva's office.

Approximately twenty-three minutes later, she walked through the heavy doors of an innocuous-looking hole-in-the-wall location, far within the maze of disreputable Knockturn Alley. She was encased in a strong glamour, and her stringy mousy-brown hair and unhealthily pallid features fit right into to the atmosphere. There were several tables set out in a farce of a small café of sorts, and a more believable if disgusting bar further back. Hermione was stopped by the bouncer-guard, who asked her rudely what her business was. "Lookin' for the Reaper," she muttered in a voice much hoarser than her real tone.

"Private room, Jasper'll take yeh," growled the bartender, nodding towards a troll-like man, another bouncer. The man grinned, revealing yellowed, broken teeth that made Hermione's inner dentist's child shriek in horror and long to haul the man in for a cleaning and check up, and lumbered off, indicating for her to follow him. He led her past the rambunctious men and women at the bar, the drunks who were imbibing far too early in the day, the beady-eyed lunch crowd, and down a blur of dark corridor and silent doorways that Hermione marked with a sharp eye, noting as best she could the distance and direction she took. They finally stopped at one of the doors, and the troll-man knocked on the door loudly.

"Yeh party's here!"

A latch slid, revealing a peephole. After a moment, an unfamiliar voice filtered out. "I 'ave met them at the close of day comin' wit' vivid faces."

_Yeats. _She recalled at some point that they had slipped into a discussion of Muggle literature, and Yeats had been mentioned as one of her favorites—of course, he _had _to be one prolific writer, didn't he? Scrambling, Hermione searched her memory. _Easter 1916, written after the Easter uprising of Ireland that was put down by England. _"Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is…" she paused. "That is Heaven's part, our part to murmur name upon name…"

"Come in."

Having no doubt heard stranger ways of verification of identity working in this place, the guard did not react to the strangely lyrical, beautiful words out of place in the shady place they were spoken in. He merely backed up, allowing Hermione to approach the door that swung open briefly enough for her to slip in before it shut in the guard's face. "Yeh 'ave an hour," he called, before there was silence and Hermione assumed that the ugly man had taken himself back to the main room.

Looking up, she examined the bare room that contained merely a steel table and several battered chairs, and one man—who blinked at her and then morphed back abruptly from his unassuming dirty blond look to the more menacing—and familiar—face. "Severus," she murmured, and allowed her own glamour to slide. "What's the matter? How did you get out of Prince Manor? What happened?"

"Please, let's sit first," Severus said, motioning to the uncomfortable-looking chairs. When she had seated herself in one, he dropped into another and stared down at his hands for a moment as if collecting himself. Her stomach clenched. Whatever it was, it didn't look good. Not if Severus was this unsettled.

"Severus?"

"Hermione." He paused, as if savoring her name, before he continued. "As I mentioned some time earlier, the raid on Azkaban went mostly smoothly. The Dark Lord was pleased enough. I spent much of my time healing the escapees, treating them for the lingering effects of Dementors and any rough treatment or malnutrition. But there was a man—Hermione, do you remember reading about Damascus Malfoy?"

"Cousin to Lucius Malfoy, in Azkaban for serial rape and Dark magic, life sentence."

"Yes, him."

"What about him?"

Severus hesitated. "Hermione, he was the main target of the Dark Lord's decision to free some of his followers from Azkaban so soon after the first time. He would have easily left the junior members rot in gaol, but he discovered Damascus Malfoy's work."

"His…work?" Hermione frowned. "I'm guessing the Dark magic, and not the rapes? Or something else entirely?"

"Neither. Or rather, both. The Dark magic is linked to the rapes. I'm still not clear about the actual spellwork and ritual and Dark magic that Malfoy used, but Hermione, the man somehow had discovered a way to lengthen his life and strengthen his own power by harnessing that of others—in particular, women. The rapes were a ritual to bind them to him. When he walked out of Azkaban after years there, he was full-sane, required no treatment but some good food and a hot bath, and his magic was at full power. The rest of the Death Eaters who were there for merely months were battling suicide-level depression and severe malnutrition! Some how, some way, Damascus Malfoy holds the key to what the Dark Lord wants most—"

"Immortality. Power," whispered Hermione through numb lips.

"Yes."

A pause. Hermione absorbed the unwelcome news that flowed through her veins like ice and made her want to do something—anything—productive. _The art of spying is often tedious, and often entails of nothing but waiting. _That's what Severus had told her a year ago when he had still been her teacher, and she his student. _It feels forever ago. _Again and again, his words had proved prophetic. As she wrestled with her thoughts and her mind flew to catalogue what would need doing and by who, she realized that once again, the active work would fall on others more capable of utilizing the information Severus had harvested and she had compiled. _I'll need details from him then, to give to Minerva and Li directly. They'll brief the Order members who _are _free and can research fulltime what the Aurors and the Unspeakables already have on the Dark rituals Damascus Malfoy did, and take that further with whatever information Severus can supply me with. Draco's team will probably get some of that information so that they can keep on the task of placing Skye back in her body. The Order fighters will be briefed enough to be on the lookout for more of these signs of Dark rituals and rapes occurring. Li will probably tap some of his spies in the Ministry, as well as the spies I know he has within the Death Eaters or Dark Lord supporters—none as highly placed as Severus of course, far from it, but some of the 'foot soldiers' and 'camp followers' so to speak. And of course, I'm going to be stuck at Hogwarts teaching firsties how not to kill themselves while attempting a simple brew, and Severus is stuck at Prince Manor—_

Wait. Hermione looked up to meet Severus' eyes. "Severus, what are you doing out of Prince Manor? How did you get away without the Dark Lord knowing? Didn't you say that he had confined you—"

"He had," Severus confirmed. Then he smirked smugly. "My services became too valuable to keep me in confinement for forever. I am now free to go where I wish, within reason, in order to better serve the Dark Lord in my capacity as Potions expert on the research team."

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "So…that's it? I can stop taking that nasty Polyjuice?"

When he spoke, it was cautious and neutral. "You may, if you so wish, stop meeting me entirely at Prince Manor—if the location is not to your preference, or the persona. It will be not too difficult, I think, for me to slip out to Gaston's for an hour to give you what knowledge I gather."

She had thought that she would be glad never to don the revealing clothes and utterly ridiculous shoes and walk through the imposing halls of Prince Manor again, knowing that murderers and criminals roamed the same house. But Hermione felt a sudden pang of sorrow. Not to see Severus' casual, comfortable living quarters again, or banter easily by the fireplace, curled up in his soft armchair? Or to see him as relaxed as she'd ever seen him, almost flushed from the warmth of the fire and their heated conversation? Or, and here she almost blushed, to watch—though Ginny would shriek and clap her hands in glee that Hermione had finally succumbed to the inevitable of being female—Severus' dark and endless eyes and revel wickedly in his subtle reaction when she, as Hermione and not Milena, let her feet peek out from under her? _Naughty indeed, Hermione Granger! _But she was no child anymore, and Hermione could now admit to herself that she'd done it a'purpose once in a while, just to try and get a rise out of Severus. _Literally, _her wicked side jibed. Immediately she tried to expunge _that _from her thoughts and her face. It wouldn't do, no matter how well the man kissed, to jump straight from a tentative first beginnings of an understanding, to…well, the sheets.

"I think…" she hesitated, then met Severus' gaze, recalled the magic between their lips, and continued, "I think that I'd like to keep coming back to Prince Manor. Not all the time, of course, now that we have other, easier ways to meet for short briefings. But, you know, just to keep that avenue open for information that might take a while to relay, or if you and I need to discuss something at length. Besides, it would be a good idea to keep my persona as Milena up, in case I ever need it in the future, and so that your fellow peers don't…become suspicious that you suddenly have gone celibate again."

"An excellent idea, Hermione, and well-thought." Then Severus coolly raised that famous eyebrow of his, and murmured, "In all this flurry of information-giving, we seem to have forgotten something."

"We have?" Hermione was mesmerized by the way the dull light played on Severus' face in a way that should have been unappealing, but instead transformed him from a merely intimidating dark-mannered man to a hawkish predator half in shadow, and very much in his element.

"Something of vital importance," Severus elucidated, lazily rising to stand and round the table to loom over her. She was paralyzed, her head tilted up, and she was vaguely sure that her pupils were wide and dilated, her breath coming in shorter pants. There was a tightness located just under her ribcage—of anticipation, she thought, and then did not have time to think anymore as the man swooped, in one smooth motion, down to envelop her with his black cloak and her mouth with his mouth, a callused hand gently cupping her chin and holding her in place.

Not that it was needed. Their first kiss had been magic, their second passion and fire, the rest that night they had held each other vacillating between the two. This kiss was brutal, and taking, as Severus devoured her whole and Hermione was lost, helpless to the demands her man made, plundering her mouth with reckless abandon. The knot of anticipation exploded, shattered into a thousand shards that stuck in her flesh and grew and grew, spreading tingles of…_something…_further than she could have imagined.

When she was nearly blue from the length of time she had gone without breathing, he ended the kiss roughly, allowing her to gasp in rapid lungfuls of air. The emotion in his eyes as they glittered down at her, barely inches from her face still, for her had not moved far from his stooped, possessive position over her seated body, was triumph. He leaned in close, and Hermione thought he would claim her lips again, but instead, he grazed her cheek, and stopped at her ear, and his words were just as winded as she felt, but oh!-so _powerful, _and promising, and seductive in a way that sent foreign thrills down her back and to other places in her body. "You may have started this, Hermione, but never be forgetful that you have chosen to dance with a full-grown man," he whispered, and the challenge was still in the air when he pulled out a thin sheaf of parchment from his robes—where had they come from?—and wrapped her hand around them before briefly stroking her cheek and jawbone and then striding out, fully clad in his glamour again, calling back, "I will let you know when and where we meet again."

Utterly swamped still by the _need _that his dominance had evoked within her, Hermione sat still and stared in shock at the now-closed door. His primal assertion of control had left her with—_ye gods!—_weak knees and something within her, strung along all the nerve endings, that _thrummed _with frustration and desire, pooled and lapped within her in a flood she had not anticipated nor ever experienced, truly. It was, Hermione surmised later when she had control over her mind again, the stuff one might read in trashy romance novels, the kind Ginny stole from her mother to read and then replaced hastily so that Mrs. Weasley would not know that her little daughter was reading what amounted to descriptively written porn. Or the kind her _own _mother had shoved at Hermione, years ago when Hermione was barely ten and wanted a book to read, having read all of hers and not been able to go to the library yet. It had definitely been an eye-opener. Hermione's mum _claimed _to have forgotten the explicit scenes her novel had contained. Hermione suspected that her mum _had _known, and had simply chosen to take the easy route to telling her about the birds and the bees by having her read about it. In graphic detail. A day after she'd finished the book, her father had come home with a large biology textbook and had dumped it on her bed, completing her scientific discovery of how babies were made, and a week after that, they had their first discussion about sex—with Hermione quizzing her parents on the societal and theological approaches to the act, how to prevent it, and if it was anatomically possible to go through all the positions Mum's book had detailed.

Still, none of her unconventional introduction into the concept of sex or anything since had prepared her for the _desire, _the crackling fire that roared to life when he _looked _at her, or at the feel of his skin on hers. And it seemed that after his initial struggle and refusal of any sort of relationship, Severus had not only yielded but stepped up to the plate, so to speak, upping the ante. Bringing his personal drive for success, for control, into it in a way Hermione's body was altogether too happy to welcome, if her wanton reaction to his kiss has been any indicator.

As she herself garbed herself in her glamour once more and made her way out of Gaston's, nodding to her troll-like guide at the entrance, Hermione recalled something else. Despite the roughness of the kiss, which she couldn't deny she had enjoyed, the hands that had rested on her jaw and stroked down her neck and collarbone had never been anything more than gentle and achingly soft. Pondering on that, Hermione took a roundabout method of getting back to Hogwarts to ensure that she was not being followed, shedding the glamour on her last stop before Flooing into her living room. She was still dwelling on the wonderful mysteries of Severus Snape when she extracted the parchment he had given her, and glanced down at the writing, all in a specialized code he himself had taught her. _The theology behind immortality, _declared the title, and after Hermione skimmed the first few lines, mentally translating the code, she sucked in a breath, astonished. "I would kiss the man, if he hadn't although taken away that option by kissing _me," _she exclaimed aloud and ran to fetch a quill and a blank parchment.

**A.N.: I'm so sorry for my absences. BUT I am now officially on summer holiday, and I actually have time to write! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. The lines recited by Severus and Hermione to verify their identification to each other are from the poem **_**Easter, 1916 **_**by W.B. Yeats. **_**Scarborough Fair**_**, the song that Luna is singing, is a traditional English ballad, and the version she sings dates to the 19****th**** century (although the song itself in differing versions dates back even further and is thought to have been derived from an even earlier Scottish ballad). **

**And in case anyone was confused—since I didn't really explain it, and couldn't find a place to—"Gaston's" is the name of the business that Hermione and Severus met. It is, for all intents and purposes, legally a restaurant and bar, with private rooms ostensibly for private dining. However, the main business of Gaston's is for any covert exchange that needs to occur, whether it be from contracting an assassin to buying drugs (I am going to assume that the magical world has just as many problems as ours do, since they are humans too) to clandestine meetings like Severus and Hermione need to make to exchange information. The wealthy can afford to claim a private room for their deals. The less privileged make do with the bar and the public restaurant outside, in which they **_**are **_**required to order something as mundane as a drink to cover their main purpose for being there, which private rooms do not require. The bouncers, waiters, and bartenders ensure security and privacy, there are spells to ensure that blatant eavesdropping and other such no-nos are well-discouraged, and Gaston's has a good reputation for being one of the best establishments out there for being secure and as private as you're going to get on the shady side of town. **


	60. Chapter 60

**Disclaimer: I merely borrow, play, and then carefully dust them off and return them to JKR. I promise!**

Draco Malfoy goggled at Professor Flitwick, unable to believe his ears. Beside him, Skye had frozen solid in shock as well. "You…I…_what?" _

Professor Flitwick, eyes for once dancing in almost the same way they might have at any other student but a Slytherin, patiently repeated himself. "We have all been previously briefed on the little that we knew of Voldemort's current research—which was not much."

"Only that it was about immortality, and involved a lot of theory," muttered Tonks, his unconventional cousin on the unacknowledged side of his family—the side that had been expunged from the family blood records. Her hair was, for a wonder, trickling back to a brownish-red instead of the neon pink or lime green or the other bright colors she enjoyed experimenting with, as Draco had fast come to realize. She had been bewilderingly welcoming to him, despite the bad blood between his family and her branch, and Draco had been exceedingly grateful to her—especially since she was the only one on this team that was at all openly friendly to him.

"Get on with it," urged Madame Corwin impatiently, shooting Tonks a glare. Madame Corwin, whom he still feared—but not as much as her even scarier friend Auror Jones, who had made it clear from the first that _she _still considered Draco a spoiled little bastard of the worst kind. Skye had apologized countless times for the unreceptive treatment he was receiving from the Auror, but Draco understood—and sometimes, agreed—with the hostile woman. After all, _he _had been the reason, the catalyst for all the bad that had happened to the Corwin family, whom Hestia Jones had been great friends with, and his parents had probably done much more that Jones as an Auror saw but was helpless to pin his father down for. And then it had been his father who had ordered the attacks, but it had been _his, Draco's_ existence, his age, that had prompted the marriage contract proposal that had created the tragedy that Skye still cried about, sometimes, when she thought he was asleep, or in another room. It didn't matter. Somehow, awake or asleep, far or near, Draco knew when she mourned her parents, could somehow feel her grief like a raging river that pierced his heart and reminded him of his guilt.

He wished he could take her sorrow away. And yet he was selfishly aware that if it had never happened, if her family had not been attacked, he would never have become friends in this unconventional manner with her—never fallen in love with her, never gotten a chance from her. And that made him feel even guiltier.

"According to _my _briefing, just this morning, we now have just about _everything_ that we need to figure out how Voldemort's research on immortality correlates with Miss Corwin's problem, and quite possibly the means to devise a solution," Flitwick said gleefully. He tossed a roll of parchment down onto the table before them. "There it is—somehow, one of our spies found a way to _copy down _Voldemort's previous _and _some of his current veins of research, and get it to us. Buried somewhere in here, my friends, is all the information we need to reunite Miss Corwin with her corporeal form."

It was like dropping a bombshell among them. People lunged for the parchment, pouring over it, exclaiming and pointing out sections. Among the noise, Draco noticed that Skye remained frozen. "Skye?" he hissed, not wanting to draw attention to himself if possible but concerned at the expression on her face.

"Draco," she whispered, and then he noticed that her cheeks were gleaming and faintly wet.

"Hey now," he coaxed, "don't cry! We have what we've been looking for and soon enough this ordeal will be over." He offered his hand, palm flat and vertical, and with a sodden sniff, she reached out to mirror his gesture, placing her ghostly palm to his. "Everything'll be right now," he said confidently. "Just you see. We'll get you back into your body and then you can beat me up like you keep trying to."

Skye laughed, a strangled sound, as she swiped at her face with her free hand, never moving her hand from his, and then her large eyes blinked and opened again to meet his earnestly. His heart lurched at just how beautiful she was, and he longed to grab her hand and pull her close to him. _Soon. Soon enough and then I swear, Skye Corwin, if you'll have me I'll never let you go. _"Okay?" he asked her, and she nodded. He grinned at her, and though reluctant, allowed his hand to fall away from hers. He looked back to the table of adults—only to meet four pairs of eyes, ranging from curious to searching to analyzing. He blushed dull red, and knew that it showed on his pale skin. "Um. So what's the parchment say?" he stuttered. Skye giggled breathlessly, no doubt at his awkward embarrassment.

It was Madame Corwin, after a last calculating glance at him, who answered him. "It's extremely complicated. We've decided to divide the work and take notes on our section, and then brief each other. Here's your part."

Draco nodded and accepted the magically copied section of the parchment Madame Corwin passed to him. Laying it down on the table, he fished out a quill, a jar of ink, and a spare parchment, shifting the papers so that Skye next to him would have easy access to read as well. After he'd arranged his tools to his satisfaction, he took a breath, exchanged a glance with Skye, and began the task of note-taking. It wasn't as onerous as he'd feared, despite the furrow on some of the other adults' brows and the little grunts Madame Jones gave once in a while. Skye offered her suggestions at short intervals, and when he stumbled across something that sounded unfamiliar, she usually understood it—and vice versa.

Still, by the time he was done with his section his head had begun to ache with all the _theory _that had gone into the writing of this. Had he gotten a particularly hard section, or was the rest of the scroll all like this? Draco sighed as he replaced his quill back into his bag, and looked up. He was one of the last to finish, but he also had the most notes, it looked like. When the last of them—Flitwick—had dotted his last note, he looked up and cleared his throat awkwardly. They stared around at each other, and Draco bit back an altogether inappropriate giggle prompted by their situation, which smacked too much of class, when everyone just wanted to keep their head down and eyes on their notes in case they were called on.

"Well," began Madame Corwin, "I had the first section and Hestia the second, so I believe we should start. Mine was purely introduction and theory, and I confess, left me a little behind as to the concepts. Ah-" she looked down at her mess of notes. "According to whoever gathered this information, Voldemort's initial attempt at attaining immortality was less focused on physical immortality and more on the preservation of his…consciousness or soul, as it were. As such, in his first rise to power, Voldemort created a…_knot _of some sort, tying his soul into the fabric of existence. In a much more complicated magical manner and you'll all need to peruse the details later." Madame Corwin sighed, shaking her head. "Whoever had the writing of this has an extensive knowledge of the arcane and a mind like steel." Draco shifted, listening intently, although he spared a thought for the hardy spy who had managed to ferret out such an in depth wealth of information and insight into the Dark Lord's most protected secrets.

"That's as far as Voldemort got before he met his first demise by Harry Potter—or rather, Lily Potter," Madame Corwin continued. "When he returned into the corporeal body he inhabits now, it was a rough makeshift second best. _Now, _with his mind's immortality assured, since he survived in full consciousness if not strength or body, the spy emphasizes that Voldemort is concentrating the majority of his resources on finding a way to retain his physicaland magical self—true immortality." The woman dropped her notes back to the table, and stared around at them somberly. Her friend, Jones, took this as her cue to continue on.

"The spy goes on to suggest that because of the method of ensuring his continued _mental _or soul's existence was to treat himself as a sort of rope to be knotted into the overall flow of magic that forms the world as we know it, his mental self now is exactly that, a knot, stagnant and unchanging. Oh, he is still capable of great feats and his intelligence has always been formidable, but the spy suggests and corroborates with his own eyewitness that Voldemort is no longer _brilliant, _or capable of any great flexibility of mind. Our spy believes this makes him much more…_predictable _than he would be otherwise." Madame Jones traded quick glances with Madame Corwin, before reluctantly clearing her throat and continuing, "The Aurors have been examining the attacks and offensives of Voldemort, and there has emerged a more or less consistent pattern, which was _not _evident in the records of attacks from the first war. That seems to lend support to this…spy's observations."

_Well, Jones certainly doesn't like the idea of a spy. Not that I'm surprised, Aurors are generally Gryffindors, brash, and despise any sort of backstabbing, treachery, or deception—even if it's necessary, and for our side. The ones who understand that necessity and even welcome it generally go into the Unspeakables if they go into any Ministry work at all. _Jones signaled the end of her summary, a quick check told Draco he was up."Well, in any case this spy turns to Voldemort's current ideas. We already know that he has a research team of unnamed Death Eaters who are doing his work for him, testing theories and so on. They've pinpointed one theory in particular that Voldemort seems excited to pursue." Draco paused for effect, not above a little dramatic tension. It had been _ages _since he'd had any chance to be theatrical at all, and even though he had been heartily sick of pretending to the world in general, he missed the histrionics that went along with the persona of _Slytherin Prince and all-round Spoiled Brat. _Not that he hadn't been one…

Skye stuck an elbow through his side, hissing at him to get on with it. He shook his head at her. _No sense of flair! _Nevertheless, he launched into an explanation. "Voldemort's theory—or rather, the theory of his research group—is that it is fairly impossible to create an everlasting body. _However, _it _is _possible to create some sort of leech to continually draw magic, and somehow with that, years of physical life—the spy calls it life force_—_and simply keep replenishing himself that way."

Silence, and then it was Tonks who asked in horrified tone, "He's stealing _life force_?"

"Yes. Or he's planning to, actually," Draco affirmed.

The entire table looked sickened. In a strangled voice, Madame Corwin turned to Madame Jones. "Hestia—_Damascus Malfoy is with him." _

_That _caused even more reaction, none of it good, and Flitwick murmured to no one in particular, "Merlin save us."

Draco was confused and not altogether happy to find out that apparently whatever was going on, a Malfoy was involved. Damascus—why did the name sound familiar? He furrowed his brow, summoning a mental image of the family tapestry. Damascus Malfoy, Damascus Malfoy…_ah. A cousin to Father—disgraced in some way? Oh, yes, he's the serial rapist. Wasn't he one of the ones released from Azkaban the last break out? _He didn't have time to contemplate that further, because someone had noticed his bewilderment and taken it upon herself to explain.

"It's thought among the Aurors and Unspeakables that studied his case that Damascus Malfoy somehow stole the life force of the women he raped, Draco," Tonks said soberly.

"What—what _exactly _is life force?"

Tonks sighed, her hair darkening to a dense, startling black. "Life force is exactly what you explained to us from your notes, cousin. Do you know, if you take the innate magic away from a witch or wizard—or from any magical creature—we die?"

"We do?" Draco frowned. "Wouldn't it make sense that we would just become Squibs, if it were possible for our magic to be taken away from us?"

"No," Flitwick jumped in, looking much like he did in class now, with a lecture ready on his lips. "Muggles and Squibs are born entirely without magic. They exist without it. But a magical being, be it person or animal, was born _with _magic and it's part of our very make up. Take it away from us, and that leaves us with a system that's missing something that keeps us alive. We die either instantly or very shortly thereafter. There have been some cases of magical accidents that destroyed a person's magic: none of the cases survived. Our magic is simply like another organ, and we need it to live."

Tonks took over again, fiddling with the ends of her now-dark-red hair agitatedly as she did so. "That's right. And because our magic is so bound up in our physical existence, those who study or deal with it in their careers—Healers, Aurors, Unspeakables, others—simply call the combined result that makes up our life, life force."

_Huh. That makes sense. _Draco noticed that apparently Skye had not known this either, for all that she had spent much time by her aunt's side in her childhood. Another question occurred to him. "What about Muggleborns then?"

This time it was Madame Corwin who answered, voice full of irony. "No one's actually figured that one out yet. The greatest thinkers of the magical world—not just Britain, mind you—are still baffled by how people are born magical or nonmagical. There is definitely a higher percentage of magical children born if one or both parents are magical, or even if there was a magical relative. But there has not been a theory that hasn't been disproved about how pure Muggleborns come about."

"The only thing anyone in those fields agree on is that Muggleborns and Purebloods, or Halfbloods, have exactly the same basic life force, with the same magic-to-physical-life ratio. There _is _a difference in accessibility—the more powerful the wizard or witch, the more of their magical force they seem to be able to reach and utilize. But everyone has the exact same amount, and there is no apparent difference in how much a Pureblood can access his magical for and how much a Muggleborn can."

Draco stared at Flitwick, mind reeling under so much logical information. Information, research, _disproving _his parent's beliefs, the beliefs of an entire culture of Pureblood supremacists. _I wonder if any of them have seen these studies. I wonder if any of them care. _Yet it all made sense, real, logical sense in a factual and scientific manner. Taking a breath, Draco nodded. "All right, it's still a little fuzzy but it seems to me quite believable." He pretended not to notice the sharp, thoughtful looks thrown his way by Flitwick and Corwin, ignored the incredulous stare from Jones, and was quite relieved when Tonks broke through the uncomfortable quiet to continue, directing their attentions back to their original task.

"I have the next section, and it makes a lot more sense now that Draco explained about the theory they're going after with the life force and all," she commented. "There were a lot of theoretical bull, but the main point was that they were already eliminating possibilities for whom to draw life force from. They've eliminated all Muggles and Squibs and anyone who isn't completely healthy. They've also eliminated anyone above thirty and are leaning towards the younger the better because that gives them many more years of life force. They're trying, from what I can gather, to create a sort of one-way connection that Voldemort can control to take in as much or as little life force from a single person as he desires, and I think—or rather, the spy asserts that the although Voldemort is not averse to taking it all at once and thus killing the person linked to him, he is convinced it would be less convenient than simply creating that link and then siphoning just enough to keep the people linked to him weak and comatose, but still alive. And still alive means that they continue to naturally regenerate life force for probably almost as long as that person might have lived to before failing."

"So—a self-replenishing reservoir of witches and wizards, much like what we suspect Damascus Malfoy of creating with his victims," Madame Jones stated fiercely, angrily. Her eyes flashed with disgust and fury.

Flitwick sighed wearily. "And finally, my section is entirely taken up with details about the experiments that the research team has done so far—what animals, how the trials took place, what results occurred, that sort of thing. They've succeeded in creating a link between a wizard and a crup, one that doesn't kill either and seems to hold steady until it is voluntarily broken. What they haven't been able to do is create a one-way link." The diminutive professor winked mischievously. "For some days before they broke the channel link, the wizard who had forged the link between himself and the crup found himself tired, weak, and unable to cast much more than a _lumos, _because the crup was stealing _his _magic to impress the female crup in the next cage over!"

There was a pause, where Draco tried, and failed, to imagine how any of the Death Eaters _he _knew would have responded to a mere crup stealing his magical power. _Gods I would have given a lot to have seen _that _reaction! _A burst of unexpected laughter around the table told Draco the others found that idea as hilarious as he did.

"Serves them right," gasped Skye in between giggles, herself not immune to that image. He grinned at her, then had had to leap out of his chair when Tonks on his other side fell out of her chair with a _Crash!, _managing to nearly topple his chair as well. She had been laughing too hard, and it took her a while to fumble her way back up again. Draco smirked at her routine clumsiness. _Haven't sat through a meeting yet without her knocking something over, tripping, or walking into something. Quite amusing really, especially when she's supposed to be related to my mother and Bella. _Both of whom were graceful and elegant to the tee.

When they had all more or less regained their composure, Madame Corwin took charge. "Well, we've all reported. Be assured, copies of this report have been given to other teams who are better suited to the task of figuring out how to counter this potentially deadly research." She sighed. "As much as I want to be on the team figuring out how render this useless—it makes me _sick, _this kind of Dark magic of the worst sort, preying on the lives of victims—_our _task is not to come up with a solution. Ours is to discover where, in this theoretical jungle, is our solution for getting my niece back into her body."

"Thank you," Skye piped up. Draco repeated it for her, and waited out an awkward moment as everyone smiled uncertainly in Skye's general direction. Tonks and Jones both missed Skye completely, smiling to the left of Skye, while Flitwick ended up smiling at Skye's stomach and only Madame Corwin managed to direct her gaze near the vicinity of Skye's face—her chin, to be exact.

Skye winced a little, and without a thought he moved a little closer, attracting her attention before he shot her a sympathetic look. She returned it with a grateful demeanor, and he shrugged, wordlessly promising that everything would be fixed soon, before turning back to the others. They stopped looking at him and the (for them) empty chair next to him when he returned his attention to them, some more guiltily than others.

"Well, any ideas?" he asked, a little colder and haughtier than usual. _Nosy parkers. _

**--break--**

Exhausted from the work they'd done today and the major implications—not _just _to help Skye, but the kind of Dark magic the research meant, Draco was ready to simply eat dinner and go to bed. However, it seemed he was fated not to have a restful day. Dinner was not normally when owls delivered mail, but if something was sensitive or truly important, the birds went straight to their recipient without waiting at the Owlery. This kind of emergency was rare enough that everyone stopped talking and stared in fascinated silence when a large, aloof-looking owl soared in, sharp eyes scanning the crowd of children and professors for the addressee. And whispers broke out, loud and raucous, when the owl flew straight to Draco's plate, dropped a pearled-grey envelope sealed with traditional red wax by his utensils, and left just as suddenly as it had entered.

Struck with a sense of foreboding, Draco reached out one pale hand—not quite trembling—to pluck the letter up. He stared at it as if it were quite foreign, noting with a detached mind that the _To Draco Lysander Malfoy, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – Important Contents Inside _was written in the impersonal, flourished style of the Ministry Dict-a-Quills. Beside him, Skye was saying something. He couldn't hear what she was saying over the roar of his own ears. Somehow, with a steadier hand that didn't seem to belong to him, Draco broke the _Records Office _seal on the envelope and pulled out two thin leaf of the finest parchment.

_To Mister Draco Lysander Malfoy:_

_As of today, November 11, 1997 at 5:42:33pm, you have been disowned completely from the Malfoy line. This means that your rights to claim the family name of Malfoy has been revoked, as well as your access to any inheritance from this line. You will not be addressed by the name Malfoy. You are hereby emancipated and are legally an adult with all considerations and responsibilities as such. _

_This decision can only be reversed or countered by the acknowledged head of the blood line. Currently, this head are Lucius Lycan Malfoy. _

_The contract for blood disownment is included for your perusal, as well as in your file in the Records Office. If your status at any time changes, please let the office know immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Araminta Meliflua_

_Head Records Keeper_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Contract for Official Blood Disownment_

_I, Lucius Lycan Malfoy, invoke the rights of head of the Malfoy clan and do hereby cut off Draco Lysander Malfoy from the family line Malfoy and revoke all blood-rights and name-rights from said entity. Let him be an alien from the Malfoys, separate and stranger to hearth, home, and heart from this day forward. _

_Lucius Lycan Malfoy-------------------November 11, 1997_

_Witnessed by Araminta Meliflua-----November 11, 1997_

The world narrowed to only the existence of himself and the thick, almost fabric-like eggshell colored vellum. The first was a letter from the Records Office, signed by the head and stamped with the official Ministry seal. It was as formal and impersonal as anyone who knew the British Ministry of Magic would expect, especially from someone whose primary job was as a paper-pusher, who would never see people, only numbers, names, and other pertinent facts about them. The second was just as cold—more so, for it was an official and sworn statement, witnessed and signed by someone in the Ministry, and it had, in one fell swoop, bereaved Draco of his world.

He had been estranged from his family, had _known _that this was a likely outcome with his continued disobedience to his father's orders. Malfoys did not take the betrayal of the family lightly, and to his parents his abandonment of the oath they had pledged fealty to, that of the Dark L—that of _Voldemort—_would be seen as such. _I knew intellectually that if I kept ignoring their orders, this was the next logical step they would take. Father and Mother both knew me well enough to realize that once I make up my mind about something for good, it is unlikely that I will change my mind. They gave me months to recant, to return to them. This way, they are free to have another child and name him or her the heir to the Malfoy name and fortune without me being an inconvenient drain on their resources anymore. This way, I _can't _claim any financial support from them, nor use the Malfoy name for any sort of power leverage. This way, they essentially start from anew. And this way, I cannot use either the Malfoy name, money, influence, or anything connected with it to aid the Order. _

It was a smart move, one no doubt calculated to raise Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy a scant inch above the disfavor they surely must have received from Voldemort for having such a disgrace as a son who would fail so miserably at the task given him and then as good as declared his support to the other side. A remote part of him had expected it, been waiting for it even. So why did it feel like someone had driven a tree trunk into his stomach?

Slowly, Draco—now _just _Draco, no longer Malfoy—raised his head, staring numbly up into the eyes of what seemed to be _everyone. _Including the teachers. He saw that Granger, sitting up at the professors' table, had clenched her fists until they were white, and her eyes were dark with contained worry. Flitwick had risen right out of his seat, not that it made much of a difference with his height. The Headmistress looked more pinched than normal, though she betrayed not much else but added stress. His own Head of House—Slughorn—looked faint, as if his entire world had caved in on him and he didn't know what to do about it. Not that he ever did, Draco thought with disgust.

Then something else came into his sight—Skye, now practically on his lap, her large eyes filled with tears, grief for him evident in her face and worry etched in every line of her translucent body. She was attempting to touch him, to comfort him, even as she knew that he would not feel her trembling hands reaching out to embrace him and stroke his hair like a child. The sight of her distress for him, despite how she felt about his parents, particularly his father—_not his father anymore—_broke something in him, the knot of frost that had been building like an ice wall around his heart. Sound came flooding back, as did the full, bitter knowledge that his _parents _had just repudiated him in the most potent and magical way possible, and that he _would _survive this, though his mind gibbered with disbelief and his heart reeled with the sudden pain of rejection so total it encompassed his entire existence.

_Everyone is still staring. _He probably looked an awful sight. He wanted to flee the thousand inquisitive eyes, but there was an edge of something, as if there was something he needed to do, and when he met Skye's wet eyes, wordlessly reassuring her with a pitiful attempt at a smile, he knew what it was he had to do. Carefully, feeling as if he were spun of the fragile glass Skye had on occasion waxed eloquent about with a longing desire and out of her memories of Italy and its glassblowers, Draco folded the cursed parchment and stood. With every gaze still trained curiously on him, he cleared his throat. "I have been informed," he said softly, "that as of today I am no longer in any way part of the Malfoy family. From now on, I ask that I be addressed simply by my given name, Draco Lysander. I take no last name at this time." He inclined his white-blond head regally at the crowd in general, and calmly strode out, not looking back.

He held himself barely together with a clarity and control born of desperation until he reached the dormitory. And abruptly collapsed on the floor of the common room, keening his grief to the bare ceiling while his beloved murmured, soothed, and sang to him as she crouched as low as he was beside him. And on his knees on the floor of the silent, uncaring room, Draco let the burning salt tears come and carry him away with the flood of memories of his childhood, his father smiling proudly as Draco wobbled his way around on his first broom, his mother kissing his forehead as she tucked him in…

He was in an unfamiliar room. Small, with very little but a bed and a dresser on which lay a steaming mug. Draco blinked, for an instant flummoxed at just what had happened and where he was, before the ache in his chest suddenly reconnected with his mind, bringing back a rush of memories. _Dinner. The Ministry owl. My parents…not my parents anymore. I'm not a Malfoy anymore, and not their family. _He'd somehow made it to the common room of Slytherin, but the overwhelming loss of his entire world, the family who had not only turned their backs on him but had walked away as well, had descended then. He'd sobbed his heart out on the floor, Skye beside him. And then? What had happened? He wasn't sure. He'd fallen asleep, perhaps, exhausted by his despair. Someone had come and taken him somewhere and put him in an unfamiliar bed, then. Draco winced. Who had done the discovering? He hoped not someone who would use that debt and knowledge of his weakness against him.

"You're awake!"

The familiar voice was enough to make him want to curl up and cry again, but Draco managed a weak smile for Skye when she jumped up from a chair he hadn't noticed, by the door. "Yeah. Hi," he said. Or tried to say. It came out as a hoarse croak, and he winced both at the sound and at the rawness of his throat.

"No talking for you," Skye scolded. "You screamed yourself silent, you know. Good thing Slytherin dorms are down in the dungeons, or else they'd have heard you all the way to Hogsmeade. Hermione's cat—Crookshanks—I found her, and she brought Hermione to you. She got you to Madame Pomfrey without any of the Slytherins being the wiser, they were all still at dinner, and Madame Pomfrey decreed a couple of days off from school for you. You're in one of the private rooms in the Hospital wing, and you'll be here for at least two days or until Madame Pomfrey is satisfied. You've been overworking yourself lately anyway, between schoolwork and Order research and the DA." She folded her arms and gave Draco a fierce glare. "You're going to _rest, _and talk to me or to someone else if you don't want to talk to me, or I _will _get Hermione Granger on your case and trust me, she's one person you don't want to be hounded by. She's _scary _when she's focused on something."

Stunned by this flood of speech from Skye, he nodded woodenly at her after a moment. Her stern expression softened, and she sank onto the bed by his knee. "Draco, I thought I'd lost you. You—Merlin help me, you looked like you were going to die, and I was so scared that you might just…choose to leave m—leave, and not come back, right there on the floor." She trembled now, her bravado gone, eyes shadowed and hands fisted with strain.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, reaching out to her in distress. "I…"

"Don't _talk, _it'll strain your throat more," Skye said fiercely. She gestured sharply at the dresser where the mug was. "Drink your tea—Madame Pomfrey said that its to soothe your throat."

Obediently, Draco cradled the cup in one hand, sipping and allowing the hot liquid to slowly mend his abused throat. The thickness in its consistency and the flavour was not pleasant, but in it Draco could detect a potion he himself had brewed before, that would cool his inflamed throat. He sighed with relief as the potion began its work, but with his free hand, he spanned the rest of the short distance and firmly placed his hand on hers. Skye sniffed back tears, spreading her fingers to meet his though neither could feel the contact.

Ignoring her admonishments and his lingering pain, Draco spoke. "I love you, Skye Corwin, and if you'll have me I'll stay with you forever and more," he stated, meeting her eyes with his earnest, still sorrow-filled but determined ones.

Hers filled with tears this time, but this time, happy ones. _Or so I hope. Please, Merlin…_his anxiety dissolved into a peaceful kind of joy that did not displace the aching hurt but did alleviate it a little in a different way. "Yes," Skye replied fiercely. "Oh, yes—I'll have you, and forever, if you'll have me too. I love you, Draco Lysander."

And somehow, Draco knew with a certainty as sure as the knowledge that he would never be a Malfoy again, that he could and would survive this and whatever else came, as long as this girl, this beautiful-souled woman who held his heart, stayed by him as she'd done in the worst of his grief. _And somehow, some way, I hope the man and woman who loved and raised me still care enough about the son they have made a stranger to be happy because I have found a once-in-a-lifetime love that so many only dream about, and she loves me back. She _loves me _back! _

**A.N.: Okay, please don't kill me—I know, there's no Hermione or Severus, let alone both of them, in this chapter. But there's a lot of plot development that needed to be done to move the story forward, and this is just how it worked out, okay? I'm sorry! I promise that there WILL be HGSS interaction in the next chapter, I already have part of it written. **

**The theories that are in this chapter are a basically a jumbled mix of a tiny bit of an idea taken from here and there (several fantasy novels and probably a couple fanfics, of which I read far too many of and don't remember…) and my own thoughts on what could have happened if the Horcruxes hadn't appeared. I hope they make sense and aren't too heavy or complex or anything, they've been bouncing around my head for a long time so they mostly make sense to me but they might not to anyone else! Please let me know what you think. As always, reviews are appreciated, on these theories or on anything else. As always, flames go to useful purposes such as toasting my s'mores and so on, so don't bother. **


	61. Chapter 61

**Disclaimer: They get returned in the end, that means I'm not stealing, right?**

Nodding at Troll-Man—as Hermione had begun to think of the uncouth silent guard at Gaston's—she slipped into the unremarkable room. This time she was ahead of Severus, and _she'd _been the one to make the "reservation." _That _had been an experience. Troll-Man had escorted her to the bartender, where the shady balding man who poured the drinks and apparently also did the book-keeping named a price and handed Troll-Man a dulled, rusty key to the "private dining room" she requested. At seven galleons, two of which were a deposit and would be grudgingly given back to her when she left, the price of a room for an hour was steep. _Not that I blame them for all the money they ask, they offer quite a risky business in secrets and privacy. _Gaston's was a smooth operation indeed. Hermione herself would have never discovered the place nor what it catered in if Severus had not mentioned it to her in one of their many discussions last summer, explaining the front of the restaurant and bar and what the enterprising business actually offered. _He wanted to be prepared for the point in the future when it became too costly for the Dark Lord to keep Severus cooped up in Prince Manor. Good thing he told me too, or I would never have ventured down Knockturn Alley on my own prerogative! _

And it was a good thing she'd come prepared for the price too. Being part of the Order had to have _some _perks, despite the overwhelming amount of work she'd suddenly inherited the moment she agreed to the induction. _But I was so honored to be asked, the youngest member and on special circumstances because they _needed _me and my skills…_and she would have never imagined the world of blood, sweat, and tears that accompanied her acceptance of such an honor. For an instant, Hermione fiercely longed to be as she had been—innocent, with the only stress on her life being Harry Potter's friend and whether she would do well on her exams. _But I would never have gotten to know Severus. I would have never become his friend, nor gotten the chance at something more. I would have never seen past the Pureblood Prat-ness of Draco, and never been as useful as I am now. _

And the Dark Lord may have gotten an upper hand—perhaps the tiniest slightest one, for the Order being a member shorter, but nevertheless an upper hand.

A sharp rap at the solid door interrupted her contemplation. She went to the door, at the last minute remembering to test for the authenticity of the person on the other side. He aced her quizzing of British Muggle history, as she had known he would. _The man never forgets a thing, and I suspect he knows much more than even I think he does. _Her mind retorted, _pot, meet kettle, _just before she swung the door open and allowed the unremarkable-looking man entry. Troll-Man lumbered away, and when the door was firmly secured, the plain and mousy man she had let in was suddenly a menacing dark shadow looming over her. "Hello, Severus," she greeted cheerfully.

"Hermione," he acknowledged, smoothly leaning down to catch her by her waist and kiss her soundly. _Mmm. _He broke the contact of their lips just as quickly, and looked down at her upturned face before her frowned. "It is rather disturbing to be kissing someone who looks old enough to have raised me, my dear."

"What- oh!" Hermione grimaced and allowed her glamour to trickle away. "Sorry, Severus. I forgot."

His raised brow was more eloquent than words, but Severus allowed himself to be placated. Hermione took his hand and led him over to the battered table and chairs, where they settled themselves—Severus with a refined sort of sneer that inexplicably reminded Hermione of Draco at his haughtiest. She stifled the very girlish giggles that wanted to erupt, looking away as she herself sat.

"You're sure he's okay?" Severus asked, getting straight to the point.

_Oh, yes. The reason Severus contacted me with urgency. _Hermione sighed, her own youthful face drawn in lines of pity. "He's gotten the worst of his mourning done, I think. Poppy will be keeping a strict eye on him from now on, and you'd be surprised at the support that has pulled through for the boy. _He _hasn't noticed it yet, because he's still resting in the Hospital wing, but already a group of Slytherins have begun to defend and protect him. Not blatantly of course."

"Of course not," her man smirked. "They're Slytherins."

"Of course," Hermione grinned right back. "But they _have _been quietly spreading murmurs of discontent among the Slytherin House. Why the Malfoys, with no secondary heir, would disinherit and disqualify their only child? If they both die unexpectedly, the Malfoys have no other relatives who are eligible to become the head, and at least temporarily, if not forever, the family line dies out, which is a Pureblood family's worst fear. Why do it now, when Draco has been keeping to himself for the most part and there have been worse cases of rebellion in which a Pureblood repented of, later? Not to mention Draco hasn't done _much _except refuse to kill someone an acknowledged superior in skills to him, and avoid contact with his family and their…affiliates, even become part of the DA which is an official school club sanctioned by the Headmistress and the staff. That's not exactly disownment-worthy acts. That sort of thing."

"Clever," Severus said with a sort of quiet and triumphant pride. Hermione smiled to see that. She knew better than anyone except, perhaps, the late Headmaster Dumbledore just how much it would have killed Severus to abandon his students, the students he had taught, advised, and subtly steered to become thinking creatures in their own right and not copies of their parents. _I'm glad for both them and even more for Severus that they have started to realize that they have a _choice _in this war. Draco's an example of that to them, a viable example of that choice. And every one who chooses our side is one less Severus will have to see one day, groveling before the Dark Lord, maybe one day being on the wrong side of his wand. _

"They've already caught one would-be attacker on Draco," Hermione told him.

He stilled in a position Hermione recognized as tension and a well-honed anger that simmered deceptively quiet like any one of his volatile potions. "Tell me," Severus demanded.

"It was a fifth year Slytherin, Garoche Meliflua." When Severus didn't seem to register the name, Hermione expounded on it. "He's the nephew of Araminta Meliflua, who is a known Pureblood fanatic and probable supporter of the Dark Lord although…I don't think she has the Mark. She's head of the Records Office, and she was the one who witnessed and signed for Lucius Malfoy's blood-severing contract."

Severus' eyes narrowed. In the everlasting shadows of the private room at Gaston's, he looked like a black panther, tensed and calculating. "No, I don't think she has the Mark, but she is most definitely a supporter. She's tried numerous times to push laws that went with the Dark Lord's agenda through." _And if you have anything to say about it, she won't survive the end of the war whenever that may be—not in the Ministry position she is in, or any Ministry job, anyway. I know that look. Anyone who dares hurt your godson, beware. _Yet another of the many reasons Hermione could scarcely believe she was as lucky as to have captured the affections of Severus Snape. _Underneath that dark exterior is a true warrior-protector. The gods help anyone who so much as touches those he has taken under his protection. No wonder Harry's survived as long as he has! _Hermione felt a swell of gratitude and pride. 

"Well, her nephew's going to need all her influence to keep him from being expelled. Zabini and some of the other Slytherins in Draco's unofficial posse caught him red-handed trying to add lethal amounts of belladonna to Draco's throat-soothing tea." _Which was a stupid choice in the first place—one sip and any imbecile would have noticed that the tea had a queer taste, and one sip is not enough to kill. Seriously incapacitate, yes, but not kill. _"He's been _suspended _indefinitely, and he receives a zero in each class and homework assignment and exam he misses while on suspension." Hermione's tone was one of mingled glee and horror. The glee was obvious, and it would have served the bugger right if he had been outright expelled. The only reason he _hadn't _had been his aunt's exertion of power on her part while they negotiated the terms of his punishment for what Minerva was calling attempted murder and Araminta was called a childish prank. The horror—well, it had been by all accounts, _fifty years _at least since the last suspension of a Hogwarts student. And to receive zeros for all missed classes and work while on suspension—the everlasting student whom Harry and Ron had become friends with in their first year cringed at the terrible fate.

Severus did not look satisfied enough at the punishment, but after a moment set it aside as useless to pursue for now. Although Hermione suspected that in the future it would be one of the many things on his list of things to do: make sure proper repayment had been visited on nephew and aunt alike to impress upon them that Draco Lysander was _off limits. Especially _since he was no longer a Malfoy.

For that matter, it was on _her _list of things to do. Right under the item _torture the Malfoys senseless for being as cruel as to completely abandon their son in such a callous, uncaring manner. _Hermione had been the one to find Draco, led by Crookshanks to the Slytherin dorm. The White Witch had let her in without waiting for a password, and for once the haughty, regal portrait had seemed almost disheveled with worry—and Hermione could see why, when she'd come across Draco's unmoving body almost immediately. _I thought he had killed himself, at first. He looked so white and motionless. _But his pulse and ragged, slow breaths had disabused her of that fear and she'd quickly gotten him to Poppy, murmuring reassurances to the thin air all the while and feeling quite stupid doing so. But she had a feeling Skye was there, and if Draco's earlier behavior had any weight, she suspected that Skye must be both frantic with the distress of not being able to do anything as well as nursing an aching heart for Draco's sake. _Damn his parents. Damn the Dark Lord for coming between the sacred bonds of parents and child. _Hermione might not be as good friends to this world's Draco as she had been to the one of another, but the boy in this one was just as brave and as changed as his counterpart was, and Hermione considered him a friend. Not to mention Severus' godson, and cherished one at that.

"Hermione." Severus had risen, and she did too, pressing herself against his chest for wordless comfort—whether to take or to give, she wasn't sure. There was only a brief hesitation before his hands rose to cradle her back and head, stroking not in the sensual, sexual way of the last meeting but rather in a soothing promise that was more delicate and somehow, more scary than the overt sexual tension of before. "They will pay," he whispered harshly into her ear. "I swear it."

"As do I," she said aloud, felt his jolt of surprise run through the taut muscles of his body. "He is my friend as well as your godson, Severus. I cannot do much _now, _but I swear that I'll do everything I can to ensure his safety and pay back those who hurt him."

He gazed down at her thoughtfully. "Your passion and your focus on your friends are so typically Gryffindor." It was not an insult, merely a statement, so Hermione did not open her mouth to dispute with him, though she threw him a warning glare. He simply cocked an eyebrow at her before continuing solemnly. "You deserve much better than me, Hermione, but a stronger man than I would not be able to withstand you." He quelled her protests by laying his lips on hers again, and this time it was of exploration, pushing the senses, hands mutually roving and discovering the ridges and valleys of each other's body.

He was endlessly patient and yet ruthlessly demanding, letting nothing stop his hands. And in the end it was Hermione who was once again left biting her lip in frustration, watching her dark, _irritating _wizard stroll out of Gaston's while she caught her breath and grumbled to herself while straightening the clothes he'd ruffled. _I swear, that man is going to be the death of me one day before the Dark Lord even. If he keeps up this half-seduction, I'm going to go as crazy as Bellatrix and be mad enough to storm Prince Manor as myself and demand full satisfaction from him before the Dark Lord or any number of Death Eaters do me in. How Severus manages to arouse the hell out of me with a simple kiss and a bit of petting—though he might not call it such an inglorious, teenage term—is beyond me. _

Well, perhaps next time she'd turn the tables on him and see how _he _enjoyed being toyed with in that manner. _Time to up the stakes, Severus Snape. _She grinned impishly at the empty meeting room before departing herself.

**--break--**

Severus did not dare spare even a moment to raise his hand to wipe off the sweat that had collected on his forehead and upper lip and threatened to obstruct his sight. The heat was unbearable, but as a Potions Master he had endured such circumstances before and would again in the future. His discomfort was discarded as insignificant compared to the extremely touchy experimental potion he was brewing, full of potentially deadly substances. He really didn't want to die as a result of getting some raw and undiluted dragon's blood on his skin, or any of the other numerous ingredients already in the cauldron. In the dim distance, he vaguely felt part of his brain buzz a warning that someone had entered Prince Manor, but the greater part of his concentration was on the half-complete potion before him, flashing a nasty-looking purple and emitting one or two gurgles in an alarming manner as the precious phial of fresh dragon's blood misted like nightmarish veins and tendrils and slowly spread and blended into the ghoulish mess. This was his 208th variation of the experimental potion that would, in theory, establish in the drinker a sort of blockade that would allow magic to go _in _but none to go _out _except via the wizard's own spell-casting. If it worked, it would allow them to set up the channel between two magical beings, and allow one supremacy over the other since the drinker of this potion would have a one-way channel-link harvesting life force from the other, but it would not be reversible. The Dark Lord would not tolerate his "magic supply" to turn on him and take _his _power.

Severus, in his non-brewing hours, viewed the project with utter disgust and revulsion. Within the confines of his laboratory, as he labored over the extremely difficult and completely invented potion he'd spent weeks researching to tentatively create, he could not afford such emotion. That kind of emotion would be a weakness that would destroy any efforts in success, and despite his own feelings about the matter, success he must have soon or the Dark Lord would _not _be happy. At all. And when the Dark Lord was Not Happy, Severus, the half-blood, was not safe. No matter how much he had pleased the Dark Lord in the past, despite being considered the head of the Pureblood Prince line now, in the end he was still a half-blood and the Dark Lord would not reap a rebellion among his own ranks if he chose to torture or kill Severus the way he would if he chose to do so with a Pureblood, unless that Pureblood had proven without a doubt to be a blood-traitor.

_Lead, the lead is next. _Without a break in the smooth stirring motion _(three clockwise, nine counterclockwise) _Severus reached out to the countertop where his next ingredient was lined up and waiting, groped and felt his gloved hand grasp three lead pellets each the size of a thumb-nail, and, just as he switched the direction of the stirring rod once more, threw the lead into the cauldron.

Instantly, the fire flared up bright, blinding him and filling his sight with dancing flames. Grimly, with a hand that did not shake although he could not see a blasted thing, Severus continued his stirring, hoping that if the potion decided to explode, it would not eat through the dragon-hide gloves he was wearing. There was a great deal of sizzling, and a smell like burnt flesh, which Severus hoped wasn't his, and then darkness and silence. It felt harder now to continue stirring—was the liquid becoming thicker? Blinking, Severus finally began to regain his sight, and his first glance as the bursts of light and blackness faded back to normal vision reassured him that his hands and indeed, all of him, were still intact. _Thank goodness. I still remember the time when I hadn't yet taken the test for mastery, and the acid managed to burn through the first layer of skin and all my nails before I noticed, because there was a numbing ingredient in the potion I was brewing that blocked the pain. _

It had been by this point that he had failed in each of the 207 trials before, in a number of ways that told him that the potion was not going to work. Now, peering into the cauldron tentatively, Severus caught his breath and then grinned in a fierce kind of joy that had nothing to do with the actual purpose of the potion and everything to do with the heady feeling of triumph, at having _created an adept-level innovative potion and succeeded. _The potion was, quiescent, smooth, and a dulled grey in color, slowly thickening into a smooth lava-like substance. _Exactly as it should be. _Or so his predictions had calculated. From here the potion would have entered stability, no longer a volatile mix of conflicting ingredients but rather a complementary, gelled together potion. In fact, it now only needed a period of cooling before an addition of two more ingredients, and it would be complete.

The hardest of his brewing over, Severus completed his set of nine counterclockwise stirs before he carefully drew the stirring rod out of the cauldron, pulling his wand out of his robes to raise the shielding around the cauldron. He could do nothing more for now but let it sit and cool. Potion secured to his satisfaction, he finally allowed his fatigue to rise to the surface. Wincing, feeling every ache from the tension of having been standing for the past hour and a half, Severus wiped the perspiration from his face with a handy swath of towel before wearily making his way from the lab to his quarters, stopping briefly at the sink near the entrance of the room to strip himself of the gloves and wash his hands thoroughly in case any of drop of potion or any of the ingredients had somehow made their way onto his hands.

It was only when he had just reached his quarters when the nagging in his brain suddenly resolved itself in realization of what he had forgotten in the hazardous task of brewing. The Dark Lord was in Prince Manor! His weariness quickly shoved aside, Severus stopped only to shed his outer robes, sodden with sweat, and don a fresh one of the same make. He swept out of his quarters, and almost immediately bumped into Pettigrew.

"Snape! Our Master wishes to see you in the library," squealed the plump man breathlessly, taking a quick step back.

Severus said nothing to the rat, only sneering at him before continuing on his way to where the Dark Lord waited for him. Pettigrew made a noise that sounded indignant, which Severus ignored, and the little man departed himself in a flurry of petulance, no doubt to sulk at his maltreatment. _Or to try and snoop around in his Animagus form. I wouldn't put it past him to try and spy on my rooms or lab. _Well, he'd try in vain. Not only were the wards around his quarters and his lab completely tight, Mippy had instructions that allowed him practically free reign to do with as he wished with would-be intruders. The gleam in the house-elf's eyes when Severus had given him the permission had been most unsettling and Severus had no doubt that Mippy could be extremely inventive and vindictive, given the chance.

"My lord," Severus murmured, taking in the others in the library as well before he kneeled at the snake-like monster he served.

"Rise, Severuss, join us in our conversation," hissed the Dark Lord. Severus rose, noting that all the key members of the research team were present, before seating himself in the last empty seat. The others muttered their own greetings, which he graciously acknowledged. "We have been discussing the fruits of the team's labor," the Dark Lord said conversationally.

"Then I do have something to contribute," Severus replied, knowing that this too was a kind of test of Severus' contribution. "I have been working for several weeks on the problem of creating a channel that is solely one-way and cannot be turned against the controller, my lord, and I believe that I have just succeeded."

_That put the cat among the pigeons. _The group started at that, Cain in particular. Severus allowed himself a moment of smug victory at having bested the undoubtedly brilliant minds gathered. _He _was the one who had solved a long-troubling feature of their theory. His tone was more than a touch superior as he launched into his explanation. "I have spent the past months since you recruited me for your team experimenting, my lord, and I think I have discovered a potion that will allow for a one-way channel to occur," he said bluntly. Ignoring Cain's bitten off exclamation and the various startled looks from the rest of the team—and the chilling, measuring look from a regally reclining Damascus Malfoy—he continued, not bothering to explain the nuances of the potion to them. No matter how brilliant the combination of ingredients were, only another Potions Master would truly be able to appreciate the ingenious blend of ingredients that ordinarily blew up or worse when combined. "It still bears much refining, and testing, and I expect that it will be months at least before I can present to you a potion that can be brewed consistently if with great difficulty, and maintains a reliability as to its purpose and function. However, I have succeeded just minutes ago in brewing the first prototype."

The room erupted in chaos. _Controlled _chaos—even now, everyone had one eye on the Dark Lord's enigmatic little half-smile even as they began clamoring. Cain looked as if he'd been struck by lightning. _Little bastard thought I was riding on the coattails of the master, eh? Overglorified and not contributing at all, despite the numerous times I lost him and had to explain over again some basic theoretical concept. _The Hungarian Klara Lazlo was chattering excitedly. _A bit of envy—oh, much—but also admiration, I think. She knows that I am capable of such a thing and she is envious of that. _Lazlo had been, for a Death Eater, endowed with a quirky sense of humor that he appreciated, although it sometimes ran a tad too sexual for his comfort. Luckily for him, she swung the other way, and only came on to them "for practice," as she'd joked once. Across from the petite woman was the gruff, silent Bulgarian Viktor Krum—Hermione's former friend and international Quidditch celebrity. Severus still had not discovered _his _motives for joining the Death Eaters, nor when, nor how. He was fanatically guarded with his words, and in fact the little Severus knew about this member of their team were offhanded comments by Cain, whom Krum was unfortunately close to. The few comments Krum had contributed had all been highly intelligent, thoughtful, and usually the answer to something or another that they had critically needed. And finally, the last member of their regular research group—Thorfinn Rowle, a big brute of a man whose hulking, lumbering build masked a rapier-sharp wit and equally cutting temper, was growling and blustering on about why _they _hadn't been told Severus had succeeded, _how _he knew the potion worked, and on and on. The man was fascinating to talk with when it came to magical history and ritual, but Severus was not the only one slightly nauseated by Rowle's violent, sadistic tendencies, which, to give credit to the man, he normally kept well-hidden and well under control. As for their final, shadow-member, the newest one, the man who had put Cassius Cain's nose all out of joint for _daring _to usurp Cain's position as leader of the team—Damascus Malfoy said nothing, and in fact, his only reaction to what Severus had said was a level, examining stare at Severus which made all his hair stand up on ends.

"Enough." A commanding hiss cut through the gabbling like a knife, and all sound abruptly stopped. Severus snapped his attention back to the Dark Lord, who was regarding the group before him with an air that felt wrong, that felt unfamiliar and yet—and Severus realized what made it feel so wrong, for it was the sort of glance an exasperated parent might give his squabbling children. _And the Dark Lord is definitely not anyone's idea of father! _

"You try my patience with your questions. Severus, are you certain of what you say?"

With red eyes boring into him, Severus _knew _that he would be personally held to his next answer. Without hesitation, he replied, "Yes. I am certain."

"Then I congratulate you, Severus. Once again you have surpassed yourself. Once again, you have earned my favor with your hard work and devotion to our cause." _He sounds _proud. _Mother of Merlin, I would rather take a Cruciatus than see the Dark Lord pretend to be a benevolent father or teacher! _Severus murmured disclaimers and his own thanks while Cain predictably turned conniving, angry eyes on him. But Cain would not say anything now, not when Severus was so prominently in the Dark Lord's favor once more. And the Dark Lord had continued, now rising from his chair, his voice rising with the motion of his body.

"My friends! My faithful followers, with Severus' success I can now tell you of the plans your comrade Damascus has built, plans that will come to fruition soon and bring with its advent the final fall, the final _obliteration, _of the misborn Muggleborn and their disgusting blood-traitors along with them, including the destruction of my own personal enemy Harry Potter. And with that fall, the triumph, the completion, that crowns a golden age for Purebloods, one that will last for _eternity. _We have calculated, Damascus and I, drawn up blood rituals, and with your valuable work, in the next few months we will combine our lines of research to create an immortality for all who are loyal!" Eyes glowing malevolently, face split in a grin that was more demonic in its glee and frenzy than Severus had _ever _wanted to see, the Dark Lord pinned them to their seats—with terror or mirrored excitement, Severus didn't know.

He whirled, made a mocking half-bow to where Damascus Malfoy still sprawled elegantly, still neutral and unaffected. As if that had been his cue, Malfoy favored his lord—and then the rest of the research team—with a small, polite grimace that somehow was just as frightening as the Dark Lord's manic joy. "Beltane, my friends." He spread his pale, lily-white hands. "Beltane this year, that is what our efforts have come to. We must be ready by then, and we will be as a bolt out of the blue, striking into the hearts of those who would deny true power." A sudden cold glint in the pureblood's grey eyes, eyes that were the same shade as Draco's yet a world away in similarity, hinted at a madness that surpassed even the Dark Lord's crazed visions of the future. Severus could not move, and only the force of superior will and training allowed his mind to take continual notes that Hermione and the Order would sorely need…now that a date had been decided and the fate of Wizarding Britain set careening down one solid path. _And may the gods help us all, _Severus thought, watching the dynamic between the two madmen, one like a monster, the other like an elegant gentleman. Power, fury, even a sick sort of sexual release, vibrated and made it abundantly clear that the coming Beltane would be a fight to the last man and child and still, they might not win—for the power of the Dark Lord would be multiplied manifold in the months to come, of that Severus was sure. _Yes, may the gods help us all—for it may take something of that power for any of us to survive past May. _

**A.N.: And we have a definite date! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Beltane is traditionally celebrated on the first day of May, although that date differs depending on the different calendars. **


	62. Chapter 62

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is the property of Rowling.**

He was waiting for her this time, and did not even greet her beyond a terse nod after she had passed his identity test and been admitted into the room at Gaston's. Taken slightly aback by the rude, harsh Snape she very rarely saw anymore, Hermione had only an instant to feel a flash of hurt and uncertainty—_has he suddenly gotten tired of me?—_before he began talking, and she stopped thinking about Severus' uncharacteristic behavior towards her at all.

The date had been set.

Beltane, the ancient first day of summer and when rites of purification, fortune-bringing, and fertility in land and people occurred, when (according to Muggles) the lines between the supernatural and the mundane blurred. The Dark Lord was being both ritually savvy and canny. He had chosen a date with much magical weight behind it, and only time would tell whether it would work to his gain or theirs. Not only that, by choosing the holiday of old opposite in the calendar to Halloween—when Harry's parents had died, when the Dark Lord himself had been vanquished for the first time—the Dark Lord was making a statement. _What exactly, I'm not sure_. _But so fast? We don't have enough time to prepare—Harry won't be ready, we'll be overwhelmed! _Hermione felt her palms begin to grow damp in fear. Then she glimpsed an answering, grim kind of understanding deep within Severus' black eyes even as he ruthlessly continued to describe the events that Damascus Malfoy and the Dark Lord had set in motion, details that had even her strong stomach rebelling. She clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the slippery-stickiness of her sweaty palms and the sweet slice of pain of her fingernails, stiffening her spine until it felt like a rod of iron down her back and her muscles protested their rigid set. _Harry has been preparing all his life. We have been hurtling towards this for as long as I can remember since stepping foot into the realm of magic, and some—like Severus—have waiting a great deal longer than I for the end to come in sight. The set date is merely a confirmation of the inevitable, and by Merlin we will fight, and we will win! _Any other outcome was Not An Option, in Hermione's mind. Just months ago—last year—she would have been the first to remember that they were mortal, this was not a story or tale, and tragic endings occurred in real life as often, if not more so, than happy endings. Now, looking at Severus and seeing the stern discipline that kept the man sane, completely in control, and already plotting (and presumably had kept him thus so throughout the many unvalued, silent years of spying) Hermione could not ignore the vise on her heart. It gripped and drew around her throat like a string yanked tight. She could not escape it, nor, as an intellectual and rational and information-loving soul, pretend not to know or understand that she was hopelessly lost, in love with Severus Snape, and that anything less than total victory and the survival, exoneration, and honor of this unconventional dark hero would be unacceptable.

"Okay. Okay." Hermione dug in the little Mary Poppins inspired bottomless purse she'd spelled herself to carry much more than it should have been able, came up with a blank scroll and the Muggle pen she saved for on-the-go occasions like this, so that she wouldn't have to carry around a quill and a bottle of ink. "I can't risk forgetting any of this, the memory techniques you taught me aren't going to measure up for something of this import. If you'll slow down, we'll get all the information you have written and I'll take it to the Order immediately."

"Hermione." She looked up from where she had poised her hand expectantly over the parchment, trying to reacquaint herself with the feel of the pen instead of a quill. "Thank you," he said.

He stressed the words, and Hermione understand that they meant much more than just a simple thank you for being ready to take notes as she always did. Rising, Hermione leaned over and kissed him thoroughly. "I know," she returned. He half-smirked, an echo of the snarky Slytherin git he was, and reached over to swipe at the corner of her mouth with a thumb.

"You'll need to reapply lipstick before you leave," he informed her, and before she could reply, began to narrate the Dark Lord's plans once more. _That smarmy, smug git. _She wiped the rest of her mouth for any smudged lipstick, and began to take notes.

**--break--**

"You're certain of this?"

"Yes."

"And the source?" another voice asked.

"Impeccable. I trust the source. They're telling the truth." Stated firmly.

"The question is now, do we tell everyone and risk having it leak that we know the plans but be the best prepared, or do we tell very few and keep the secrecy?"

"We need more information. I'd rather not jeopardize our spy in any way."

"Tell everyone what they need to know. That's always been the way the Order has been run, and how it has survived and won many a battle."

"I agree."

A murmur.

"I believe we all seem to have reached a general consensus. Shall we?"

A whisper, near the back of the room, from one to another. _"Now comes the hard part. Deciding what's relevant information for who." _

Another sigh, louder.

**--break--**

"Do you know what any of this is about?" Harry asked Hermione. Hermione shook her head, eyes relaying her own curiosity.

"Not a clue."

Ron sighed. "I wish I'd had more pie. You don't suppose they'll bring refreshments to the meeting?" He earned himself two exasperated swats, and subsided, grumbling. They were at Grimmauld Place. Several other members of the Order were there as well, conversing quietly, but apparently not everyone had arrived, including whoever was supposed to head up the meeting and explain things. Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat near the end of a long table. Ron was dreaming of the last slice of pie he should have had at dinner had he not been summoned to the Headmistress' office and sent through the Floo to Grimmauld Place. Harry took the opportunity to lean to his other side, over to Hermione, and murmur quietly just to her.

"Hey, Hermione, we haven't…we haven't talked very much, lately," he said lamely. _Blast. This is awkward._

She turned wide eyes on him. "I know, and I'm so sorry Harry! I've just been so busy, and teaching and everything…"

"Yeah," he agreed. "_Professor _Granger."

"It's Assistant Professor," she corrected sternly but with a tiny smile on her lips. "I'm truly sorry, Harry."

There was a brief interruption as Remus entered the room, followed closely by Professor McGonagall. Everyone greeted them, and Remus smiled affectionately at Harry's wave before taking his own seat. There was only one empty seat left now, next to Professor McGonagall. Harry wondered who they were waiting for. Already present were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fred and George (both conversing animatedly with a violet-haired Tonks), Moody surveying the room suspiciously, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones engaged in a heated discussion, Madame Corwin drumming her fingers on the table, and Flitwick, busily chatting at her, seemingly ignorant of Madame Corwin's impatient stance. _And of course, Hermione, Ron, and me. _

"Well, at least you seem really happy," Harry noted, turning back to his conversation with Hermione.

"Yeah, I—what do you mean?"

"That's the impression I got anyway," Harry shrugged, puzzled at the sudden sharpness of Hermione's tone. "You know. You smile a lot more now than you did last year, especially after…er…" he stopped abruptly, embarrassed at what he had been about to blurt out. _Idiot! She doesn't need to be reminded of her own parents' deaths! _Her face faltered, and Harry could have kicked himself for sheer stupidity. But with an obvious effort, Hermione rallied and smiled bravely at him.

"I think that they would have wanted me to…enjoy life, you know?" she said. "I realized that they would have hated it if I wallowed in my grief and bitterness. That isn't the way they raised me. One of my father's favorite sayings is _carpe diem, _seize the day. I guess I just decided that I wanted to do that, seize the day, every day."

"You're right." Harry thought it would be safe to reach over and pat Hermione on the shoulder. "I'm glad you decided that. I'm truly glad that you're enjoying life again, Hermione. You deserve to. Some days you're just _glowing _with happiness, you know?"

Hermione didn't have time to reply him, because at that moment the last person walked in and the meeting began. But as Harry sat back and prepared to listen to whoever held the floor, he could have sworn he saw Hermione bite her lip the way she did when she was either worried or focusing on something difficult. _Must be wondering what the meeting's about and why all of us got dragged out here on such short notice, _he decided.

"You have all learned, one way or another, upon entry into the Order, that the Order of the Phoenix is old, and will outlast this war—whether it ends in victory for us or loss. We are far more extensive than anyone guesses." It was Master Li, the last to enter, and he was very grave.

"Even Voldemort?" Harry asked sharply.

"_Especially _Voldemort," replied the old Chinese man. He continued, "If Voldemort—forgive me for my bluntness—kills you and takes over Wizarding Britain, it is of high likelihood that all of you in this room will die." He scanned them soberly. "You will die, all of you, and a great deal more people both working with the Order and those simply caught up in the fight. But the Order will survive. We have dozens of men and women who are either sleeper agents or far away enough from the view of Voldemort to slip through the cracks, and at least half of the High Council is included in that number. But for you, the others—you have either chosen, or circumstances have thrown you, into the frontlines of this war." He sighed. "I do not like telling you this, but I suspect that you already know it."

"What is the point you are making?" Harry snapped, not liking the way the conversation was going. "That we're all going to die but you and the big heads aren't?"

"No, Harry," Li replied gently. "I did not mean it that way at all."

"Then what _do _you mean?" Remus asked mildly, shooting Harry a stern look. Harry subsided, sulkily. Li shrugged his thin shoulders expressively.

"Only this, that _because _this is a split operation the way the Order generally works in times of conflicts like these, those who are likely to survive will be told very little, and you who are on the frontlines will be told much. Almost all that the Order collectively knows, in fact. Voldemort has already cast every single one of you as the enemy, _his _enemy. That puts you in the battle, one way or another, and we prepare every one of our soldiers the best we can."

Earnestly, he spread his hands now. "Most of this information is classified, bought at a dear price, and if it leaks beyond you, will most likely result in the loss of the entire war, most certainly the death of at least one person at the _very _least. That's why I will have to take an Unbreakable Vow from all of you, to keep what information I divulge secret."

There was a silence, and then the Headmistress got to her feet and joined Master Li. "Please, my friends, these are harsh requirements, but it is important. We have to be prepared, and we have to be more prepared—more informed—than Voldemort is."

Slowly, Harry nodded, the first one to do so. "Fine. I'll do it. Just tell me how."

And one by one, each member agreed.

The spell that sealed the secrecy vow was deceptively simple, but Harry could tell, by the widening of Hermione's eyes, the way her breath caught as she watched the procedure like a hawk, that it must have been impressively complicated.

When everyone had stated the carefully worded oath never to reveal what the man would tell them _until Voldemort was defeated forever, _Li explained.

"The day of the final battle, the one where you, Harry, must come face to face with Voldemort for the last time and either kill or be killed by him is in roughly seven months. Voldemort plans to attack Hogwarts and the Ministry simultaneously on Beltane, and he plans to perform an arcane ritual sealing his immortality and multiplying his power, prior to coming in person to attack you, Harry—or rather, having you brought to him is the more likely case." A muffled oath, hastily cut off, from beside him—that was Ron. The sharply drawn breath was Hermione. The rest of the Order all had various reactions. Harry himself froze, and for an instant his Occlumency shields, hard-taught and hard-won from Professor Dumbledore just a short year ago, faltered. A jolt of pain flashed down the jagged edges of his scar, and he inhaled slowly, not daring to draw attention to himself. With the care of a surgeon, Harry mentally ran through the ritualistic steps to envision the force of his entire magic a shimmering and impenetrable barrier, and re-solidified the hairline fracture in his mental wall. The blinding pain faded, leaving no evidence of it ever having occurred, except for a dull ache that promised to retribution in the form of a full-blown headache later. Harry winced, blinked, and refocused.

Less time had passed than he had thought. Only Hermione gazed at him with worry, and he smiled at her to reassure her. _There's nothing wrong, I'm fine, don't bring it up, _he willed at her, and as if on cue she raised an eyebrow at him in a sardonic manner that for some reason recalled to Harry's mind someone he couldn't quite remember, and then turned her eyes back to Li, seemingly content that she had informed Harry that she _knew _something was up, would keep his secret, and expected to be told what had happened later.

"Each of you here have unique skills that have made you essential to this war," Master Li was saying now. "We're each going to be in different groups, with different assignments that will allow all of us to pool our talents. For example—Minerva, Ron, both of you are our tacticians. We'll get you any information we can on the exact schematics of the attacks, and you two will be in charge of the team planning our defenses." McGonagall nodded, regal in her tartan shawl. Ron's ears turned red, and he sat up straighter. Harry stifled a laugh. _I bet that's taken all the thoughts of pie right out of his head. For now, anyway, _he amended. Ron was always hungry.

"Danielle, you and your team—concentrate on the initial task, the more research we have on that area of Voldemort's interest, the better. There are other teams that are working solely on the implications of the theories and research Voldemort has undertaken, but you have a…unique angle, so I'd ask for anything you can tell me as you work on your project." Corwin nodded authoritatively, and Jones looked pensive. Harry wondered what they were working on. _That's one thing I will never get used to in the Order—the _secrecy _of things! Why can't they just be straightforward and tell all of us everything? Especially if it might involve us! _But with a sigh, Harry accepted that brighter minds than his own had seen the need for secrecy, and it probably made sense. _I don't have to like it though, _he thought stubbornly.

"Harry, I'd like you to—not bring the DA completely in on this information, but get them ready for Beltane. If we go the route the Order suspects the battle to take, Hogwarts will be at risk, and all the students with it. Having students who know how to fight Death Eaters will be…to our benefit."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "_Yeah. _Just a bit," he said, making no attempt to hide the harshness in his voice. The visions of children screaming, bleeding, dying, was all too clear. _And the children, who should have been the most precious thing, are thrown to the wolves like little scraps of sacrifice in the war, _he thought bitterly. His own childhood—barely one at that, and cut short by the cruel hopes of a nation that rested like a burden on him—was at hand to remind him that in this war, the innocent were just as likely to die as those not so innocent. _But if I can teach them how to successfully fight adults, then maybe they might lose their childhood but stay alive. _"I'll make sure they can fight," Harry promised fiercely.

Li's eyes were alive with something Harry easily identified as pity. _Not all for me, either. _And perhaps because it was so evident, Harry let himself release the useless anger he had built on the impersonal logic of the Order. Li wasn't to blame, and really, the Order was doing the best it could to fight a war and win it. _Makes it even more important for me to accept what Ginny always says, that sometimes you have to do something wrong to prevent an even greater wrong. I _don't _want to kill anyone, but I'm going to have to, to stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters from killing everyone. _And _that _was what gave Harry shrieking nightmares, because no matter how much of a brave front he could put up, he did not want to come face to face with Voldemort again, knowing that if Voldemort killed him everything and everyone was doomed.

Harry remembered when he had been very young, and his aunt and uncle had gone to church several times to impress a certain one of his uncle's bosses who was a devout churchgoer. He had been sent off, with Dudley, to Sunday school, where they learned about stories from the Bible. The last Sunday they had ever gone, the Sunday school teacher had taught the story of David and Goliath, and reenacted it. It was one of his sweetest memories, for it was one of the few times he could remember other children liking _him—_or at least playing with him—and not Dudley. One little girl in pigtails had cried out that Harry should be David, because he was so small and scrawny, and Dudley should be Goliath—_and Dudley's face turned so purple I thought he would simply burst and I would have to pick up little pieces of him around the room! _The teacher had acquiesced, and Harry had had the pleasure of pretending, at least, to defy his piggish cousin and 'kill' him. Of course, once Dudders had gone home, he'd tattled and the next Sunday, they went no more to the "filthy, hypocritical, shabby little church." _But the memory—and the story—stayed with me. I didn't get it then, but I think I know now how David must have felt, having the weight of the entire country rely on _him _to save them from Goliath. _The difference, of course, was that David had volunteered for the job, and he'd apparently had the favor of God with him. Harry had not volunteered to be a hero, and to his best knowledge, did not have a god's helping hand in his life. _I wish it was as simple as throwing stones at Voldemort to vanquish him, _he thought soberly. But the mental image of him casting rocks at the snake-like tyrant was unexpectedly funny, and Harry felt his depression ease and lighten, for the moment at least, enough to listen to the rest of the meeting consisting of the delegation of tasks and information to each person.

**--break--**

Severus pondered his position, allowing his piercing eyes to rove over the silent, elegantly carved ivory chessboard. Across the table from his, Mippy bounced with tense excitement, gaze just as focused on the game in front of him as Severus. Outside, the wind howled and threw itself at the window in rage, only to be rudely stopped by the solid nature of the house. It was darkening fast, faster than usual even during the evening. "Knight to E4," he finally said into the quiet. Instantly, the black piece slid forward.

Mippy squeaked, and then narrowed his eyes at the challenge the board presented him. Severus leaned back, and allowed his house-elf to concentrate. The chessboard was an heirloom, something he'd dug up in a box of things that had been haphazardly tossed together. The white queen had waxed eloquent on their collective disgust at being carelessly left to gather dust, and had only shut up when he'd made a bargain with them—frequent, if not quite daily use, in exchange for their dignified silence. _We aren't your newly-carved rabble-rousers. _We _have been played at the International Chess Tournament in Moscow. We have all memorized the book of etiquette for chess pieces cover to cover, _the white queen had announced snootily. Across from her, the black queen murmured her agreement. And that had been that. Now, they were as quiet and polite, waiting for their orders, as any Muggle chess set.

Mippy made his move—Severus sat up again and glanced thoughtfully at the chessboard. At this point, he could deploy his remaining pieces in one of several strategies that he knew—he was close to checking the king. The question was, which strategy would catch his house-elf off-guard? As he contemplated each game strategy, the greater part of his mind was also on another thorny—and much more relevant—problem.

"Mippy, a while ago you told me about house-elf magic," he began.

Mippy nodded, ears flapping up and down with the force of his head bobbing. "Mippy remembers well. Missy also here."

"Yes, that's correct. I have a few questions about how house-elf magic works, and a favor to ask you."

"Mippy listens," the house-elf said seriously, eyes shining with wonder and curiosity.

"Are house-elves able to tell each other what occurs in their owner's home, or life?"

Mippy paused. "Depends, master."

_It'll have to be the last gambit, the first two strategies are too textbook for Mippy not to guess and counter before it does any good. _Severus ordered a pawn to make a he hoped, would assist in his victory. "Depends on what?"

"On…" Mippy frowned at the board, cocked his head to the side, then looked up to answer Severus' question. "On many things, master. Is three important things in levels. Elf-law. First is elf-loyalty. Second is master or mistress. Third is being self." Mippy shrugged, and moved a pawn, protecting it from Severus' threatening queen.

Severus blinked. "How does that work, exactly? I thought loyalty to the owner was the highest priority."

"No, no," Mippy shook his head emphatically. "Is almost forgotten now, but elves is remembering well. Oh no, masters and mistress not the most important. _Elves _is most important. We is protecting our own, master. If master orders elf to tell secrets of other elves, or to harm other elves, elf cannot obey. If elf is hating master, elf still cannot disobey master if orders is not against elf-law."

_Interesting. Most interesting. _Severus let the hierarchy of importance among house-elves settle in his mind. House-elves as a collective, and their law, came before even their loyalty to their owners. How could he use that to his advantage? "If an owner orders a house-elf to violate the elf-law, what happens?" he posed.

Mippy blinked rapidly. "Depends, master. If house-elf is loving master, house-elf may stay with master, but is not allowed to obey command against elf-law. If house-elf is _hating _master, elf is able to ask for judgment from all elves. If all elves decree violation is bad, _all _house-elves is not house-elves for master anymore and no obligation. They is assigned to next in line in family."

"House-elves can _control _who they serve?" Severus was fascinated, and although he had thought himself progressive, just a little aghast at that thought. _Perhaps I am a little less immune to enjoying house-elf servitude than I thought. Hermione would kill me. _

"Only in matter of master breaking sacred promise to honor elf-law, which is promised in every bond and sealed with master's word," Mippy said, slyly shifting his gaze to Severus for a long instant.

_Merlin! _"The oath-taking," Severus murmured aloud, startled. The oath-taking that was _part of the spell to bind a house-elf to servitude. _And in a transfer of ownership, as had occurred with Mippy to Severus from Lucius, it would simply be enough for the spell for Severus to have accepted the house-elf in to his service. That would have bound him to the initial oath of honoring the elf-law. No one had thought much of the words and spell that went into creating a bond that put the house-elf in service of one human or another. It was ironic that the Purebloods were swearing to uphold and never go against house-elf loyalty _while _binding them into slavery.

"Mippy is wondering," the house-elf remarked. He rubbed his bulbous nose, waggled his ears a little and continued, a spark of…_something…_in his eyes. "Mippy is wondering…if master is going to ask Mippy is elves can be helping him in ending He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Mippy is wondering very much indeed."

_Caught out by my own house-elf. _Severus carefully framed his next words, for there was a glint in Mippy's eyes that told him that despite the house-elf's youth and despite the unexpected friendship he'd found in the elf, whatever he said next could destroy—or solidify—their unconventional relationship. And Mippy had learned enough of Severus' business to ruin him and give the victory to the Dark Lord entirely. "It _was _something I was thinking, Mippy," Severus said slowly, candidly. "I will admit it. Everything, everyone, is a weapon and a potential resource. Winning the war is _my _first priority like the house-elf-collective is yours. I will not order you as master to servant. But I _will _ask, as one friend to another, that if you and any other house-elf can help us at all, every little bit counts. And as a friend, if you refuse, I understand and will not pursue it further."

Mippy paused, and Severus could almost _see _the gears churning in his head. The calculating little elf sat still—something of great import indeed, for Severus had never seen Mippy remain still for longer than five seconds. Indeed, Mippy sat so still for so long that Severus was beginning to wonder if he had been hexed when the elf finally sighed and relaxed. "I is only a young elf," Mippy told Severus solemnly. "A young elf, and not so old and wise. But I is proud to be Master's friend, and I is proud to helps Master in any way Mippy can. Mippy is not sure, but he is thinking that many many elves, they is tired of being _things, _and missing the way things were in our old ones' memories. Mippy cannot promise, but he is thinking…many elves will wish to help."

"Thank you, Mippy. I will trust you to coordinate the house elves who wish to help," Severus said.

"Mippy can do this," the chirpy house elf nodded stately. "I is talking to Minny first, and Trixa, and Mully, Rotter, maybe Garn…" smirking, Severus broke into Mippy's stream of excited think-aloud speech.

"Mippy, perhaps you could talk to these elves first and then come back to me and tell me what they say?"

Mippy waggled his ears. "Master is right. Mippy will do this." Pleased with himself, the house elf finally stopped planning and looked down at the neglected chessboard. Then he grimaced. "Mippy thinks Master has won this game."

"You would be correct." Severus, not loath to physically move a chess piece with his hand, reached over and shifted one black piece. "Check, and mate." The white king gracefully stepped back, placing his crown gently on the square he'd abdicated. "And may our battle on Beltane be this bloodless," Severus murmured, and packed away the chessboard.

**A.N.: I am SO sorry! I know I've been MIA. Several weeks ago my computer crashed, taking everything with it, including the chapter I'd been working on that week. Since then, I've been getting a new hard drive, getting things set up on it, and finally, re-writing this chapter (which, since by that time, I'd forgotten most of what I had written, is different from the original…) Anyway, so that's where I've been, and I hope you forgive my absence!**


	63. Chapter 63

**Disclaimer: I do not possess any facet of HP.**

Ginny was sweating, her breath coming out in pants and her red hair plastered to her scalp disgustingly. As the salty perspiration trickled into her eyes and blurred her vision, it was more out of instinct than anything else that had her ducking. Just in time too—the light of a hex smoked a sizzling trail, almost brushing the top of her head. Trusting the instinct that had saved her from the first curse, Ginny threw herself to the left, flicking her wand furiously. A red jet erupted from _her _wand, followed in quick succession by two other hexes, and she risked the time to hastily swipe a hand over her eyes, clearing her sight.

Her hexes, she noted with some pride, had been just as unerring and as vicious as they would have been with the spoken incantation—but she had cast the spells wordlessly. No time for pride though, not when it could cost her. Her opponent was good, her languid-seeming style of dueling and the dreamy cast of her eyes completely masking the strength and swiftness of the spells she sent, not to mention some very creative, and altogether unexpected spells Ginny had had to counter.

Defending herself with frantic swishes of her wand and jerks of her body to avoid the arcs of light, Ginny managed to catch Luna's foot with a kitchen spell meant to soap up a dish, and for an instant, the blonde faltered, her foot slipping and forcing her to throw out an arm to steady herself. That was all the in Ginny needed, and a second later, Luna was smiling calmly from a prone position, wandless and bound.

"Good job, Ginny," she said delightedly, not at all put out at losing. Not that she could complain—Luna had beaten _her _a week ago, after all. "But I think you ought to Silence and Stun me, in case I can cast a spell or two without my wand. I might, you know, if I were a Death Eater."

"Would have already been done, if you _were _a Death Eater," Ginny assured Luna. "But since you're not…" The ropes fell away, and Ginny bowed, presenting Luna's wand to the other girl with a flourish. Luna danced to her feet and retrieved her wand, bowing to Ginny as well.

"That's certainly a spell to remember, Miss Weasley," came a gentle, amused voice. Ginny turned her head to see that Professor Lupin was smiling cordially at her and Luna. "Very useful and creative application indeed, it threw Miss Lovegood off-balance and will do the same to Death Eaters if you aim at their feet, or even their wand hand to make them drop their wand."

"Or their eyes," Luna offered pleasantly. "Mother often told me to be careful not to get soap in my eyes, when I was young."

"Superb idea, Miss Lovegood," Professor Lupin acknowledged. "Be sure to remember it."

"Oh, I will," Ginny added, her own eyes shining fiercely. Then she looked around the Room of Requirement. Some of the duels had already ended, and the partners were huddled together discussing what they had done right and wrong, some even reenacting the move or spell that had ended the duel—learning, practicing, fixing their mistakes into their memory so they would never make it again. Others were still in the heat of their duel, attacking each other relentlessly or warily circling each other in a short reprieve and measuring up of their opponent. Everywhere Ginny gazed, there were students focused intensely on the task before them—on becoming better than competent in the area of defense and offense, learning how to take on full-grown wizards and survive, even win. A flash of blond hair caught Ginny's eye, and she frowned, watching Draco Malfoy dodge a jinx sent by his partner. _No, not Malfoy. Just Draco. _It felt odd, the taste of her old enemy's first name on her tongue, but for all his nastiness, arrogance, and posturing, he had well and truly cast his lot with them and reaped the consequences for it already. Ginny couldn't imagine being disowned by her family—to M-Draco, who had been an only child and reportedly the apple of his parents' eyes, it must have been devastating. Certainly he'd spent several days in the Hospital Wing after an abrupt collapse, and already been the target of a would-be Death Eater's murder attempt. Taking all of that into consideration, what in Merlin's holy name was the ferret doing at their DA meeting, exerting himself in a way that Madame Pomfrey would probably not be happy to see?

Ginny was about to stride over to the dueling pair and ask that very question, when the door to the Room of Requirement swung open unexpectedly and everyone looked up in surprise. There were Slytherins at the door.

Her wand was out, as was just about everyone else's, in a guard position, and Ginny noticed with slight pride that the two people closest to Harry (who happened to be Ron and Hannah) had automatically moved to flank him just as Professor Lupin had taught everyone just two meetings prior. Not too close, so that their movements weren't hampered. Not too far, so they could defend the most important person if the occasion called for it. Harry hadn't been too thrilled when the professor had taught the DA how to guard someone (meaning Harry), but Remus Lupin had insisted, explaining carefully that no matter how little Harry liked it, he was believed to be the most important person in the war and if he got himself killed it would cause rampant panic within their ranks and ultimately, whether or not Harry _was _supposed to be the only person who could kill Voldemort, the people would believe they were lost and doing so, lose in truth.

A little more persuading by Ginny in private, and Harry had grudgingly agreed for the DA to learn how to best protect Harry in a fight as well as protect other students and defend the school. And it was already paying off—as the small posse of Slytherins entered the Room of Requirement slowly, the DA was already moving collectively as one to group together, closing ranks and leaving only a small path, two people wide, to where Harry stood watching them.

They didn't have their wands out, and Ginny thought it either very foolish or very courageous, for them to enter a room full of potentially hostile students in training without their wands drawn. Almost as if it had been rehearsed, the Slytherins smoothly maneuvered themselves to accommodate to the narrow path to Harry. So it was that it was the boy Ginny thought was Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson, who stepped forward to face Harry, Ron, and Hannah and carefully say, "Potter. Do you have room for four more?"

Harry blinked, and Ginny felt her jaw drop. In the corner of her eye, she saw Ma- _damn it, it's Draco!-_ become absolutely still, face completely bland.

"You…want to join the DA," Harry stated flatly.

"We do," Parkinson answered steadily.

"Why?"

Nott glanced, just a tiny brief flicking of his eyes, to where Draco stood. To her surprise, it was Ron who caught it, and said sharply, "You can't just be loyal to one person in the DA."

"Did I say I would be loyal to only one person?" Nott shrugged impassively. "We grow tired of windbags and fanatics, Potter. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone in Slytherin supports…one idea."

"And why should we trust you?" asked Hannah earnestly. It was an honest question, stated simply—Hannah was too sweet-natured a girl to ever ask a malicious question. Ginny often felt quite inadequate next to the noble Hannah, but could not even work up the dislike for such a genuinely likable girl.

It seemed the Slytherins felt the same, because they did not take offense from Hannah the same way Ginny was sure they would have, coming from Harry or Ron. Instead, Parkinson answered and her words had a ring of honesty to it. "We aren't looking for trust—not right away at least. That takes time to earn, and shouldn't be given easily. But as to why you might accept us into the DA—apart from what we could learn from each other, all four of us are tired of being pawns for our families. We don't fight for some fine ideal or because it's right." She sneered a little, and Ginny bristled but kept quiet. "We will, however, fight because we believe everyone has the right of freedom and choice for their own path, and as it stands not many born into…certain…families do."

To her surprise, despite Ginny's disgust at the selfishness of the Slytherins, it made sense and made her curiously relieved of their motives for joining the enemy. She rather thought the Slytherins would keep their word if they joined the DA. But she remained silent. It was not her they had to convince, it was Harry. And Harry was staring off to the side, thinking. Some of the DA had lowered their wands, though Ginny kept hers up warily, and Ron did the same by Harry.

Finally, after a moment that felt like forever, Harry met Nott's eyes. "You'll have to swear the same oath everyone else does, and I won't have anyone acting superior. Everyone learns the same things."

"Agreed."

"Then shall we do that right now?"

"Certainly." That was Ginny's cue, and she quickly _Accio'd _the parchment that held the vow and the signatures. Together with Professor Lupin—whon Ginny had forgotten was right there!—she presented the scroll to Nott, who read the script, conversed in a low tone with the other Slytherins for a second, and then signed with a flourish.

**--break--**

"You have _got _to be kidding me!"

"What? What did you find?" Draco nearly fell out of his chair trying to get up and make his way over to where Skye was bent over the original scroll of information gleaned by some unknown spy from Voldemort. She had ambled over there some time ago, bored with the fact that she could only read at the speed Draco did in any book they looked at. Around them, the rest of the unlikely group working together to find a way to put Skye back in her physical body looked up curiously at Draco.

"Call the others," she ordered. "I think I found something."

"Um…" Draco looked uncertainly back at the others. _How the heck am I supposed to order people around who are all older than me and dislike me, to boot?_ "Excuse me—"

"What's smokin', cuz?" Tonks left her own scrutiny of some arcane book and strolled over, with a relaxed smile designed to put Draco more at ease.

"I think that Skye has found something, and she wants to explain it to everyone," Draco revealed. That brought the rest of the others over, and Draco turned back to Skye. "What did you find?"

"We've been looking too much at the atrocity of the research that we're doing," she said abruptly. She made a face, exasperated, when Draco repeated them for the benefit of the group and was met with incredulous _are-you-kidding _stares. "Look, I know it's horrible stuff, of the sort of Dark magic you never want to think about let alone touch. But we've let the horror of it all sweep us away. It wasn't about the rituals or the disgusting acts or Dark magic, it was about the theory all along. _Look!" _She jabbed her finger emphatically at a section they'd glossed over before, and Draco bent closer to take a look.

"This is all about spiritual planes of existence and how Voldemort's first attempt at immortality was in tying his mental self into this plane," Draco said, confused.

"Exactly!"

"Skye…"

She groaned in frustration. Draco restrained himself, just barely, from reaching out to wrap an arm around her insubstantial shoulder. "Bloody hell, do you really need me to spell it out for you? I think that whatever happened to me snapped my mental self's connection to my body and tied it to _your _body instead, for whatever reason. That explains how I didn't die or go into the Great Beyond or whatever."

"It explains why I'm the only one that can see you and talk to you," Draco agreed, mind buzzing as everything clicked into place. "And why your aunt could feel you, because her mental self recognized yours even though you weren't inhabiting your body."

"And our unexpected connection—being able to feel your strong emotions, not being able to get too far from you, that sort of thing," Skye added, eyes wide.

"Malfoy! I demand that you explain what is going on at this moment!" exclaimed Danielle Corwin in exasperation.

Skye eyeballed her aunt indignantly. "Don't talk to my boyfriend in that way Aunty Dani, and don't call him that!"

Draco couldn't deny the thrill that stole over his heart when Skye stood up to her own _aunt _for _him. _It didn't matter that her aunt hadn't heard her, nor that Flitwick and the others were staring at him bug-eyed as if he were some species alien to earth. He grinned at Skye, face splitting into the most genuine, happy smile he'd experienced since his parents had disowned him. She met his eyes and blushed, unaccountably. _Skye, blushing! She's never embarrassed, I'm always the one who turns as red as a Gryffindor! _She looked slightly guilty—presumably at admonishing her own aunt, although it had gone unheard, but her own smile spread a second after she saw his. "_I'm _the only one allowed to order you about," she told him mischievously, winking.

Struggling to keep his composure, Draco put on his best bland-Snape-face and bowed just the tiniest bit at Madame Corwin. "My apologies, Madame, for the confusion," he murmured politely. "I do beg that you address me by my first name—I no longer claim the Malfoy name."

The shock on all their faces, even Tonks', was enough to have him rolling on the floor laughing, but Draco remained solemn. _They thought I was either a priggish, spoiled little pig or a windbag with questionable parents! Just because I grew up in a conservative Pureblood supremacist family doesn't mean they didn't teach me manners! Oh, why am I even defending Mothe—Narcissa and Lucius? Never mind. Think later. Act now. _Draco dismissed his troublesome internal dialogue just in time.

"I am sorry—_Draco,"_ Madame Corwin said slowly. Beside her, Hestia Jones made an involuntary movement of protest but quickly stifled it. Corwin went on. "Please, would you let us in on what you and Skye have discovered?"

_Well, she said please. _Draco gestured to the parchment that Skye had been pouring over. "Skye was examining the text of the information our dedicated spy discovered for us, and she realized that we were concentrating too literally on the magic…the, uh, unfortunate aspects and so on." He grimaced. "What we were looking for was almost a brief aside, about how Voldemort achieved his first step towards immortality by tying his consciousness—his mental self—to this particular plane and timeline of the world. Without going into too much magical theory, Skye believes that she is experiencing a case of that sort of magic gone wrong, that somehow her mental self was severed from its connection to her physical body much like Voldemort's was in his first defeat, but instead of fleeing this reality in a normal case of death, she somehow established a connection to mine instead. Since _my _mental self already inhabits my body, there was no room for her as well so she became my personal poltergeist, so to speak."

"Hey!" Skye thumped him ineffectually. He smirked at her.

"That answers more questions than it doesn't," Flitwick squeaked thoughtfully, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. For once, he was on the ground rather than hovering three feet above it.

Tonks snorted, and her eyes turned brilliant blue. "It creates far more questions than it answers, you mean!"

"True, but it's a start, and we have a definite idea of just what you are now, Skye," Flitwick said. Draco nearly snarled, but bit his lip instead. The little Charms professor had, in the process of trying to address Skye personally, craned his neck up—but not far enough. _Just because she's invisible doesn't give you the right to stare at _my _girl's chest! _

"I think we need to examine further just _how _Voldemort tied his 'knot'," Madame Jones offered. At the general nods of consensus, the team was back on track, and Draco was unable to wipe the silly smile off his face as his heart lifted like it hadn't for forever. Skye was fiercely scanning the text again, and she looked beautiful, her hair pulled severely back and every wisp tucked behind her ears for good measure. _I'll have you in my arms for real, soon, Skye Corwin, and when I do—well, I hope you plan on staying there because I'm not letting you go! _

**--break--**

A tiny body collided with hers as she swung open the door of her office to go to dinner. "Oof!"

"Whoa, hold up!" Hermione regained her balance fairly quickly, but watched with slight amusement as little Lionel Jordan bounced off her, tripped over his robes, and fell in an ungraceful heap on the floor before her. "Hey there, young Mister Jordan, what's the rush?"

"Sorry, Prof G," he gasped breathlessly, scrambling to his feet again. Hermione raised one eyebrow. The boy winced. "I mean, Professor Granger."

"Assistant professor, if you wish to be completely accurate," she reminded him. "The next time I hear that nickname, Mister Jordan, out of you or any one of your compatriots, it will be ten points from their House and a detention with me."

_That _put a wide-eyed look of respect to the young boy—Professor Granger might have been "the coolest Potions professor ever" because she was so young and explained things patiently, but she was also known for giving harsh detentions. One girl who had slipped an extra lizard eye to her rival's potion (which resulted in an explosion that melted the cauldron _and _the two cauldrons on either side) had, after her detention, tearfully recounted hours of chopping various disgusting innards, slicing a vile plant whose stink even before it was cut was enough to make grown men weep, and grinding dried toad skin until her wrists felt like they were going to drop off, and even her sympathetic roommates had constantly cast _Smell-Me-Not _spells at her, _after _her third shower.

"It won't happen again, Professor Granger," he promised a little nervously. Then, true to spirit, he perked up almost instantly, recalling what he'd been standing outside her office for. _If he weren't obviously not red-haired and so young, I'd suspect Lionel of being Fred's and George's long-lost triplet. _"I have important news to report, Prof- er, Professor Granger! You know, about what you asked me to do with the ph-"

Hermione hastily closed the door behind them and set up a privacy spell before taking the _Silencio _off the talkative student. "Sorry about that, Mister Jordan, but I would rather this conversation take place in private, and not have unwelcome ears hear what you have to say," she explained.

"That's totally fine, it's all super-sneaky cool spy stuff right?" The boy had the temerity to grin cheekily at Hermione, and it was a toss up between being appalled at Lionel's description of discretion and dissolving into helpless laughter at it. Hermione chose the middle route, and hoping her face had not twitched and given her away, replied, "Indeed, Mister Jordan," in her best Minerva McGonagall tone.

It worked, or at least Lionel didn't notice Hermione's reaction. Instead, he prattled on excitedly. "So, you know, the cell phone idea? Well after you put me in touch with Fred and George and Professor McGongall got us some prototype phones and everything, me and some others and Fred and George of course, only they were mostly by owl because they're busy runnin' their shop, well we tried to figure out how to make cell phones work in the magical world reliably, and I think we finally nailed it! I mean, it's not perfect or anything and actually it's not the same as a cell phone anymore, really, cuz it doesn't look too much like one anymore I guess, but we've tested it as far as between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, which is pretty far, and it works without alerting any magical ward or signature or anything. It also works between Muggle London and Hogwarts, but we haven't tried much further than that."

"That's wonderful, Mister Jordan!" Hermione enthused. "Of course I would expect nothing less from any venture that combined you and the Weasley twins…" she trailed off, eyes glazing over just a little and her mind flashed through exactly what could be accomplished if this adapted phone truly worked. "May I see a prototype?"

"Yup, it's in my pocket." Lionel dug around for an instant, rummaging through layers of random junk no doubt—boys tended to be great hoarders of _stuff _in their pockets, in Hermione's experience—and came up with a slim black box-shaped object. He dropped it into her hand, and her eyes widened. It was much heavier than she'd expected, perhaps a little more than the weight of an average History of Magic seventh year textbook, but less than that of the latest edition of _Hogwarts, A History. _It was also much smaller than the original cell phone Hermione remembered, small enough for her to close her fingers completely around the oblong shape as it rested in her palm.

"We took out all the numbers cuz it just was too much stuff on it, hard to remember, you know? Instead, there's this Ravenclaw, she had the idea of giving the phone a magical signature unique to it, and recognizable only by another of the programmed phone, and then one of the twins, I think it was George, suggested tying that signature to their personal phone so only they could use it and no one else, and then Fred said that if they did that we could make it so that simply saying a word, like their name or another keyed password, from one phone, could trigger an alarm in the other phone, like the ringing of a Muggle cellular. We had to get some help to actually do that, but Professor McGonagall put us in touch with some really incredible people who were really interested and helped us with the actual magic and everything, and told us that once the need for secrecy was over, we should patent the phone with the Ministry Inventions Office."

Hermione's mouth turned up at one side ruefully, listening to Lionel Jordan as he blabbered on in his usual manner. Did the boy ever take a breath? Still, it was a brilliant feat he and his friends had pulled off, this new wizarding phone, if it worked. Hermione turned the dull black object over and over thoughtfully in her palm. "This is brilliant, Mister Jordan, and if it truly works you and your friends might have created the device that tips the scales of the war in our favour," she told him. He beamed, clearly ecstatic. "Is it reliable, then? How many trials have you run?"

"Plenty," he assured her confidently. "It wasn't just me and my friends testing it out too, we had Professor McGonagall's friends who helped us with the spells and everything test it out too, and they tried it a _lot _of times. The Headmistress told me to tell you that she trusts it, anyway."

_Good. I wonder…_"How hard is it to make one of these, Mister Jordan?"

"Really hard," the boy confessed. "I don't think we'll be able to make all that many, to be honest, even with help."

"And you have classes to worry about as well," Hermione nodded. "No, I wouldn't ask you to neglect yourself or your studies just for this, Mister Jordan. But I think perhaps you should talk to…" Hermione paused, and changed her mind. _Not Harry, he wouldn't know what to do. Ginny's smart, and she knows the entire group that's been working on this project, not to mention Fred and George—yes, Ginny will do perfectly, I think. _"Why don't you talk to Miss Weasley, Mister Jordan? She _is _one of the acting heads of the DA and she's liason between you younger ones and the older DA, am I right?"

"Yeah. She's taught us some really cool hexes too," the boy grinned, white teeth flashing.

"Well, I think that she'd work as an older student in charge of your group, along with the Weasley Twins, and if you all meet with Headmistress McGonagall, I'm certain that between all of you, you can figure out just how many of these modified phones we need for who." Hermione paused, then smiled ruefully at Lionel. "I _would _like to request a pair, myself—one attuned to me and one to someone else important for the war, but would it be a problem if I cannot reveal the identity of the other person?"

Lionel mused on that. "I think we can work around it," he thought aloud, and Hermione watched the clever little Ravenclaw in his best mode—figuring out a solution to a problem. "If you can bring him here, whether he's under polyjuice or a glamour or whatever, it doesn't matter if we don't know who he is. Er. Or she," he added hastily, as if realizing that he was in the presence of a female who might take it in her head that he had been dismissive of her gender. Hermione suppressed a very Severus-like smirk, and waited. "Er. Well, anyway, he or she, as long as _you _know who that person is, and _you _are the one who actually casts the final spell, we'll just be background people holding the spellwork in place while you do the, uh, hard work, so to speak."

_Blast, how would I get Severus here to Hogwarts? _Dismayed, Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip and then decided it was a matter best worried at when she was alone. "Thank you, Mister Jordan, I'll have to think about it but I would like two phones prepared, if you wouldn't mind and I'll figure out the specifics later," she told him.

"Sure, we actually have five un-bonded spellphones—that's what we've been calling them—right now, although it'll take at least a month to enchant anymore," Lionel said.

"Why don't I reserve two of those, then, and you can tell Headmistress McGonagall that if she asks," she decided. Then she stood. "Well, Mister Jordan, you've brought fantastic news but if we take any longer we'll _both _miss our dinners and the Headmistress will not be happy, and neither will I!"

"Me neither, I'm _starved," _Lionel exclaimed, and in a very Ron-inspired move, bounced up and trotted by her as they made their way to the Great Hall for dinner, obviously eager to fill his belly. Hermione wasn't hungry, but she had a lot to think on. _Like how to get Severus into Hogwarts and out again, undetected. Or if he'll even be willing to come back even briefly. Oh dear. _Hermione made her way to her seat at the professor's table, barely acknowledging their greetings, and dropped into her chair with a gusty sigh. _This will be rather hard… _

**A.N.: Thoughts, comments, reactions?**


	64. Chapter 64

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs, alas, to JKR. **

The next time Hermione saw Severus, it was near-dark on a weekday rather than on a weekend. _"We can't build a routine," _he'd reminded her. _"That's the first way a spy gets caught." _So, with the weather already deepening to winter chill, they met as bland strangers at Gaston's on Thursday night instead. Hermione had _planned _to be suave and sneaky and thoroughly seductive, first of all because once she'd fully convinced Severus that they belonged in a relationship and there was nothing wrong about it, he had embraced it completely and turned the tables neatly on her, and second because in all honesty she might _need _to use a bit of feminine persuasion to convince Severus to find a way to return to Hogwarts and participate in an experimental spell procedure.

Of course, as with all good plans, this one went south the minute she actually entered the room and saw her man (approximately eighteen seconds after she walked in, when he dismissed his glamour).

"Mmm…Severus. _Severus!" _Hermione swatted at his roaming hands. "Pay attention!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Severus grumbled as he retracted his hands—regretfully—from her smooth skin. _Good thing I started using some of that cream Ginny gave me for my birthday, _Hermione thought, and then yanked her traitorous thoughts back to the matter at hand. _No daydreaming allowed…yet, anyway. Business first! _

"Is there anything new I should know about?" she asked, trying to get her breath back and brushing her unfortunately exuberant hair out of her face.

"Simply that my house-elf has tentatively promised any information he or any other elf can pass on to us without triggering the loyalty clause of their bond to their owner," Severus told her, casually reaching forward to tuck a particularly stubborn curl behind her ear more securely.

There was a brief pause as Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and told herself sternly to pull herself together, that it wasn't adultish to start crying over every unexpectedly sweet gesture Severus did for her and that tears were the fastest way most likely to chase him away. The last quickly eliminated the tiniest glimmerings of wetness in her eyes, and Hermione thanked Merlin—or perhaps it would be more appropriate to thank Nimue—that it wasn't her time of month yet, or even her own remonstrance would not have stemmed her urge to cry. His fingers, callused from the years of brewing, were warmer than she'd thought they would be, and left trails of pleasantly heated skin where they softly brushed by her cheek and ear.

"I, uh…" Hermione finally tore her gaze out of his and recollected herself. "The Order's decided to treat the threat of the Dark Lord the same way they've traditionally treated other threats in history, by dividing up the tasks and assigning a specific group to be on the frontlines of the war. They're doing the same with the information you gave me, about the research on immortality." Hermione shrugged. "I don't envy Harry, he's got to whip the entire DA into shape to protect the school, and he hates the thought of the fight coming to Hogwarts, you know. The castle's always been his sanctuary, and he really doesn't like the idea of the Dark Lord going there...but he understands the necessity, anyway," she added hastily in case Severus chose to take her words about Harry the wrong way. _Since it's Harry, he most likely would. _"Ah, the younger DA—the kids who aren't being taught the intensive fighting, the fourth years and down, they've been working on a different project that I think you and I ought to take advantage of."

"And what is this project?" Severus enquired.

"Well Jordan—Lionel Jordan, you might remember him, you know, he's a third year Ravenclaw now…I put him in touch with the Weasley twins and Minerva put them in touch with some other Order members, I'm not sure who, but anyway the twins and Lionel are a formidable team by themselves, but they worked together to create a sort of magical version of the Muggle cellular phone. Oh. Um, do you know what a cell phone is?" _Stop babbling. Either he'll like the idea or he won't. Babbling won't help your cause any. _

"Ah yes, Mister Jordan. How could I forget such…antics?" Severus grimaced. "This cell phone, it was the device that so rudely began playing the hideous noise some deaf imbeciles _claim _to be music, was that it?"

"Yes!" Hermione laughed at the description of the unfortunate ring tone. "Although our version doesn't sing pop music, I hope. I'm not a big fan of the style, to be honest." Hermione blinked. _Okay, back on track. _"They're calling it a spellphone, and it's really much better than the original cellular. It's a lot like a two-way mirror without the seeing each other, except it has less limits—it can call any other spellphone, as long as you know the other spellphone's ring-word to connect to it. Two-way mirrors are only linked to each other and only one pair of people can use it, and the smaller it is, the harder it is to hear the other person. And if you don't happen to be looking at the mirror at the same time as the other person, then there's no point in trying to mirror-call the other person. The spellphone has a short 'ringing period', and then it goes straight into this recording device inside the spellphone where you can leave a really short message so that the other person knows who called and to call back."

Severus let the slightest hint of a sardonic smile touch his lips as he stared at Hermione. "What is the catch, Hermione?" he enquired, eyeing her.

"What? I mean…why do you think there's a catch?" Hermione asked nervously.

Severus _hmmed, _and tapped his long fingers to the table. "You only run your mouth off like this when you are either trying to impress someone or you are nervous. You palms—" here, he reached out and captured on of her hands, stroking a thumb along what Trelawney might have pointed out was her heart line—"are slightly damp, indicating that you are either anxious or anticipating something. You did not meet my eyes during your little sales speech."

"All right, all right," Hermione responded moodily. "You're too much of a spy, Severus."

"So would you be, if it were someone else you were observing," Severus reminded her. "I would not have stopped your lessons, otherwise."

Hermione shrugged modestly, but could not help the extra brightness in her smile at his backhanded compliment. "Well, the catch—and yes, damn you, there is a catch—is that you have to personally come back to Hogwarts so that the team can bind the spellphone to you. You can take polyjuice or use a glamour," she added quickly, seeing the sudden change in his expression. "I mean, no one but me would have to know that you're you."

"Ah."

"And I mean, I haven't even found out a way to get you into Hogwarts, er, you know, through the wards and everything," Hermione continued in the face of Severus' neutrality and silence. She would have twisted her hands in her lap if she could, but since Severus still remained in possession of one of her hands, though it was held impassively, almost limply now, she settled for simply biting her bottom lip.

When Severus remained quiet for far too long, it was Hermione's turn to tentatively trace _her _thumb down Severus' palm. "Severus?"

Severus sighed, and looked down at their clasped hands. "Perhaps, Hermione. Perhaps." He hesitated. "There _is _one way I can reenter Hogwarts safely. When Albus…before he…in the past, he confided in me that if he, as Headmaster, with the permission of Hogwarts castle itself, welcomed someone onto the grounds and into the castle, the wards would not be effective against that person."

"_Hogwarts, A History, Sixth Edition _did mention the special relationship between a headmaster or headmistress and Hogwarts, although it wasn't very specific in just what that relationship entailed, and later editions of the book does not include that information at all," Hermione thought aloud. "I suppose this can't be, I don't know, exploited? Like if Minerva was _Imperio'd? _Or in the case of a corrupt headmaster perhaps, who isn't looking out for the interests of the students?"

"I would have thought you would know _that, _it _is _discussed in one of the editions of your much-beloved book," Severus retorted. "Any headmaster or headmistress without the students' and castle's best interests at heart is rejected by Hogwarts itself, and while the Ministry have, in certain occasions, allowed a corrupt Headmaster to continue his or her tenure in that official position, the castle itself refuses to enter any relationship with the person and can rise up to bar entry to the office or even the grounds. Without that relationship with Hogwarts, that headmaster would never be able to let anyone else unwelcome through the wards. And I suspect, though Albus never confirmed, that such is the…bond between an accepted Headmaster or mistress and Hogwarts that an Imperius-controlled welcome would not trick Hogwarts at all and the wards would hold."

"Oh, good," Hermione said with relief. "I really didn't want to find out that we had another hole in our defense."

Severus snorted. "I would have informed you long before this, if it did pose a problem, Hermione. However, the issue still stands—Minerva does not know that I remain…faithful to the Order, does she?"

Fidgeting a little in her seat, Hermione lifted her gaze to meet his. "No. Li does though, and he could explain it to her. I know it's not the most ideal, another person who knows, but…" Hermione shrugged. "Just consider it, please, Severus. I think the spellphones would be much more reliable a way for us to get in touch with each other than the watch, and on the occasions we can't physically meet, we can even communicate through the spellphone. I'd use a two-way mirror but there are spells that someone can cast to reveal who your mirror is linked to, and I'd rather not risk discovery that way, on _either _end."

"That would not be a good idea," Severus confirmed needlessly. He sighed, a little puff of air, and pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't preoccupied with Hermione's hand. "Very well, I will _think_ about it."

"Thanks, Severus." Hermione opened her mouth to say more (what, she didn't know quite yet) but closed it again on seeing the bleak look in Severus' eyes. It was a shade of the same kind of guilt and grief that had perched like a raven on him in the early summer—right after he had murdered his mentor and friend. Hermione remembered that look very well, although it had shown much less of late. _Oh, Severus. _Hermione tightened her hold on his rough palm and kept quiet.

Some time later—it really couldn't have been that long, for Troll Man had not yet knocked at their door and grunted at them for overstaying the amount of time they had paid for—Severus withdrew his hand, shoulders stiff enough to suggest that he was at unease with having displayed any sort of weakness. _Which is silly really, considering what we've been through and seen each other doing. _But Hermione suppressed the sense of loss when they stopped touching, and allowed herself to be drawn back into the awkward start of a conversation Severus had made.

They meandered their way through topics, and the rest of the awkwardness fell away as if by magic when Severus scathingly insulted the rather outré article in _British Journal of Magic Thought and Theory _on wandless Healing and Hermione spiritedly jumped to its defense.

"You can't tell me that Slater wasn't on to something at least, even if she took it a little further than the evidence might point solidly to," Hermione accused.

"Her position is entirely too dependent on magic being a mysterious force," Severus fired back. He was leaning forward aggressively, eyes lit with the same joy of intellectual debate that Hermione was feeling, and his hair just slightly askew. Hermione promptly lost the train of her thought, and outright stared at him. With his face just the tiniest bit flushed from argument, Severus was…well, perhaps Hermione's dazed mind might afford a better description. What went through her head was something like _I wonder if I win the debate if I jump him right now. _

Something in her hungry gaze might have alerted Severus to the fact that wandless magic was no longer the topic of interest. At any rate, when Hermione simply got up, leaned down, and attacked him, he was not entirely caught off guard. His rapid response had Hermione grabbing a fistful of the front of his robes while her other hand found its way to rest on his shoulder. An instant later, she squeaked with surprise but did not break contact with his devouring lips when he yanked—_when did he put his arms around me?—_and she found herself straddling his lap.

It was the furthest they'd ever gone. _Far more intimate, to be honest, than sharing a bed chastely. _There were all those romance novels in which the woman seduces the hero by giving him a lap dance, and Hermione felt the wild heat rise on her cheeks (_and other places) _at the idea of that. It felt wicked, and a jolt of panic followed closely by smug excitement flashed through her, and with Severus' mouth still on hers, and their bodies pressed together in very personal places, Hermione's emotions and, no doubt, hormones, reached fever pitch and she could no longer make out which was good and bad—and whether she wanted to stop and regain the logical mind she had lost, or continue to submerge herself in the swelter of _feeling _that swamped her senses.

He smelled like generic, clean soap with a hint of lemon.

"_Yer time's up!" _

The dull thuds were _not _her heart sounding loud in her ears, it was the sound of Troll Man rudely bashing his meaty fist on the door to tell them to get out. Shocked by the sudden interruption and with the rest of the world flooding back into existence, her senses still blinded and strangled, Hermione jumped back, tottered, and banged her ankle painfully on something hard. _My chair. Ouch. _Severus would not meet her eyes, but as her body slowly—_very _slowly—cooled off from the fire of his touch and Hermione regained a portion of her ability to think, he hastily stood as well and straightened his clothes and hair. After a moment, Hermione did the same for herself and then raised her Glamour once more.

"_Oy! _We gots other paying customers waitin' for the room!"

Hermione picked up her beaded purse, and it in turn assumed the appearance it had arrived at Gaston's in: a dull bag of indeterminate color and origin. Severus jerked his head, Hermione nodded, and without further ado he yanked the door open, catching Troll Man off balance with his fist raised to hammer at the entrance again. Troll Man hastily dropped his arm at the sight of the imposing blond man and his rather frumpy old companion. _He looks almost like Malfoy the Senior with short hair and brown eyes. _He certainly had the arrogant act down pat. The indignant look that wanted to superimpose itself on Troll Man's face decided it would be a smarter thing to simply leave the gent and the old woman alone, and instead show them out without another word.

Outside of Gaston's, it was now true-dark and _cold. _Hermione paused in the quiet night, turning her neck up to look uncertainly at Severus. _I don't want to leave, _she realized. _I don't want to go home to Hogwarts and eat a late dinner in my own room by myself with only teaching and potions-grading to look forward to. I don't want to say goodbye to Severus. _The sudden surge of loneliness nearly knocked Hermione off her feet. She felt tongue-tied, staring at him. He, in turn, stared back without a glimmer to tell her what he was thinking. Normally, Hermione could interpret each sneer and neutral expression apart and figure out generally what Severus was thinking or feeling. Right now, she could discern neither. He seemed as inscrutable to her as he had been two years ago when he had been her professor. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" There was real concern evident in his voice. It was more than enough proof that this was _not _the cold teacher she had known, oh, it seemed _eons _ago!

"No, not really," she replied. "My cloak is really warm."

_Idiot, _a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ginny Weasley scolded. _You should have told him yes you were cold and let him have the chance to be a man and give you _his _cloak, or at least let him cast a warming charm. _Come to think of it, her Muggle friends Julia and Sofi would get along well with Ginny. They would have told her something similar, without the addition of the warming charm of course.

"Have you eaten?"

The question was abrupt—she answered without thinking. "No, and I'm _starving." _She cocked her head to one side. "How about you?"

"I have not had dinner yet," he acknowledged. "Perhaps…I am not expected back at any particular time tonight." Hermione tried not to snort at how _that _sounded, as though he was a student still living with parents who set curfews. "If you do not mind a late night despite your classes tomorrow, there is a rather nice Muggle restaurant I have not been to in some time. They serve plain food, but cooked well and the service is prompt."

The weight of the loneliness vanished. Hermione beamed, aware that she looked ridiculous in her Glamour of an old woman grinning like a fool but uncaring of the fact. "I'd love to grab a bite to eat, Severus. It's much preferable to grading the Numbing Potions the third years brewed today, anyway," she remarked. "Uh…do you think we need to stay like this?"

Severus smirked. It looked distinctly odd on his altered features. "If we apparate to a secure location first before…changing anything, I think we will most likely be safe. Miss Granger?" He offered his arm formally, and Hermione took it with a breath and the world _spun…_

_Ugh. I hate traveling. _The side-long apparation spit her in a heap somewhere equally dark but noisier than Knockturn Alley had been, though all the noise seemed to be coming from a bit of a distance. Hermione blinked dizzily, regained her internal balance, and looked around curiously. Her eyes took in the small, dark nook of an alley they were in, and the lights, talking, and strains of music that came from the quaint, cobbled street just a little ways away. "Where are we?"

"Glasgow, Ashton Lane," Severus told her.

"Oh!" She was back in Scotland. "Good food, good vibe, completely Muggle and loads of tourists so they see strangers everyday. Smart thinking, Severus."

"I'm glad you approve." Hermione turned back towards his voice, and noted that he'd become Severus once more, dark eyes, big nose, and all. She smiled to greet him, easily dissipating her own disguise with relief. "Much better. I like exactly how you like as yourself, my dear," he purred, reaching forward to tangle a hand in her unfortunate hair.

She tipped her face up to receive a kiss, but refused to deepen it. Instead, laughing, she shoved him back. "Severus! Dinner!"

"Oh, very well," he grumbled. He eyed her for a long moment with an expression that promised revenge, and suddenly whipped his wand out. Hers was in her hand in a flash, but it was too late.

"Severus!" Hermione squawked indignantly. She was now wearing a dress. A _short _dress, halting at midthigh and clinging softly to the contours of her body. It was black—_of course black—_and high-necked but sleeveless. She had worn more revealing clothes as Milena, but this was _herself, _and Hermione blushed hotly under Severus' fully male look of appreciation. _At least he left me the cloak, _she groused.

"We need to wear Muggle clothes to blend in," Severus said uneccesarily, not troubling to hide his grin nor the predatory gleam in his eye. Hermione wrinkled her nose at him.

"Well if _you're _going to pick out an outfit for me, then _I _get to pick out one for you," she declared, and quicker than thought, she Transfigured his robes as well. He grunted in surprise as his robes abruptly tightened in on themselves and became dark denim jeans and a t-shirt.

"Hermione!" She smiled sweetly at his strangled yelp. Both items of clothing were at least as tight on _him _as her dress was on her, and he looked very good indeed brash red. Not to mention she'd done him one better and changed his cloak as well—it was now a black leather jacket.

"My, Mister Snape, you do look good in Gryffindor red," she exclaimed triumphantly.

He glared at her. "I'll take the rest of the clothing as my fitting punishment, but I will _not _wear red!" Hermione eyed his hips and rear end, which was _very _nice indeed now that it wasn't obscured by flowing robes, and went about the task of persuading Severus to keep the red.

"I look ridiculous," Severus grumbled under his breath as they took their seats in the dim, smoky, candle- and lamp-lit pub. Hermione gave him an amused glance from beneath her eyelashes. They'd compromised, and his t-shirt was now a darker maroon. He'd finally given in after much…_persuading_, as well as her offer for him to change her cloak and shoes into something more appropriate. The shoes had been what cinched it. Hermione considered it a worthwhile sacrifice of comfort and safety, as she wobbled around in black stiletto boots that pinched her toes and rubbed holes in her heels.

It only took the work of a moment for both Hermione and Severus to select a meal choice—neither were picky or given to indecision after all, and there weren't a phenomenal amount of dishes offered. After a hesitation, Hermione declined an alcoholic beverage. _Just because I'm legal and it's offered doesn't mean it's a good idea, especially since I probably have no tolerance for it and I do have to teach tomorrow. _Severus also opted out, to Hermione's relief.

"I wanted to tell you," Hermione said to Severus as they settled in to wait for their orders. "Draco's much better. In fact, he seems to have recovered completely. Publicly, anyway," she added. "He's got a project with the Order that's taking up a lot of his time and thought, which is really helping, I think."

"I am glad," Severus responded, relief showing in his tone. "Of course, he was less close to his parents than most, but for most of his life Draco has idolized them."

"The more fools they, to screw up their chance to truly matter in their son's life positively," Hermione said with a fine scorn for the Malfoys. "And—you may have heard the other end of the outcry already, but that posse of Slytherins that have been distancing themselves from the others, you know, Zabini, Parkinson, Nott, and Bulstrode—the ones that caught that Meliflua boy's murder attempt on Draco? They've joined the DA."

Severus smirked. "Ah, yes. Parkinson—the father—and I both happened to be visiting Lucius when the news arrived. He turned the most entertaining shade of puce I have seen. Even I have not been able to evoke that sort of color from any of my students, no matter how much I tried."

Hermione giggled. "I can imagine. Anyway, the DA—the rest of the DA have been cautiously accepting, although Ron told me that there have been a couple minor scuffles and one duel challenge. That would be Michael Corner, he had some unfinished business with Nott, I think."

"That unfinished business would be Miss Martin of Hufflepuff," Severus remarked in a sardonic tone. "I believe she dated both boys—at the same time."

"Oh, dear," Hermione choked in the act of taking a gulp of her water, hurriedly set the cup down.

"It did not help that I caught both of them on consecutive days, in the same position, and assigned them the same detention together, along with Miss Martin."

"You're completely heartless, Severus," Hermione spluttered. His eyes glinted with amusement.

"That is my reputation," he agreed with calm composure.

"So, Parkinson's father was not happy?"

"Neither was Bulstrode's and Zabini's families, although the Zabini family were angry mainly because Blaise did not stay neutral and out of the picture. They are not a traditionally Dark family, nor are any of their family members sworn Death Eaters, I believe. And Nott's parents are already discussing the possibility of disownment. They have a second child, Seth, not yet Hogwarts-age."

Hermione sighed.

Their food arrived at that point, which made a welcoming interruption to a conversation that had taken a rather depressing turn towards the end. Hermione sniffed appreciatively at the inviting savoury smells of the food that was set before them. She'd gone with shepherd's pie and was glad of it when she took her first bite—even the house-elfs at Hogwarts hadn't been able to replicate this kind of taste!

"Do you still keep in touch with your parents?"

Hermione looked up. "Oh, yes I do although it's a bit harder to get the letters to Li for him to pass on to them. I actually just received a letter from them the other day. They're doing well. You know, they—and a couple of other people they live with, they're actually working on some sort of Muggle attack that the…Dar- uh, Tom wouldn't expect." Hermione gave a quick glance around to check that no one had overheard her. Just because they were in a semi-private corner of a Muggle establishment didn't mean that there weren't ears on what they said. It would be safer all-around to simply call the Dark Lord by his name.

Severus caught on instantly. "Tom's knowledge of all things Muggle are either outdated or little bits I myself have told him," he told her, hiding his unease at calling the Dark Lord anything _but _lord and master. Years of habit and the knowledge that if he slipped up, he could very well be tortured and killed for his disobedience to the Dark Lord were hard to forget. Still, in this instance it would do more good than harm if named the Dark Lord by his birth name.

"Good. Dad's got quite a bit of working knowledge on warfare the Muggle way, and there are some people who have a vested interest in joining the battle at Hogwarts and the Ministry. I think we'll shock Tom," Hermione said. She said no more on that subject but instead turned to a more mundane avenue. "So, you know my Mum and Dad."

"We have met, although I believe introductions were slightly hasty since I was preoccupied with trying to get them out and to safety at the time," Severus said wryly.

"They liked you, you know—they told me, when I went to visit them."

"Glad to hear," he quipped. Hermione laughed.

"How about your parents?" Hermione asked, curious. "You've met mine, obviously, but I don't know anything about yours. In fact—" she smiled sheepishly. "We somehow end up arguing about some magical theory or other. I know I swore that I would be a good friend to you, this summer when…after the attack at Hogwarts, but I guess I haven't been a very good one, huh?" She wrinkled her nose self-deprecatingly. "I never realized how one-sided this friendship seems to be, with me dumping all my issues and everything else about me on you and you listening all the time, especially after we become…you know. I don't even know your parents' names!" _Okay, a little jumbled of a speech, Hermione, but hopefully discernable. An apology for being a bad friend and girlfriend…lover…er…whatever, and an invite to learn more about him. That's what normal dinner conversation is supposed to sound like, I think, not squabbles about the authenticity of the latest _Ars Alchemica _article on the storage of toxic ingredients for Potions making. _

Severus was quiet for a long moment. "You are not at fault," he said at last. "I generally prefer not to discuss my…family."

_What does one say in response to that sort of answer? _Thankfully, before the silence became too awkward—or Hermione squirmed too much—Severus cleared his throat. "Both my parents are dead," he informed her with the same sort of detachment Hermione was accustomed to seeing Severus use when mentioning something mildly distasteful and unworthy of notice. "That is all."

But Hermione persisted. _There's something important there, something about his family, his parents, that he doesn't want to talk about. And by my guess, he's been not talking about it for so long that it can't be any good for him. _"I'm sorry," she responded. "What were they like?"

"Hermione. I do not wish to discuss it further," Severus told her in a low, controlled voice.

"I know that your Mum was Pureblood, a Prince. You told me that when the Dark—when Tom gave you Prince Manor over the summer. Your father was Muggle, right?"

"_Enough." _His voice remained quite well below speaking volume, but the force behind the command drove her back in her seat, eyes wide. Severus had not taken such a tone with her since her school days. "Now is neither the time nor the place to get into such a topic," he continued, and the whiteness around his lips and bass in his normally baritone voice was quite well enough to tell her just how much control Severus was exerting at the moment—and how much it was costing him. "This subject is _closed. _Do you understand?"

"No," Hermione said stubbornly. Inside her head, someone was shrieking at her to stop pushing, stop testing Severus' self-control. She ignored it. Later, she would diagnose her problem as an unexpected onset on Gryffindoritis, or perhaps even more specifically, Harry-itis. _Brought on by too many months of trying to beat the Slytherins at their own game, _she'd declare ruefully and with some lingering horror at how _stupid _she'd been, no matter how entitled to some rather rash mistake in the vein of Harry and Ron. Right now, she simply focused on the fact that Severus was refusing to tell her anything about himself and that it would never do in their relationship when the thing most important to them both as spies was truth. "No, Severus, I don't understand—because you won't _let _me understand anything. I want to know about you, including the good and the bad and everything else in between. You've already told me about your years as a Death Eater, and it didn't matter to me what you'd done, because I—I care for you," she managed to continue smoothly while her mind gibbered at her angrily for almost spilling the biggest secret she kept from Severus, that she _loved_ him. She didn't think he was ready to hear it—and more importantly, she didn't think she was ready to tell him. "And nothing you tell me about your past is going to matter, but I'd like to _know _you, and what made you," she finished almost softly. Perhaps it was her softness that soothed Severus just enough so that he did not simply get up and walk away from her—some time later, he told her that he had been sorely tempted to do just that, had been a breath away from it in fact.

But he didn't. Instead, Severus clenched his jaw tightly. "Woman, you are trying my patience to the utmost," he grit out violently. "It's _nothing. _Nothing I wish to remember. And it is _not _appropriate conversation for the dinner table. Finish your food, Hermione."

This time, Hermione was smart enough to obey his order. She wasn't terribly hungry anymore. They both finished their meals in terse silence—Severus without once looking up from his plate, and Hermione with many frequent glances at him. Already, the maelstrom of guilt had begun churning in her stomach. _What was I thinking? You insensitive fool, Hermione, the poor man didn't need a dose of your bullheaded 'I want to know' mode directed at his past! He made it clear that it was off-limits, and what did you do? You pushed. You're worse than Harry and Ron, honestly. _Shame was bitter and thick on her chest and tongue. When the bill came, she reached for it quickly, but he was quicker.

"I will pay," he said in a clipped tone.

"But—"

"Leave it," he snapped at her. She left it. He had Muggle money with him, and she didn't anyhow.

The cold snapped in her face and hair the second they stepped outside the pub. Light and music and conversation spilled out with them, but did not reach the pair as Severus began walking down Ashton Lane restlessly, his long legs covering the cobblestone pavement in a flash. Hermione struggled to keep up, but didn't want to say anything. She'd put him in this mood—it was up to her to swallow her discomfort and take it. Even if the heeled boots she was wearing was completely unsuited to the uneven path and to walking anywhere fast. For a while, they remained in complete quiet. Then, almost imperceptibly, Severus slowed and Hermione gasped in relief, legs aching. Her feet had already given up the ghost a while back.

"My mother had guts enough for only one rebellion in her life," he said suddenly, in a quite conversational tone although his abrupt entry into speech and his frankness had Hermione startled. "She was obedient to those in control of her life in every way but one—she married a Muggle. It took all of her courage to do it, and left her none when the romantic young Muggle who had swept her off her feet and shown her an entirely new way of living began to drink heavily and abuse her regularly. My father worked in various jobs as a labor hand and factory worker starting when he was fourteen. He had run away from his own family, and he did quite well. When Eileen Prince told him, tearfully, that she was pregnant with his child and her father had thrown her out of the house and disinherited her, he had enough means to marry her and make her comfortable enough. They were happy for years, although I do not remember it," Severus mused.

"I was born, and although Tobias Snape was rather flummoxed at the name Eileen wanted to gift me with, he acquiesced. But it did not last forever. Tobias began to notice things out of the ordinary—the way the house was always clean, although Eileen never did any work while he was at home. The way things got mended that he was sure had been broken just the day before. And he began to remember things he had not wanted to see before, like how his wife had seemed completely lost in their first initial conversations, or how she had never given him her telephone number or address—and, indeed, there was no _Prince _family listed in the telephone book when he'd looked. How she seemed unable to even tell him in which general direction she lived, and had refused to even call a taxi to go home but instead set out in an arbitrary direction as if to _walk _home, refusing his company and protection. And one day, he came home early to surprise his wife and found her amusing their little baby by floating objects over the cot with a wooden stick in a manner that defied all logic and science."

Severus sneered and his voice became cold, colder than the winter chill in the wind. "The explanation Eileen had for him was not what Tobias expected nor wanted to hear, and the fact that his darling wife had lied to him about her entire life soured their relationship. Tobias could not stand the idea of some sort of freakish magic able to control _his _life the way his parents had done before he'd run away as a teenager. The anger, distrust, and fear of something he didn't understand drove him to the bottle and he never looked outside of it again. He extracted an oath from Eileen to never perform magic again, took her wand away. Just a year later, when the baby demonstrated his first accidental magic, he repudiated the child as well.

This is the story you wanted to hear, Hermione. What you pushed and pushed to learn. I grew up the only son of a witch who hadn't used her magic in years and an alcoholic father who hated his wife and son and took it out on them after he'd drunk enough. I can tell you about the years of my errors, when I killed with the best of those we fight to put away now. You grew up in a world that was perched on the brink of another war, lost your innocence in that war. But can you understand, Hermione, that you are as far removed from the childhood of my past as you can be, you with your loving parents and stable home?"

Severus was breathing heavily now, although in his entire extraordinary story Hermione had not seen him look her way once. She swallowed hard. "Severus, I'm so sorry…" she trailed off when his steps became faster, as if he were trying outrun her. _Sorry? Yes, I am, but Severus has never wanted to be pitied. _"You can share my parents," she offered inanely.

He snorted. She heaved a tiny sigh, and reached out firmly, grabbing the taller man by his bony arm, bringing him to a halt with her. Turning him around to face her completely, Hermione grasped both of his hands—_they're so cold, _she thought vaguely—and murmured gently, "Severus, I frankly don't give a damn whether you were the prince of England or a beggar—or the son of two people so selfish they couldn't see what a wonderful thing their being together had produced." She eyed him and specified further, in case he somehow managed, in typical Snape fashion, to misunderstand her. "you were the prince of England or a beggar—or the son of two people so selfish they couldn't see what a wonderful thing their being together had produced." She eyed him and specified further, in case he somehow managed, in typical Snape fashion, to misunderstand her. "_You._" She squeezed his hands and rubbed them to try and get them to warm up. "As for my being sorry—I _am _sorry, but not…not the way you think. I am sorry because I pushed you too far tonight with my questions and my own insecurity and drive to _know _things. I felt like I wasn't good enough, that you didn't want to tell me about your life because somehow I wasn't worth that personal sharing with. That doesn't excuse my reprehensible behaviour for making you unhappy, and I'm sorry for my actions. But I'm not sorry that you told me, nor what you told me about."

_That _evidently shocked him. Perhaps he'd been expecting sentimental Gryffindorish pity. _Well, I've used up my stock of stupid Gryffindor instincts for the night, I think. No need to indulge in emotions that won't be appreciated by the consummate Slytherin. _"What," he sneered, and his expression was as nasty as it had been whenever he was confronted by Harry. "You don't pity the little, _helpless _boy stuck with a abuser and a coward for parents? No Gryffindor cry of outrage?"

Hermione shrugged coolly, although her movements were slightly hampered by her continued hold on Severus' hands which he had not attempted to break away from. "You seem to be perfectly whole and hearty and doing fine without them now," she pointed out without rancor. "Life is unfair, and it's going to keep right on being unfair no matter what I think about it—_you _taught me that. I can't go back to the past and change it, and frankly, Severus, horrible childhoods are a dozen for a knut. It's sad, but it's fact and I have _never _shied away from the truth." Hermione met Severus' repulsive mockery with a calmness she didn't know she possessed, although inwardly she was cringing—he was just _too _much like the horrible, vengeful bastard she'd known as the greasy git of the dungeons. It was fine to joke about it after he had become her friend—become something _more _than her friend—but Hermione _never wanted to see that Snape again. _It was one of the fears that would keep her up at night, worrying that one day Severus would disappear, replaced by the heartless version that people believed was capable of killing without conscience, and tell her that she meant nothing to him.

His dark eyes—somehow made darker by the fact that there were surrounded by a well of unlit road—bored into her brown eyes, as if they could read the secrets of the universe in them. Hermione shivered. Whether it was because of his gaze or the breeze that had gusted especially strong just then, she didn't know and didn't stop to evaluate. She absently noted that she was still chafing his hands slowly. He had lost the sneer, but the face remained unreadable.

After an eternity of locked stares, he finally spoke. "I would rather _not _share your parents, Hermione."

"What—oh, _you--!" _Hermione groaned as he finally broke out into a very smug smirk.

"You do realize that a Warming charm does much better than trying to rub the skin off my hands?"

"Glad to see you're back to your normal snarky self," Hermione retorted heatedly, trying to yank her hands away from him. He merely tightened his hold on her hands and pulled her closer for a kiss that left her in no doubt that she had been forgiven. _Thank Merlin._

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm going to take full advantage of it," he muttered by her ear, finally releasing her hands only to snake his arms possessively around her body and pull her in flush against his.

"Severus!" Her shriek of laughter cut off abruptly when her body reacted, _sharply, _to the hard lines of his body. He was tall, taller than her even with her killer heeled boots, and _gods, _despite the continued cold palms cradling the small of her back, his chest—_and a little bit further down, _she thought, flushing—radiated warmth like a summer day, or a bakery. "Severus," she said again, breathlessly, and it was she who kissed him this time, leaning up against his beating heart to capture his lips.

"Hermione…" he groaned against her mouth.

"I take it…our first…_oh!_…argument…is…_pant…_over?" Hermione managed to get out, although the cheeky tone she had intended did not quite hit its mark.

"Silly chit," he growled back. "By any normal standards, it was…_Merlin!..._our millionth argument. Or were those _intellectual disagreements _my…ah…imagination?"

How the bastard managed to maintain his snide tenor was beyond Hermione at that point, along with just about everything else but what he was _doing _to her. But she did have one more thing to add. "We're not normal," she said as smugly as his face had been minutes ago.

"Shut up and kiss me properly, wench!"

**A.N.: There, a whole long chapter of just SSHG for you! In hopes, of course, that you don't kill me when I have to tell you that I'm leaving on a trip in a couple of days, and won't be able to update this story for two weeks. :( On the other hand, I do have a missing scene episode that is TLSverse that I will be posting right after I post this chapter, to tide you over a little as well. Check it out, it's a oneshot on my profile called "The Very Pink Dress (with frills)" and it takes place in the alternate world Hermione visits during her initiation rites to the Order. I promise, I WILL be back after the two weeks!**


	65. Chapter 65

**Disclaimer: If it were mine, Snape would still be alive and enjoying himself in the Bahamas or Hawaii. (Or, uh, right here in my bedroom…)**

_Gives a whole new meaning to the Muggle saying 'kiss and make up', _Hermione snorted to herself as she let her eyes wander over the quietly working first years and glaze over to relive the delicious memories of the night before. Their 'first argument' was perhaps not the most accurate of monikers as Severus had pointed out, considering the number of times their opinions differed on some significant theory or idea, but one that stuck nonetheless. And the making up had been almost well-worth the guilt she'd been experiencing. Indeed, Hermione had not found her way back to her rooms and warm bed until the sky had lightened. _Thank goodness I don't have any Slytherin-Gryffindor classes to teach today. Just the first years, and a third year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class. _The first years were currently attempting the boil-cure potion, and it looked as if they were doing quite well too. So far, there had been no explosions, quarrels, or muffled groans that signaled a botched potion, and only minor hissing between groups of pairs, which Hermione permitted today. She stifled a yawn.

Her thoughts strayed back to last night. _Merlin, _but the man had been both infuriating and charming at the same time! Other than the extended 'snogging and petting', as Ginny might have bluntly put it if she'd known what Hermione was up to, they had not done much. Instead, they'd strolled back the way they came, Severus somehow effortlessly finding his way back to Ashton Lane despite the streets that Hermione was certain she didn't remember. They'd strolled down the still-lively street for a while, bantering in a manner that had Hermione's cheeks red and not just from the cold, and yet she'd enjoyed herself wholly. _It is a definite paradox when being in Severus' company is both the most intense and the most relaxing experience! _But perhaps his frankness about his past, and her just-as-blunt acceptance of it seemed to have broken an invisible barrier Hermione hadn't even been sure was there although she'd been pressing both hands against it insistently. Severus had been witty, humorous, and _lighthearted _after that, with an air of relief that was different. He'd lost his reservations last night, and allowed himself to say whatever he thought and felt, be it rude, shocking, or downright odd—more often than not, Hermione found herself laughing at his observations of the rambunctious, drunk tourists that dotted the premises or the besotted young couples that gazed, lovesick, into each other's eyes over candlelight.

They'd stopped at a less-populated pub to warm up, and in what must have been a fit of generosity and trust that Hermione hoped she would not misplace, Severus had suddenly given her permission to broach the subject of returning to Hogwarts to get a spellphone with Li. _"If he agrees, then you can talk with Minerva. If he thinks it's a bad idea, then you will drop it."_

Again, neither one of them had ordered any alcoholic beverages at the pub. _"I'll bring you back here on a weekend someday and you can vomit discreetly in the street, but for tonight I prefer not to see the color of your insides," _he'd told her.

"_I'll aim right for your lap if I feel any urge to vomit," _she'd replied wickedly, but Hermione was nothing if not responsible and Hangover Relief Potions only worked if you had several hours in which to remain unconscious after medicating, which Hermione did not have. Instead, they'd both nursed hot cocoa. Hermione ignored the incredulous stare the waitress had given her, but Severus had shot her the _I-will-make-you-scrub-out-cauldrons-for-detention-soon _glare. Evidently, it worked as well on full-adult waitresses as it did on dunderheaded students—she scuttled off with their order fleeing as fast as anyone could in a miniskirt and high-heeled pumps.

And Severus hadn't even _glanced _once at the waitress' seductive features or ample assets. He'd merely _tsked, _turned back to Hermione, and continued their conversation as if he hadn't just scared away the sex-on-legs bombshell. Hermione sighed dreamily. She could almost hear him barking her name with all his typical arrogance that made him so irritating and sexy at the same time. "Professor…Professor Granger…" _What? He doesn't call me—_

"_Professor!" _Hermione snapped to attention at the sound of a student's desperate shriek, just in time to notice a cauldron bubbling dangerously, the liquid within it an ominous grayish-brown sludge and near-overflow…

"_Protego!" _she screamed, just as the cauldron exploded with a _BOOM! _

She went flying back, her back hitting the stone floor painfully, but her wand remained gripped in her hand and she scrambled up, ignoring the excruciating shocks that ran down her spine and blossomed in her left hip, which had struck the ground with the weight of her entire body behind it. Around the classroom, students uncertainly poked their head out from under tables and chairs that they had dove behind. Grey smoke and ash and tiny splinters of metal shavings were falling like a mini-shower over where the cauldron had sat. And miracle of miracles, her shield had managed to hit just before the explosion. "Is anyone hurt?" she demanded, voice high with fear.

One of the girls, whom Hermione suspected would have been in Ravenclaw if the Hat had Sorted this year, got to her feet shakily. "I don't think so, Professor."

Hermione did a fast headcount of the students all slowly brushing themselves off and getting up. _Thank Merlin, everyone's accounted for. _"Whose cauldron was it?"

"Donovan's," chorused several young voices accusingly.

Hermione looked for the boy. One curly-headed mop near the rainfall of soot and metal shavings winced guiltily. "Uh…oops?"

_Gods, it serves me right for being distracted, _Hermione thought despairingly. "I'll talk to you later, Mister O' Brien. Right now, _everyone _needs to go straight to Madame Pomfrey and be checked over." She cast a stasis spell over the remains of Donovan O' Brien's cauldron before ushering the rest of the first years out with her, locking the door to the classroom. _The second potions explosion of the year under my watch, _she thought miserably. _What is Minerva going to say? _

It had been worse than if Minerva had shouted at her. Instead, the Headmistress of Hogwarts had patted her briefly on the arm, told her that she was sorry that she had been forced to put Hermione in such a position of having to teach when it was obvious Hermione showed neither the aptitude nor the desire to teach, and asked Hermione to be more careful next time.

_Even Slughorn is better at teaching than I am. But then again, he chose to go into the teaching profession and he is fairly good at it, although he uses bribes and chooses favorites far too much for my taste. _Hermione had _not _truly wanted to teach at all in the first place. Giving a bit of help to some classmates in the common room was one thing. Teaching classes in which students had to actually _learn _something and be tested on it was another thing all together.

_I can entirely sympathize with Severus. It must have been horrible, to be forced by _both _your masters, to teach when you don't enjoy teaching. The children are all right, really. It's the planning, the grading, the effort of having students rely on you to guide them and protect them—argh! I can't stand it! _Hermione thought moodily as she jerkily cleared off her things from her last class of the day, which had thankfully suffered no mishap. She began walking down the dungeon corridor, maneuvering her way to her quarters. _I didn't even know what I wanted to do with my life, I just knew it wasn't teaching. Mum and Dad suggested going to Muggle university and I would love to, but the war and the fact that I have no time to even study, let alone sit for, the Muggle examinations, have ruled that one out quite effectively for the time being. _Stopping at her door, she let herself in and dumped her things on the convenient dining table before aiming her wand at the fireplace and starting a good fire. She threw herself down into her favorite armchair. _I like Potions, but not that much. I don't really want to make it my life career. I don't know, really…and that's somehow just as scary as the bloody war we're in right now. And I'm becoming entirely maudlin. Severus would be disgusted. _Hermione snorted. If Severus were here, he'd be telling her off soundly for having been as idiotically distracted in class where volatile potions were brewing. If Severus were here, he'd be scoffing at her juvenile rebellious desire to just vanish and not show up to teach the next day. If Severus were here…

A face popped up suddenly in the fireplace as the flames flared higher. Hermione yelped and her wand was out in an instant. Then she recognized the head, and sighed with relief. "Li! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you to respond this early…"

"My apologies, Hermione," Li greeted. He seemed completely unruffled for a head who had just been confronted with the business end of a wand held in the clutch of a startled and trained witch. Hermione felt a little miffed at having shown her unprepared jumpiness.

"You got my message, then?"

"Yes, my dear girl, I did. May I come through? We should discuss this."

Hermione nodded, her hair tickling the back of her neck. It was coming undone from the knot she'd put it in this morning, and with a growl of annoyance she lifted a hand to yank on the tie, allowing her rambunctious curls free reign. From the fireplace, Master Li gracefully rose, stepping away from the fire and coming forward to clasp her hand earnestly. "Good to see you, my dear. Have you been working on your—"

"Meditation, yes," Hermione finished for him. "It doesn't seem to do any good, although it relaxes me enough for bed."

Li shrugged. "I would say, if you were anyone else, that you are simply not trying hard enough. But since I _know _that is not the case, I am at a loss to why you cannot seem to master this skill when you have already mastered so much and clearly show abilities in mind magic."

Hermione shrugged too, although hers was much jerkier, evidence of her grumpy state. "I don't _know," _she said, trying to keep her irritation from showing. "It just isn't happening."

Li patted her shoulder. "Perhaps it simply takes time to sink in," he suggested.

Hermione dropped back into her chair, motioning for Li to take a seat anywhere he pleased. "Time isn't something I have much of, nor the Order, for that matter. But I asked to speak with you on a different subject than my inadequacies."

"Yes. Severus Snape. You wished to get him a spellphone, did you not?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think it would be extremely helpful…you know…" she trailed off, gave him a meaningful look. He smiled.

"Ah, I see what you mean. And it would help keep him safe and connected to us, would it not? Young Mister Jordan has very much impressed many Order members with his ideas, and the Weasley Twins have outperformed themselves in making it a reality. I do believe that when Mister Jordan comes of age, the Order is considering inviting him to join our ranks. Of course, the Misters Weasley and Weasley are already part of us…" Hermione grinned.

"Yes, they've really broken records with the spellphone—it's a marvelous invention. If it weren't wartime…"

"Everyone would be considering a new fad. Well, perhaps after…I do know the Weasley Twins are considering selling it in their shop after the war ends and it is safe to expose."

"Good. Now we just have ensure that come May, we are the ones left standing," Hermione said firmly.

"Yes. And now, how to convince Minerva to allow Severus back in…"

**--break--**

"You're telling me I have to let Severus Snape—_the _Severus Snape who _betrayed us _and _murdered _Albus Dumbledore—I have to _let him into Hogwarts willingly?" _

"Minerva, I know this is rather hard to take in, but—"

"Hard? Hard?" The Scottish witch laughed bitterly. "One of my most respected colleagues killed one of my dearest friends last year, and you're telling me that we should forgive and forget? For the 'greater good?'" she practically spat the last few words out, as if they had been sour and unbearable to taste.

"Li, Severus Snape turned his wand on Albus and killed him right here on school grounds, a stone's throw from where we sit right now. Children still take classes in that blasted tower, for gods sake!"

Hermione flinched. Luckily, both Li and Minerva were staring at each other and too engrossed to pay attention to the reactions of the third and mostly silent party of the conversation. She clenched her fists underneath the table until they turned white, and stared fixedly at her lap willing herself not to interfere. She'd promised Li that she would not fly off the handle and that she would let him handle the conversation. _It doesn't seem to be going very well in any case, Li. _

"Minerva—" Li began gently.

"Don't you Minerva me! I have given _everything _of myself to this bloody war and this bloody Order, and this is how you repay me? By withholding information, lying, condoning cold-blooded murder?" Both Li and Hermione sat helplessly, listening to the Headmistress rant at them, swearing and cursing in a way that would make even Ron impressed until she finally ran out of breath. _I have never seen Minerva this out of control. Not even after Albus…_Hermione closed her eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath. Flashes of memory danced before her eyes. The crumpled, small form of an old man she had both respected and chided for thinking he knew what was best for everyone—yet the innate love within the Headmaster that had been the difference between he and Tom Riddle. Harry's grief-stricken, horror-filled face. The days and days of trading shifts with Ron at the Dursleys to make sure someone always was watching Harry as he stared into nothingness. Padma's lonely figure, the space beside here oddly empty without her twin sister beside her. Lavender's sudden about-face from giggly silly girl to silent, angry person. And superimposed over everything were images, scenes of Severus—the cold, cutting, _furious _wreck of a man he'd been directly after Albus' death, the witty, acerbic, protective mentor and friend, and more recently, the by-turns aggressive and unsure man whom she loved with every inch of her being.

_Severus. Minerva is enduring much now by bringing this up—bringing _you _up. But what more are _you _going through and will go through just to make even this plan happen, let alone to find ourselves on the other side of the war? _It was a question Hermione didn't want to know the answer to, not really. Because she was sure of it, and the surety frightened her, that Severus was enduring far, far worse than even she could imagine.

In front of her, Minerva had finally stopped pacing and swearing and resumed her seat, looking flushed and curiously out of order. Hermione was glad she was no longer a student. If she had been, she would have been shocked at Minerva's lack of stern propriety that had radiated from the witch from the moment she had met her. Her hat was off, wisps of hair coming undone from her bun, and her eyes were bluer than ever—almost as bright a blue as Albus'. "My apologies," she said tightly. "Please, Li, continue with your explanation. It had better be a good one."

Li inclined his head. "Not at all, no need to apologize my dear Minerva," he chirped. "It is not an easy request I bring to you. But it is…perhaps not _necessary, _but very, very helpful indeed if such a thing could be done—to bring Severus back to Hogwarts for an hour or two."

Hermione noticed Minerva's fingers straying slightly to the wand on her desk. She surreptitiously jabbed Li in the ribs. _Get on with the explanation, Minerva isn't the patient type! _she thought, watching the taxing signs of self-control wearing on her Headmistress' face and body. He seemed to get the message.

"Well, the explanation is thus. Severus Snape is _not _truly the traitor we make him out to be. In fact, he is not one at all." Li paused. "Perhaps you got the impression that he was important to the Order somehow, when the High Council issued the decree that no member would knowingly harm or kill him. The investigations the Order took were highly unorthodox, and not likely to…win any points at the Ministry. But then, little of the work the Order does is generally condoned by the Ministry of Magic. Nevertheless, the significant issue at hand here is that Severus was not acting for Voldemort when he took Albus' life."

Li held up a hand sternly at Minerva's noise of protest. "Wait, let me finish. I cannot…divulge to you exactly the reasons behind the murder. But Severus Snape has, to the full investigation and satisfaction of the Order of the Phoenix High Council, proven his continuing loyalties to us. After all, he is still alive, isn't he? The magic binding him to be true to the Order remains intact and unneeded."

Minerva looked exceedingly reluctant as she said slowly, "Yes, I did wonder about those. The magic for the initiation oath is old magic and very strong. I could not think of how S—how the man had slipped past them."

"Exactly." Li beamed. "Severus remains, to this day, our deepest and most well-placed spy in the networks. Hermione here is his handler."

"_What?" _

_Oh, joy. Just when she was calming down. _Hermione summoned all her strength and fortitude. She was going to need it by the time Minerva was done ripping through her.

**--break--**

"_I hope you know what you're doing," Minerva said to her wearily as Hermione left, tired but triumphant._

_"Severus is not a murderer, Minerva. He was you friend. Please think about that, _really _think about it. Would the Severus Snape you know, the one you taught and the one you taught _with _do all the horrible crimes without blinking an eye the way he seems to have convinced everyone he has?" _

_Minerva did not reply. Hermione did not expect her to. The Headmistress had lines of worry and sorrow etched on her face that reminded her strongly of the days right after Albus had been killed. She had not taken the news that Severus Snape was on their side and their active spy well. In fact, it was only the double-teaming of Li and Hermione that had forced her to back down and agree that as long as the strictest precautions were taken, he could be allowed in—over Christmas break when most students left, and not before. _

Hermione tossed another log into her fire and stared absently at the surge of flame. More than ever, it had been driven home to her by the meeting with Minerva just exactly what burdens Severus shouldered each minute of every day. How was it humanly possible to know that other than a handful of people you could count on one hand, everyone else in the world, friends, former colleagues, students…_everyone _thought you were the worst sort of deceiving murderer?

Severus Snape was not a topic for polite conversation. Hermione had never heard his name muttered at all, actually, this year. Except for the faux pas by Remus, and the initial whisperings as the first years were acquainted with the story of the betrayer of Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. She had broached the subject, once, of Severus Snape as a student to Slughorn. The fat, bumbling professor had shut her off immediately, telling her that if she had so much time to think about such dark things, she could help him grade papers.

She didn't dare ask Harry for his opinion.

Ginny had thawed Harry out so much since the summer. Where once he had been an impulsive, reckless, emotional wreck of a teenager, Harry was now a humble but hardworking, self-assured (although still rather impulsive) boy. His eyes did not glow with hatred anymore, the malevolent way they had before. But he still withdrew just a little whenever anyone mentioned Albus Dumbledore, and Hermione didn't trust Harry—not even a Ginny-restrained-Harry—to see the apparent killer of Albus with any light but a mad hate.

And her job—not just as his handler, but as his _lover, _for all that they had not gone so far, yet—was to protect Severus Snape.

But it was impossible to protect the man from the hundred thousand darts of pain that came from being the vilified—or, in his unfortunate circle, _glorified—_killer of Albus Dumbledore. Minerva's reaction and fury, though surprising to her personality, would not be the last of this sort of emotion towards Severus. And knowing that, Hermione's heart tore a little further.

She sighed, and settled further back into the comforting slouch of the armchair in her private quarters. If she closed her eyes tightly and added exercised just a bit of imagination, she could almost imagine that the curve of the sofa behind her was Severus' arms, cradling her. It had been an eventful day. Hermione's last thought, before she slipped into a deep sleep, was surety that no one else had had such an eventful day as her.

**--break--**

The pretty blond girl smiled at the elegant woman in the portrait. "You wanted to talk to me, I hear," she said as if confiding a deep secret, in her high, airy tone.

"Well met, my sister," the woman said. "You see clearly—more clearly than anyone else has in this day and world for over a century."

"They don't believe," Luna murmured.

"For those who see truly, it has always been so. An exchange for the gift we are given," the White Witch agreed.

"It's too bad, really. I do try, you know."

"But you cannot say too much, or you risk Cassandra's fate—or mine."

Luna nodded mutely. The White Witch gently placed a hand out, pressed it against the barrier between her painted self and the child-woman in front of her. "You have done far more than anyone, even any deity, could ask of you, my sister. I _know. _I share the gift—or curse—of sight with you. Uncontrolled, it can drive one to madness, to drink, to seek oblivion. You see what has happened to our sister Sibyl Trelawny. Our sisterhood is not an easy path to be born into. But you have persevered, and you have given advice, warned, comforted, and given aid when you could, how you could."

Luna raised wondering eyes to the normally austere pale figure. "I did my best. But the visions…the visions are horrible. How do you stand it?"

"It is difficult," the White Witch acknowledged. "But I can help you. Once, I was a goddess, and I lived and breathed free from the confines of mortal hands. Although my powers, my abilities, are limited now, I can help you shield yourself from the visions. Many of then will not come true. You know that."

"I know it. But it does not help when I am in one. What can you do?"

"Say my name, sister," the White Witch ordered. Her voice echoed down the bare, empty hallway. No one else was up at this late hour. Even the pranksters had all long finished their sneaky sojourns and gone to bed. Luna swallowed.

"White Witch. Portrait guardian to the Slytherin dormitory," she said.

"My name. Sister, give me my name," the icy woman demanded fiercely. Her freezing eyes burned images of past, present, and future into Luna's.

"Guardian of Hogwarts Castle and school. Teacher to the Four Founders."

"_My true name," _said the White Witch, and her hands, pressed to the canvas of the painting, seemed to glow amber and red. She bared her teeth in a feral smile. Luna was shivering uncontrollably now, every vestige of the carefree dreamer gone.

"Mother and sister to every true seer. Great queen and old goddess of war. _Morrigan." _

The woman cried out in triumph, her voice the sound of a crow's harsh call. The amber light on her pressing hands burst in all directions, and the fire in the hearth in her portrait leaped, higher and higher, and the entire painting disappeared in a soundless conflagration.

Luna dropped to her knees, gasping for air. Her head swirled muggily. Images of things she wasn't sure had happened, would be happening, or would never be assaulted her senses. She curled up, trying desperately to block them out—Harry, madness in his eyes, ordering the people around him to kill the red-haired man in front of him…Voldemort's red eyes glinting in the darkness from where a pile of dead bodies lay limply…Luna herself as a little girl swinging at the playground…a man she didn't recognize, dressed in Muggle clothing, looking worried as white-garbed men led him into a sterile room and murmured something about quarantine…Professor Snape screaming, almost unrecognizable as he clutched his arm and fell—someone rushed to his side, calling his name frantically…

A chilly hand on the back of Luna's bared neck suddenly seemed to sweep all the pictures aside, replacing it with an artificial calm. It was the same kind of temporary paralysis that one might feel, stepping out into the middle of winter where no one has been out before you, the snow is untouched, and the world seems all asleep. It wouldn't last. Soon enough, Luna knew, a dog might bark, a branch might crack, or a child might wake and dash outside to play in the snow. But it was a reprieve, and she sucked in her breath as she regained her ordinary senses.

The same cold, smooth hands now assisted her in standing, and Luna looked to where her helper was.

Towering over her, though perhaps not as tall as Hagrid, the White Witch—the _Morrigan—_stood, her heavy, rich skirts pooling about her and her sea-green eyes glinting with some emotion Luna couldn't identify. She reached out a finger to touch Luna on the cheek. It felt like ice.

"Centuries," she said slowly, her voice like a soft bell. "Centuries I have walked the paintings of Hogwarts, guarding it, waiting for the first sign that I would be allowed to return to my place in the sky. One mistake, but even gods and goddesses make mistakes and when we do, the results are…catastrophic." She looked distant. "I made a mistake, and because I could not die and because I could foretell the future and knew that I _would _not die and that I would one day regain my place, they could not banish me to where I could not earn back that freedom. And so I came here, and I searched, waited for that first sign."

She laughed now. "Little sister, you have given me the first step towards freedom." She caught Luna's unasked question and shook her head, hair rippling softly. "No, not yet. It will be centuries still before I complete my last task and truly earn my repentance. But today, little sister, you started me on that journey." She opened a hand, to reveal a translucent piece of ice, carved exquisitely into the shape of an eye. Luna stared reverently at it, caught up in it's delicate—and fleeting—beauty. It was ice, and it would melt soon enough. But it was _beautiful, _and it caught the light and shone like a diamond, glittering madly.

"My promise to you—I will keep it, sister. Child of Hogwarts. This will only be temporary, until you learn in the years to come how to ground yourself and shield from the visions that will come whether you will or no. When it melts, you will have found the secret that few of your sisters have found, and you will be as safe as a mortal seer can be."

Luna blinked. "It is ice."

"Yes. It will last until you do not need it anymore. Come, take it. Wear it as a charm." The woman held her palm out firmly, challenging Luna to stretch out the last of the distance and take it from her.

It felt like forever, but was only a few seconds later that Luna's rock-steady hand reached up to close around the symbol. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Thank _you, _little sister." The great queen moved the hand that was now empty, and a silver chain dangled from the ice amulet. "The chain is made of moonshine and starlight. It will never break. Here—" she took it from Luna and in a smooth, sure movement, swooped behind her. An instant later, she moved back and Luna reached up to touch at her neck tentatively. The ice amulet of the eye dangled far enough for her to tuck it beneath her robes. It remained as cold as the lady's touch to her skin, but pleasantly so. The silver chain felt weightless around her throat.

"Great queen…"

"Sister."

"Sister. What will you do now?"

The woman grinned suddenly, lighting up her entire expression. Some of her icy cool melted. "It has been long since I had a stroll, even in the mortal world. I think I will go visit our little friends the house elves and see if they can't make up a snack for a goddess." She winked. "Don't worry, I cannot go far. My primary anchor to the mortal world still remains, and it will be years before I can walk freely once more on this earth." She glanced up, and Luna followed her gaze to the frame, which had held the home the goddess had lived in for centuries. Contrary to the last time Luna had seen it, when it had been swallowed by hungry, crackling flames, it now looked exactly as it had been before—except for the absence of the inhabitant. "How…"

"Magic, my little sib," she laughed. "Magic."

**--break--**

"Everyone! Come here, quick!" Draco broke off what he had been doing, hurriedly coming around to where Danielle Corwin and Flitwick were jabbering at each other.

"What is it? What have you found?" demanded Skye. Unfortunately, no one but Draco could hear her, and it was a good thing everyone else wanted to know the same thing. Draco listened breathlessly for the answer.

"I've been looking a bit further into this theory, postulating some things—without going into too much detail, I think Filius might have just found the ritual we need to summon Skye back into her body," Danielle exclaimed.

Filius nodded, his voice squeakier than normal in his excitement. "It is rather unconventional, not meant for this kind of application, but I think it will work for Skye in this current state. It's unfortunately in the rather grey branch of Necromancy…"

"It's not Dark," Danielle added hastily. "Just grey, because it can be used in ways that are unnatural. But we think it will work."

"What _is _it?" asked Hestia Jones impatiently.

"A soul-summoning ritual."

Draco's eyes widened. He heard Skye take a deep, controlled breath as if trying not to panic. "Soul-summoning…as in, the children's story of the Peverell brothers? The resurrection stone?" He asked shakily.

"That's just a tale for children!" protested Tonks.

"Beedle the Bard collected folklore and wrote it down in the form of children's tales," Danielle said soberly. "The tale of the Peverell brothers is just a story, but each story has a grain of truth in it—historians believe that it was told to children initially to teach them to respect death. The resurrection stone is just a myth—it would be rather dangerous to have a stone with that kind of power that could so easily be lost, wouldn't it? But it is believed to be based off one particular branch of Necromancy—soul summoning, as Mister…Draco has pointed out the connection for us."

Flitwick took over. "Soul-summoning as a ritual is truly quite a simple task, it is the power one must wield to conduct the ritual that makes it difficult," he said in a lecturing tone. Draco noticed Tonks' grin, and Skye's side-glance at him. He quirked one side of his mouth in return.

"It is like a very powerful version of the simple spell _Accio, _with a locator spell linked to it. It is meant to summon the soul of a dead person back to earth as a spirit for a brief time, usually used to consult the dead for advice or in hopes of learning about the future. It's been referred to numerous times in _mythology, _but not much in actual study. However, between all of us, I think we are skilled enough to 'resurrect' the ritual and point it to Skye. The spells are designed to look in the realm of the dead, however, so we think that what will happen will be that Skye will momentarily find herself being pulled by the locator spell _into _death before being brought into her body once more."

_"What?" _Draco roared. "What's to prevent her from actually _dying _and not coming back?"

"Because her body never really dies." Danielle this time, speaking calmly to Draco as if he were a little child. Draco grit his teeth angrily. They were risking _Skye's _life, not theirs, with this bloody ritual!

"Listen to me, Draco." Danielle reached over to grab his hands—the first time anyone but Tonks had physically touched him in a long time. He flinched. "_Listen. _I don't like it any more than you do. That child is my only family. I love her. I watched her grow up. I _know, _Draco. But this is the only way we think we can give her her life back. Do you want her to live forever as a disembodied spirit, visible only to you? It's a risky chance, but Filius and I have some good ideas on how to ensure that Skye returns, alive, to her body and stays that way. I'm sure everyone else including you will have more good ideas. Between us all, she'll be safe. I promise you."

It felt as though the whole room—books, carpet, table, chairs, and people—held its breath. Draco's face was a study of fear, reluctance, and terrible understanding. If it had not been clear to the group before what they had been observing in the young man, it was clear now, impossible to miss. The young former Malfoy loved Skye Corwin, loved her with every breath of his being and couldn't stand the thought of her leaving or being harmed or dying. As unlikely as it seemed, the last vestiges of haughty arrogant prejudice was gone, dealt a death blow by love. From Hestia to Flitwick, everyone in that room despite their own feelings about the matter felt suddenly humbled by the depth of the emotion that showed in the young man before them.

He turned his head slightly, to stare at an empty spot where they knew but could not see, Skye Corwin standing. He seemed to be asking something with his grey eyes. No one could hear it, but she must have answered, because a moment later his shoulders relaxed the tiniest fraction and he looked down. "Fine," he mumbled. "But if anything goes wrong, I won't forgive any of you." He looked up, determination and something else in his expression. "Just so you know."

"Understood. I wouldn't forgive myself if something did happen," Danielle said immediately, releasing his hands gently. "Now, why don't you come over here and help us with setting up protections and figuring out what spells the ritual should consist of? We have to hurry. Filius thinks that we need to perform this ritual on Winter Solstice, so we don't have much time. All Hallow's Eve would be much better, of course, but that's already past and I'd rather not wait a year for it…" slowly, Danielle led Draco over to where a musty book with a cracking spine lay on the table, open to the chapter on soul-summoning. As if by a magic all of its own, everyone else dispersed quickly to look for new information now that a specific approach had been selected.

If anyone but Draco had looked, it would have seemed a rather studious scene. But for anyone with eyes that saw further than what was apparent, they might have seen a fair-skinned, black-haired girl standing stock still in the middle of the room, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the back of a tall, blond boy bent over a dusty book. If one looked closer, one might notice the tell-tale sheen of tears blurring the girl's sight of the quietly reading boy.

Or perhaps not. The girl might have been just a trick of the light after all.

**A.N.: Hello guys! I'm back! Who has gotten to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince? I'm sad on one hand because they missed out on so much subplot. On the other hand, the filming was beautiful and quite artistic and there was Snape at his best as well. (I freely admit, I was swimming in tears the last part of the movie—not for Dumbledore, but for poor Snape.) Thank goodness there's fanfiction!**

**Anyway, leave your thoughts, comments, ideas, concrit—on the chapter and on the new movie, if you wish. I'm all ears (and eyes.) :)**


	66. Chapter 66

**Disclaimer: **_**Bu shi wo de! **_**(That means, roughly translated, **_**Not Mine!) **_

**(Mandarin, if you were wondering—the phonetic English written version of the characters, anyway)**

Hannah Abbott listened, along with the rest of the DA, as Harry spoke.

"This is our last meeting before Christmas Break," he announced. "You've all been doing really well. Uh…" he smiled sheepishly and they all smiled back, well-used to Harry's dislike for public speeches. "Well…" he looked over at Ginny, who gave him an encouraging smile that warmed Hannah's romantic heart. Harry perked up at that, and Hannah stifled a grin of her own. Susan, beside her, giggled quietly and Justin jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow.

"Anyway, so you should be proud of yourselves," Harry continued. "And since it's the last meeting and all, and you've been doing so well, Hermione—oops, sorry _Professor," _he shot humorously at where Hermione Granger stood at the back of the room. She quirked her lips in response, but did not say anything. "Hermione thought it would be a great idea to test your skills and what you've learnt so far in a more real-life setting," he told them. "Professor McGonagall's given us the thumbs up, so here's our task. Everyone else in the school has been warned not to interfere and to take things in their stride. It's a Saturday evening and those people out there are going to become bystanders. Some professors and even a couple of Aurors off-duty have volunteered to be the enemy. We have the entire first and second floor of Hogwarts to cover, as well as the dungeons—we're going to pretend that Death Eaters have invaded, and those tactics we've been talking about, you know, the guerilla troops, we're actually going to put those to use to attack the enemy."

Everyone burst out talking at once. Hannah clapped her hands in glee and nervous excitement. _Oh, real practice at last! We can test ourselves to see if we're really as good as we feel! _She exchanged a look with Susan, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Hey, hey, hey!" That was Ron, shouting loudly over the clamor. Gradually they quieted down. Ron nodded his thanks. "Before you go off, we have some rules to set. First of all, the professors who have volunteered to be our Death Eaters are going to be dressed in black robes and a mask, and they'll have an anonymity spell of some sort on them that'll make us not able to recognize them. That way, we won't be able to tell who's who and adjust our dueling that way. We'll have to rely on what we see of them right there, just like what we'll have to do if it were a real situation. They are our _only _targets. _No _attacking civilians—that's other professors and students, the portraits and ghosts as well. _No _Dark spells, no Unforgivables, remember what I said about being creative and unexpected. Classrooms that aren't abandoned, like the Potions classrooms, are off-limits. Teachers' quarters and offices are also off-limits. Only rooms that are not in use. You are allowed to try and move civilians out of danger's way, but you cannot do more than try and persuade, no spells on them. One day you might find yourself in a place where you're fighting with a lot of innocent bystanders nearby, and you'll have to learn to work around them."

Ginny took over, tossing her red hair. Hannah felt a brief moment of envy. _Everyone _loved Ginny Weasley. She was beautiful, charming, and sincere, and wicked with her hexes to boot. But she'd been through hard things as well, and Hannah couldn't begrudge such a pleasant witch the popularity she garnered. _I'd rather be me, and not be so charismatic and attract so many guys, as long as You-Know-Who doesn't come after _me, _or I don't get almost killed like Ginny did her first year at Hogwarts, _she thought. Then another thought occurred to her. _Although, considering the fact that I'm in the DA and Harry's already told us that You-Know-Who is planning to attack Hogwarts and we're going to be here, protecting the young ones, I wouldn't rule out being killed so fast. _She shivered. She didn't want to die, not when she'd barely lived!

"…be paired up, and in some cases, in groups, and we'll talk strategy first before we start," Ginny was saying. "I've a list of names of pairs and groups, and your assigned position, here. Find out who you're with and where, and then head out. You've got an hour; starting the moment the first group leaves these doors. Professor Lupin and Professor Granger are neutral; they'll be in red robes and simply observing. Oh, and Auror Tonks will be watching too. Don't forget, Harry's important to protect."

Harry grimaced, and everyone laughed. It had been hell to teach Harry how to accept being protected and make himself less of a target, but Hannah and everyone else _knew _that Harry was the one You-Know-Who was after, and the one most likely to defeat him, and therefore the most important person to protect so that he had a chance at it.

They clustered around the parchment and the map that Ginny held out. Near the back of the crowd, Hannah squinted but couldn't make out her name. An insistent tap at her shoulder made her look around—Parkinson was there, a bland look on her small face. "We're partners," she told Hannah. "Dungeons, the corridors that surround Slytherin quarters. Probably as sentries or guards for younger students in the dormitories."

Tentatively, Hannah surveyed the other girl. She'd never talked to her before, and the Slytherin had always seemed rather petty and snobbish. But in the DA, she'd worked fiercely, and Hannah knew one of her weaknesses was that she wasn't fast or powerful enough. Just stubborn. And if a Slytherin reputedly from a Dark house could turn her back on her own _family _to work to protect Hogwarts, couldn't she, Hannah, a Hufflepuff, learn to forgive and forget any ancient grievances?

"I'm sure we'll give anyone who wants to come in a thing or two to think about," she offered.

Parkinson—no, _Pansy—_slowly smiled. "I'm sure we will," she replied, and they exchanged a look before heading determinedly towards the door along with the other teams.

**--break--**

Tonks looked down in bemusement at the bright, Christmassy-red robes she was sporting. "I've never worn robes this red before," she exclaimed. Remus laughed, sending pleasant feelings shooting through her.

"It looks good on you," he commented.

"Only because I changed my skin tone and hair color so it wouldn't clash. Pink does _not _go well with red," she grumped, although she snuck an arm through her boyfriend. _Boyfriend? Lover? What does one call their significant other once past a certain age? _Tonks pondered to herself.

Remus picked up a lock of dark brown hair. "You normally don't go this dark in a natural color. I like it."

"It's boring."

"It suits your eyes."

"If it didn't, I'd change eyes to suit it," Tonks pointed out victoriously, and Remus conceded her win, mild eyes sparkling with mirth.

An acerbic snort and burst of laughter drew their attention. Hermione Granger was standing just a short distance away, arms folded and eyebrow raised, the tiniest smirk on her face. She was clad in the same bright red robes she and Remus were wearing. "Normally, when a man tries to be charming and flattering to his lady-love, she takes the hint and is appropriately flattered," Hermione noted, tone colored with high amusement. Tonks blushed, but Remus merely smiled.

"Hullo, Hermione, have they started yet?" he asked.

The other girl nodded. "The first groups have just headed out to begin the simulation. We'll meet back here in an hour. Can I trust that you will keep your 'lovering' to a minimum?"

"Why of course, I am the _perfect_ gentleman," Remus bowed with great pomp and flourish. Tonks giggled at the sight of her man, looking for all the world like he'd fallen into a bucket of red paint (and it clashed terribly with his complexion, but Tonks wouldn't have him any other way). _Her man. _It still blew her away that she, blundering, clumsy, screw-it-up Tonks, had somehow caught the attention of the quiet, clever man with his soft smile and warm heart. It had taken her _months _to be able to even squeak out a _hi _to him without tripping over a flat surface and turning beet-red, _literally. _Then it had taken even _more _time to convince the stubborn, deluded man that he wasn't too old, too poor, and too dangerous for her and that they ought to at least try.

He still sometimes thought she didn't belong with him, that she somehow 'deserved better,' Tonks knew. She could see it in the way he would look at her sometimes, in bed as he watched her pretend to sleep, or the despair that made him mute, the days and hours before the full moon, and sometimes in the way he breathed in her scent almost embarrassedly when she came home from work every day or, on the occasions his work went later, when he arrived home. _But we fit together, and I love him, and I'll be damned if I don't let him know every moment we're together that it's exactly what we both deserve! _Tonks thought with equal parts fondness and fierceness, twining her fingers with his and pressing a kiss on him unexpectedly, which he took with his usual unshakable smile and gave back, tenfold.

"All right, before I start to sicken from all the saccharine sweetness practically flowing off you two, we should start patrolling," Hermione interrupted dryly.

Remus laughed and Tonks made rude gesture at Hermione, who simply wrinkled her nose in prim, over-exaggerated disdain and gifted them with a sharp _look _before turning on her heel and departing. _Oh, I love that girl's sense of humor. Rarely is that sarcastic teasing wit ever found in a Gryffindor, which makes her all the rarer. I always forget how young she truly is…_

"So do I," Remus quietly agreed as they began walking in tandem, heading towards the stairs. Tonks hadn't realized that she'd spoken the last aloud. "She's like that a lot during staff meetings. She keeps us all laughing and on our feet and trading barbs with each other long past our normal endurance. I don't think she realizes just how much she does simply by being lively and hopeful enough to snipe at each of us. She's a special person, is Hermione, and I think by this point every single one of us on staff has forgotten that she's just the same age as Harry and Ron."

"Should I be jealous?" Tonks joked. Casually, she let her eyes roam the corridors of the second floor, where she caught sight of a group of five students working in concentrated effort against two black-robed, mask-covered figures. Spell lights flickered everywhere, and Tonks didn't need to tug on Remus' sleeve to draw his attention to the fight that was taking place. His eyes were concerned, but calculative at the same time. _Exactly the same way Moody was, back when he was evaluating us in Auror training. _Tonks raked an eye over the fight herself. The students were doing rather well and holding their own, and she felt a surge of adrenaline—the stuff of battle-lust—surge into being, despite the fact that it was not her fight: she was here to observe neutrally, that was it. Still, her nerve endings hummed and her skin prickled.

"Of course not, love," Remus replied placidly. "You know exactly who lays claim to whatever is left of my heart." Then he sighed, and he gazed down at Tonks with a serious expression weighted by a deep, hidden pain—one of just many the blasted Gryffindor hid too often and too well. It was a look that Tonks was, unfortunately, too used to seeing on Remus' face, one of despondence as the war plod on and the deaths mounted. "You know, sometimes, I swear, she reminds me too much…" he closed his eyes for a second, opened them with a look of mute apology at her.

"Reminds you?" Tonks prodded gently. Sometimes, Remus needed the added assistance to speak of memories bitter and soured with hurt. But it was better to talk than to press it down and keep it bottled up. Her father had taught her that.

"Reminds me…of Severus," Remus whispered. Tonks snarled, an automatic response, although she pulled herself together moments later and calmed down.

"How does Hermione remind you in any way of that…that…_him," _she asked, trying not to shriek like Mrs. Black's portrait in Grimmauld Place.

Remus winced, nonetheless. "Not her, personally, but…sometimes, some of her more ironic witticisms or sarcastic insults or barbs…I swear, Dora, that it could have come straight out of his mouth. I've known…Severus…for a long time, although we were not close." He laughed, a bit off, choked sound. "That is an understatement. We were bitter enemies, for many reasons. I am not proud of the boy I was, Dora. We were immature little children. Harry and his friends are so much more mature than we were at his age. The children in Harry's defense club would put all of us to shame, even James and Lily. But..." Remus sighed regretfully. "What is past is done and I cannot undo it, though I wish I could. I wonder, sometimes, if we had been less childish and horrid, things…might not have turned out this way."

In front of them, the mini-fight was over, with two students down by the looks of it but one Death Eater impersonator bound and Stunned, and another fleeing down another corridor. Without needing to ask, she and Remus turned their steps naturally to follow the shadowy figure. He or she would encounter another group of students soon, as per request, and another fight would take place for them to watch and evaluate. Tonks kept the silence, knowing that Remus, when talking about something painful to him, did not need the additional weight of her questions or even a protest or supportive statement. _He needs to purge. He needs to confess. _Tonks hated that about Remus, how the man felt so damned _guilty _about everything. But it was also one of the qualities that stemmed from one of the characteristics she loved best about him, his humbleness and ability to learn from his mistakes…

She squeezed his hand in hers tightly. He managed a small smile. "I'm sorry, love. The past…it haunts me sometimes, and catches me off-guard. Yes, indeed, Hermione is the oldest—mentally—of all her friends. She has grown from a bossy little girl to an adult bearing the responsibilities of one. I cannot imagine the strain she must be under, growing up so fast. It rarely shows, although once in a while, over this year, she has had lapses of pensiveness. But for the most part, she has come into her own self and found an identity as an adult. But I still cannot forget the instances where a remark, or a tone she takes, even a facial expression, for a split second reminds me of the boy, and the man, I knew. Before last year."

Tonks had no reply to that.

**--break--**

Hannah rarely ventured down into the dungeons now. She hadn't gotten a high enough grade to stay in Advanced Potions this year, so she didn't have a class down here anymore. Nothing much had changed, really. It was still gloomy and sparse. They met several first and second year students as they cautiously went down one corridor, and turned up the next. However, there seemed to be no threat, and the students—Slytherins, all of them but two unHoused first years, giggled and cast curious glances at Pansy and Hannah. Pansy nodded graciously at them, and Hannah smiled warmly. They giggled some more, and then scuttled off, whispering in loud voices to each other. Pansy sighed. "I don't remember ever being that young and giggly," she confessed.

"Neither do I, although I _do _recall the dungeons being far more forbidding and scary as a first year venturing down here for class," Hannah contributed, keeping her voice as low as Pansy's.

"Me too," Pansy agreed, and caught the frank look of surprise on Hannah's face. "Just because we were Sorted Slytherin doesn't mean we weren't scared to death of having to live in the bowels of the castle," she said wryly.

Hannah thought about it. "I guess you're right, I just never thought about it."

"Well it's truth," Pansy said authoritatively. "We just never—what's that?"

Hannah, acting on instinct, jumped into an alcove that held a suit of armor, pulling Pansy in with her. After a tense second, she peeked out. She wished Justin were here with her—he had sharper eyes than she did. Next to her, Pansy eased her mouth by Hannah's ear and whispered, "Take turns."

Hannah nodded, and in the next instant, the other girl had fired off a spell, jet quick. Hannah followed up without a pause, and they heard a crash, even as the red light of a Stunner came hurtling back, missing Hannah's braid by a hair and smashing into the wall behind her. Then Hannah saw a figure clearly outlined as it peered around the corner, and shot off another spell. It didn't hit the person, but Pansy's spell, fired a second later, did. The person collapsed soundlessly, and the hall grew quiet. After a long pause, Pansy poked Hannah in the shoulder-blades. Hannah blinked, and then cautiously gave the signal to approach, four fingers folded and thumb horizontal, wrist facing up. Another poke was her answer, and they moved out of the alcove stealthily, keeping to the wall and sliding along it.

But when they arrived at the corner, Pansy cursed out loud, and Hannah was inclined to join the other girl in her filthy language. Sprawling at their feet, knocked out from Pansy's Stunner, was Terry Boot, and when Hannah peered around the corner, she was greeted with the sight of Seamus Finnegan, also out cold. _Shoot, shoot, shoot. _She hastily Reenervated Seamus, while Pansy took care of Terry. Both boys blinked in shock at their rescuers.

"Er…a bit of friendly fire, it seems," Hannah explained.

Terry snorted. "That was _not _friendly at all," he retorted.

"Duck!" Hannah ducked, and spun. Behind them was an actual Death Eater—well, professor dressed up as one—and he (or her?) had just strolled up behind them. _Idiot, _she lambasted herself as she threw herself out of the way of an ominous light. The gleaming, impersonal mask gave her the shivers. Hannah fought her rising fear and darted around the corner. A thump alerted her to the fact that one of her compatriots had just gotten hit. _Shoot. _She bit her lip, and then poked her head out, firing off a Jelly-legs Jinx at the robed impersonator. Finnegan was, once again, out stone cold on the floor. Pansy and Boot were battling fiercely with the silent wizard, who seemed well able to hold his own against the two _and _block Hannah's jinx. _Shoot, _her mind repeated. She pulled her head back around the corner and forced her mind to remember the strategies Ron had pounded into their head. _Slytherin Dormitories are behind me. The littles. Need to keep the Death Eater _here, _can't let him come around this way. _She chanced a glance down the corridor she was in—it was empty, but Hannah did not intend for someone else to sneak up behind her again.

_"Dissimulo," _she breathed. She looked down. _It worked! _She'd only tried it once before, the spell to make on temporarily blend in perfectly with the background and appear invisible. She now matched the grey-black stones of the floor and wall, and in fact only if someone were to walk into her would they notice anything out of the ordinary. Or hear her. Or, Hannah noticed with chagrin, see her wand appear to be floating in midair. _Oh well. Can't be helped. I've done what I can. _Hannah snuck another peek around the corner. Pansy was still fighting, wand flashing with a speed she envied, but her other hand was clutched to a cut on her side. Boot was blocking all attack, but didn't have the time to send an offensive spell back at the nameless wizard. _Okay Hannah, give it your best shot. _She took a breath, and slipped around the corner, firing off a spell silently and thanking Harry gratefully for hammering silent casting into their heads for the past ten lessons. Not everyone could do it yet, but Hannah had just managed it two weeks ago and had been practicing fanatically since then.

_Protego, _she thought, shielding Pansy from a particularly nasty-looking curse. Pansy gave no indication that she'd noticed the unexpected reprieve but took it nonetheless to renew her attack on their opponent.

_Incarcerous! _

Blocked. _Stupefy, Petrificus Totalus, Tarentallegra! _Blocked, blocked, and dodged. _Um…Rictumsempra. Fodio! _

Hannah bit her lip in frustration as each of her spells was batted away like flies and seemed to have no effect on the wizard. _Shoot, he's good. Real good. _

Terry seemed exhausted, each parry coming slower and slower. Pansy was still a speeding dervish, but her face was pale and blood continued seeping past the fingers clamped tightly around her side. Worse, they were being pushed back, step by step, by the blistering spells the wizard threw at them—already they were around the corner Hannah had hid behind earlier, and if they went any further in that direction, they would hit the Slytherin Dormitories soon. _Do something the other person doesn't expect. _Harry's voice echoed in her head. Hannah took a breath. This was one spell she wouldn't be able to do silently—it was too difficult.

Terry was hit by a curse and dropped, doubling over in apparent pain, clutching his stomach. Pansy was panting and the hand that held her wand was trembling. Hannah ground her teeth together and swished her wand. _"Expecto Patronum!" _A silvery hummingbird flashed brightly and vanished down the corridor, and Hannah threw herself down.

Not fast enough—something hit the hand that held her wand, and it clattered to the floor from her nerveless fingers before zooming silently to the wizard's reaching hand. Praying that the wizard thought that he had taken her out, Hannah crawled silently several feet away. Her heart beat fast, and the arm that he had hit—it felt _heavy, _almost leaden. She couldn't lift it. Trying to stem the rising panic, Hannah tentatively felt at her arm with her other hand and bit back a scream. Beneath her exploring fingers, although the Chameleon charm continued to work, it was evident that her entire arm from fingers to elbow was—stone. It was curiously numb. She couldn't even feel her other hand moving up her arm until it left stone and hit normal skin again. _What kind of curse does this? _She thought fearfully. _He has my wand and, for all intents and purposes, my wand hand. And it looks like Pansy's about to go down too. _

Indeed, the other witch was swaying and grey. A surge of anger rose. _I _won't _let you take my home! _Hannah thought lividly, and threw herself bodily at the stoic Death Eater.

She hit his legs from the side like a bludger, and though he did not fall, he lost his balance for an instant. Long enough for Hannah, trembling with the dead weight of her stone arm, to heave it into the back of his knees with all the force she could sum up. The Death Eater stumbled from the unexpected blow and his legs folded under the stone battering ram—and a hoarse shout, the first sound Pansy had made, and the Death Eater went limp.

Pansy collapsed too, and Hannah pulled herself painfully upright as she heard quick footsteps coming down the dungeon corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her Patronus charm had gotten through, them—there was Su Li and Millicent Bulstrode. They hurried their steps when they caught sight of the sprawled bodies. "Finnegan and Boot, and Parkinson—where's her partner?" Su asked. Millicent furrowed her brow and cast a _Hominum Revealo_ before Hannah could indicate her position. The Chameleon charm didn't prevent the other spell, and Hannah glowed around the edges. "_Finite Incantatum," _she coughed, and dispelled the Chameleon charm.

"Merlin's beard, Hannah, you don't look good," Su said worriedly.

"Neither does Pansy. Was there another Death Eater?" Millicent asked bluntly.

"Not that I know of," Hannah replied.

"Right then. Like we planned?" Millicent turned to Su, who nodded briskly.

"Hannah, can you walk?"

"Yeah, I think." Hannah clambered to her feet, hampered a little by her stone arm. Millicent ignored them all, walking instead to the Death Eater. She muttered a spell, pointing a wand at the robed figure, and then Levitated him. "I'll just take this one to the guarded room and be right back."

"Wait!" Hannah reached out with her working hand to prise her wand from the Death Eater's hand. "Okay, I'm good."

"Hannah, follow me." Su Li hastily un-Stupefied Finnegan, who looked very embarrassed but offered a hand to Terry while Su Levitated Pansy and set off down the corridor. They passed the entrance to the Slytherin Dormitories and down another hallway, where right at the end Su Li entered a dusty room. There were several empty pallets. Pansy was gently lowered onto on, and Terry dumped onto another. Hannah sat gingerly on a third.

"Pansy suffered the most injuries, I think," Hannah informed Su. Su nodded.

"Finnegan, are you injured at all?" Seamus shook his head. "Then do you think you can deal with patrolling and guarding by yourself outside, near the Slytherin dormitories? Millicent will join you when she returns."

He nodded and exited. Su Li cast a diagnostics spell on Pansy, wrinkled her nose, and dug in a small brown bag. Hannah watched in weary fascination as, systematically, Su Li poured potion after potion down Pansy's throat—by this point, her partner was unconscious—and then cast several complicated healing spells that Hannah had seen Madame Pomfrey do before. "She'll be fine, just weak and tired for a bit. She'd better stay her for the rest of the time," Su said decisively. She turned to Terry next. "Hmm." She handed him another phial, which he wordlessly choked down. "Lie down for ten minutes. You should be fine after that to rejoin your partner outside."

Su turned to Hannah, and her eyes visibly brightened. "Now _this _is interesting." Hannah pulled a face. "I'm sure it is, but it's rather unwieldy," she informed the Ravenclaw. "Can you fix it?"

"Hm? Oh." Su prodded at the dark stone arm. "Hold on." Hannah clamped down on the words that wanted to escape from her tongue, and waited. Finally, the girl narrowed her eyes and enunciated a spell Hannah wasn't familiar with. Immediately, the stone slowly began to pinken, and the weight lessened. Hannah watched in fascination as flesh replaced stone. When her entire arm had transformed back, she tried flexing her fingers. It felt as if it were going in slow motion, moving through icy water. "Yes, you'll be rather numb and unfeeling and slow in that arm for the rest of the day at least," Su Li announced cheerfully. "Should be back to normal by tomorrow morning though. Unless you're ambidextrous, I'd suggest staying here. Either that, or sticking close by and with a partner or a group. Hannah groaned.

"Why are you so cheerful?" she demanded.

"Because that was the most interesting curse I've ever been able to reverse," Su Li answered, still smiling. "I've never run across it before. Do you know who cast it?"

"Some Death Eater," Hannah grumped.

"Professor pretending to be Death Eater. I shall have to find out who cast the curse and ask them about it," Su Li mused.

Hannah decided that she'd take her chances outside with Seamus and Millicent, rather than listen to a Ravenclaw wax eloquent on unusual hexes.

**--break-- **

Tonks let out a breath from where she'd been standing, out of the way of the fight, behind a pillar further away from the fight. _Whew, that was intense. _She felt a swell of pride at the quick thinking and great bit of spellwork from the girl who was from her old House. _Hufflepuff pride and all that. _It showed that they weren't the duffs and losers that too many people made them out to be. And boy oh boy, that had been one hell of a fight!

The Slytherin had also proven herself quite capable with a wand—Tonks could think of some Aurors she knew who were less quick on the uptake and casting. _They'd make a great Auror pair, _she mused as she silently wandered the dungeons, looking for other teams and Death Eaters fakes. Then she laughed at herself mentally. _Just out of Auror training and you're already trying to recruit youngsters to the job? _she thought wryly. _Well, there are worse things to be. _

Truly, though, the partnership between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin had been a rare sight to see. They'd naturally played to their own strengths, weakened the Death Eater, and then taken him by surprise entirely. Beautiful job, all of it. Just three or four years ago, Tonks would have been even more astounded that it had been Hufflepuff and _Slytherin _working so well together, like a trained team. Now—well, out there in the real world, what House you had been in didn't matter. You worked with and against a blur of people with ranging skills, and unless you'd known them before, you rarely found out what House they had been in. In fact, working in the Ministry and taking a turn at the paperwork for the Head of Aurors like all trainees had to do, Tonks had met a great deal of people who hadn't even attended Hogwarts at all. Some had been home schooled, or sent to other schools.

_Yes, years ago I'd have been the first to say that the Houses just aren't meant to work together like that, especially not _Slytherin. _But it all seems so ridiculous now—just like judging based on purity of blood, or amount of wealth. It doesn't say a thing about your essential character, and besides, people change. _

_And listen to me, talking as if I were ancient and decrepit, giving advice to my grandchildren! _Tonks chuckled at herself as she aimlessly turned down a larger corridor, marked at its beginning by a grey, dusty suit of armor. Its closed visor gave her the chills, and she wished she hadn't lost the toss with Remus over who should go down to the dungeons for observation. _He'd _gotten the second floor, no cobwebs or drippy leaks or echoing stone and creepy suits of armor lurking about everywhere. Spiders too, probably, if there were cobwebs. They'd split up shortly after Remus had ended the discussion on Hermione's…_similarities…_Tonks shuddered—to Snape. Whatever he wanted to think about the man, he was still a traitor and a murderer and he'd _killed _Albus Dumbledore. Even if he'd been a to-be-pitied boy when he was young, he certainly wasn't a boy and wasn't to be pitied now.

But she'd lost the toss, and with Hermione currently covering the Great Hall where, apparently, the most action was taking place since Harry was ensconced there, Tonks had been shunted to the dungeons. Not that she hadn't enjoyed watching the thrilling and impressive fight she'd observed minutes earlier, but the dungeons had played in some of her most vivid nightmares as a student and its echoing corridors, devoid for the most part of life, was rather…_creepy. _

"_Ahem." _

Tonks screeched, tripped over herself as she twisted herself around furiously, landed flat on her bum, and somehow still managed to get her wand up to fire off a Stunner in the direction the strange voice had come from. The red light soared and crashed…into a painting?

"No need for wands, Auror," said the same voice as Tonks scrambled awkwardly to her feet, still staring. The woman in the portrait smiled, a tiny lifting of her pale lips.

"Don't _startle _me like that!" Tonks exclaimed indignantly, recognizing the cool, feminine alto that had surprised her in the silence. "I could have shred your painting to bits by mistake!"

The woman, skin so white it glowed like snow in the firelight from the hearth in the painting, tilted her head up a little, haughtily. She reminded Tonks of Narcissa Malfoy, but if it was possible, more arrogant. "You needn't have feared _that _outcome," she informed her in a flood of cold sarcasm. "My painting is imbued with multiple protections, of which the best of the living today would not be able to destroy or dismantle."

"Well excuse _me _for breathing," Tonks snapped. "_If _you don't mind, I have a job to see to…"

She turned to go, but the elegant, snooty woman called after her in a ringing tone. "You were a child of Earth in your years here, were you not?"

Tonks blinked. "If by Earth you mean Badger, then yes I was a Hufflepuff. And proud of it too!" she added, before the woman could get in another word. Whatever it was, it was sure to be said in a sneering tone of one looking down on scum. _Even the Gryffindors pity anyone who gets into Hufflepuff. It's _not _something to be ashamed of! _Even her own mother had been taken aback by her Sorting.

"You have very good reflexes," the woman commented, as if talking about the weather (chilly) or the décor (dusty and dark).

"I have to be. I'm an Auror," Tonks replied automatically. Moody's voice in her mind boomed. _Clumsy oaf you might be, and I can't seem to break you of that habit, but if clumsy you must be, then you will be clumsy and _efficient _by the time I'm done with you! _Yes, Alastor Moody had been a wonderful mentor for all his crustiness and bellowing. He'd taken her as a fresh-faced green recruit more prone to falling flat on her face than taking out the enemy, and molded her into a competent—and, Tonks liked to think, skilled—Auror with reflexes that took into account her unfortunate habit of tripping, stumbling, and walking into hard objects and compensated for them. It hadn't been easy. Moody had nearly torn his remaining eye out more than once, dealing with her, and his methods of teaching were…well, it was best he stuck to training Auror recruits, who were adults at least if still rather young. Tonks shuddered to think of letting Moody near anyone younger than seventeen. _What Albus Dumbledore was thinking when he hired Moody to teach here, I don't know…and it didn't turn out too well for anyone involved. _Moody had never been quite the same, after…

"Who are you, anyway?" Tonks asked, out of curiosity.

"Most call me the White Witch," the woman replied. Her eyes were wide and lovely—and currently fixed on Tonks herself, with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "I am the door-keeper to the Slytherin dormitories," the White Witch clarified.

"Oh!" Tonks brightened a little. "I didn't realize I'd wandered to this section of the dungeons. I've never been to this part before…"

"I did not think I recognized your face," the woman—the White Witch—answered. "However, your look…your mother, I believe, was in my House."

"My…oh, yeah." Tonks temporarily shifted into her natural form, which took after her mother, before switching back. "You remember her?"

"Andromeda Black, a quiet girl who enjoyed her own company far more than the company of others. Except, of course, her sisters, and a certain handsome young man whom, if I am not mistaken, gave you the set of your chin."

"My father—Ted Tonks." Tonks felt like laughing hysterically. Here she was, alone in the dungeons of Hogwarts years after she'd graduated, wearing bright red robes and conversing with the portrait entrance to Slytherin about her family history.

"Yes. An unusual couple, and much discouraged in their time. It was the finest example I'd seen of your mother yet in her Slytherin cunning," the White Witch murmured musically.

"What do you mean?"

"Many more than you think defy their families for their love," the White Witch told her. "But your mother went to her sisters first and persuaded promises no pureblood will break if they are sane, that they would protect her, the youngest daughter of the Blacks. Then she cast a spell—a very complicated one indeed, young woman of Earth. It was woman's magic as it has not been practiced for an era, rooted in the elements and primal. It was a spell of protection woven around her love, your father, and should anyone kill him, she too would die."

Tonks made an involuntary noise in the back of her throat. She'd _never _heard any of this before! Her mother had simply informed her that she'd fought, bitterly, with her family before disobeying them and eloping with her father.

The White Witch laughed softly. It was a triumphant-sounding laugh of victory. "Yes, indeed. She was smart, your mother, for when the truth at last came to surface, her sisters were bound to protect their youngest sister, who remained theirs despite the disownment. And to protect their sister, they had to protect her man as well. To this day, the enchantment remains, and some of that protection has come to rest in you as well, although not as strong as your parents would have liked."

"I didn't…" Tonks closed her eyes, mind whirling, trying to reconcile her mother's younger self to her _Mum, _now. To settle the images together, along with that of her estranged aunt. "I didn't know." She shook her head, as if to clear it from the fog that had descended. "I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Love always matters," the other woman said quietly.

Tonks gave a disbelieving stare. "Never thought I'd hear a Slytherin say _that." _

The White Witch frowned sharply, and there was a winter chill in her tone. "I thought that you would have moved past House prejudices by now, child of Earth."

Tonks flushed, immediately ashamed. "Sorry. I didn't mean it," she apologized. "You're right, it was petty and childish of me. I really haven't cared about Houses one way or another since I started Auror training. Whether or not you come from Hufflepuff or Slytherin doesn't make a damn difference when you have to cover each other's backs or both get slaughtered. And it certainly makes no difference whether the person you're trying to take down used to be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It doesn't matter."

Flashes of the few nightmarish scenes she'd walked into as an Auror assaulted her mind. So much violence, and it didn't seem to matter which House you had been in, everyone bled and died the same.

"You have grown, child of Earth," said the White Witch. She rose, eyes boring into Tonks'. "When you walked these walls as a student, you were not ready to learn the truths Hogwarts had to tell you. But today, you are an adult." Restless aquamarine eyes glittered, and slowly, the White Witch dropped in a courtesy—the kind Tonks' mum had taught her was a particular acknowledgement of respect for an equal. Not deeper than ninety degrees, back straight and eyes locked with hers. Shocked, Tonks could only watch as the White Witch rose wordlessly, approval heavy in her lidded gaze and the set of her lithe body.

"What just happened?" she managed to get out. It sounded rather silly in the context, but Tonks was used to looking silly.

The White Witch laughed, a rich bell tone and her face broke it's icy set of arrogance. "Oh, child, you will do well," she remarked with amusement. "What just happened is that today you are no longer just child of Earth, but one claimed by all elements—a true Child of Hogwarts. If you should need my assistance, and I think you will, you merely have to speak my name and I will come and aid you as I may."

"So…I just call for the White Witch and you…come?" Tonks said doubtfully.

"No, sister. My true name is the Morrigan. Do not use it _unless _in dire need, and I trust you not to use it even in passing," the woman warned. She settled back into her reclining position, adjusting the snowy fall of her heavy skirts with the ease of having done it a dozen times.

Tonks nodded a little dumbly. "Sure, right," she agreed, mind still struggling to catch up to the events. "I'll just, ah…see you around then." She wandered off vaguely, managing to almost walk into a squat stone pillar before stubbing her toe on the base and jerking back just in time. She absently walked around it and disappeared from sight down another corridor.

The White Witch sighed and winced. Her heart might be in the right place and her soul ready for this step, but the girl was a walking disaster. She had no doubt her aid would be needed, sooner rather than later, for the accident-prone Auror.

**--break--**

Hermione blinked dizzily as something rose in the back of her mind. It had been silent for a good long while, so long she'd almost forgotten…_Hogwarts? _

_Yes. _

_I'm sorry, I've been so busy I've neglected you, _she apologized mentally, guilt coloring her tone.

A feeling that translated loosely as _no problem, _if a castle could say something like that, tickled her mind. She smiled, and let the quill drop on top of her grading book. _So, what has been happening? Anything important? _

Images floated up. _The DA, practicing furiously…Harry was smiling and shouting encouragement…Draco was lying in the hospital wing, a distorted blur beside him—Skye?—and outside, someone (green emblem, a Slytherin), conferring in a low tone with Madame Pomfrey and gesturing to a Petrified boy on the ground—oh, the poisoning attempt!...laughter, as the unHoused first years mingled with all Houses in a dizzying array of green, red, yellow, and blue…a Ravenclaw, helping a small Slytherin pick up her books…a group of DA members from all four Houses, back to back and defending each other furiously in the Room of Requirement…_

Hermione's sight cleared, and she cleared her throat. _Are you trying to tell me that the Houses are finally pulling together? _

At the tickle of assent in her brain, Hermione grinned. _That's great! I'm so glad for you. You're feeling better now, right? _

_Yes. _

There was something else, though, as if Hogwarts castle was waiting for permission to go forward. _Okay, shoot. _

Another sequence of events, but this time slowed down a little. _The White Witch, speaking…"child of Earth…"…"claimed by all elements"…Tonks' bemused face, gaping comically…"what just happened…"_

"Oh!" Hermione breathed. "Tonks has been made a Child of Hogwarts!" Hogwarts murmured in a pleased, agreeing fashion, and Hermione asked, _when did this happen? _

A flash—_Hermione herself, stalking in a red robe around the second floor of Hogwarts…groups of DA members, attacking a professor clad as a Death Eater…the dungeons, as Hannah and Pansy battled another Death Eater imitator and a shadow that was _distinctively red, _watching…_during the DA game simulation?

Yes, it was definitely then, just earlier this evening. Tonks had watched two pairs of DA fight the disguised Flitwick, who'd been very impressed by them and had complimented Hannah and Pansy especially for their double-teaming. Hannah had looked horrified when she realized that the person she'd attacked had been her favorite teacher—she loved Charms. Tonks had been quite amused at that, Hermione remembered, but she'd been rather dreamier than usual. Well, being chosen as a Child of Hogwarts—or being confronted by the White Witch—had rather dazing effects on anyone. Hermione wasn't sure which two of the circumstances, the being chosen or the White Witch herself actually caused that sort of reaction…_Well, she'll sort it out soon enough. If she doesn't, Remus will for her so I don't have to worry. And it's more news to tell Severus the next time I see him, _Hermione thought with satisfaction. _Thank you for letting me know, Hogwarts. Is there anything else?_

_Dissent. _

_Okay. Thanks again! _

The pressure at the back of her mind lessened and vanished abruptly, and Hermione picked up her quill again. Good news didn't get student evaluations done unfortunately, and they had to be finished before the Christmas Hols.

**A.N.: My apologies if this chapter is rather choppy the way it cuts between scenes and characters. I had an original chapter written, then realized it didn't fit with what I had in mind for a future event in the plot, and had to go back and rewrite and sort of mix and match with the bits I could still include and the bits that I rewrote. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

_**Fodio **_**is Latin for "to prick or sting," so the English-Latin online translator tells me. So, some type of Stinging hex. **_**Dissimulo**_** means, according to that same translator, "conceal," and I'm using it a little liberally as a spell that will grant you the same sort of effects as the chameleon's famous quality—literally blending into the surroundings by taking on the same color and look as whatever you're standing against. **


	67. Chapter 67

**Disclaimer: There's no profit being made. **

Winter Solstice was traditionally a day to celebrate the cyclical nature of life, death, and rebirth. It seemed appropriate then, to Draco, that on the longest night of the year, they would be attempting a ritual that would essentially combine all elements of the cycle of life. He prayed that it would be life and rebirth that would be ascendant as the sun rose on December 22, the day after solstice. If it were death, eternal night would claim Skye. And he couldn't allow that, couldn't fathom a life without her in it.

They had spent weeks researching exactly what kind of spells and ceremony the soul-summoning ritual demanded, as well as spells and precautions they needed to take to ensure that Skye returned to life. End-of-term exams had come and gone. Most of the students had left to go back home. Some said goodbye to Hogwarts forever—many Death Eaters had, without an explanation, quietly withdrawn their children from Hogwarts. They finished out the term and solemnly went home, knowing that they would not return for the spring term. Many had argued. Many had not.

Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, and Theodore did not return home that Christmas.

Neither did Hermione Granger, although no one commented on that fact. She was a professor now after all. Professors did not have lives outside of school.

Harry Potter had not remained, a fact for which Draco was infinitely grateful. It was difficult enough dealing with the boy hero during DA meetings and the inevitable class together. They had mainly ignored each other this year—they might be on the same side, they might even respect each other, but that didn't mean they were great friends. Draco still thought that Potter, despite being a lot easier to get along with this year now that Ginny Weasley had taken him in hand, was all-together far too idealistic and Gryffindorish and…_shiny…_to handle for long periods of time. The boy didn't have a cynical, self-preserving, common sense _bone _in his body! Draco felt some unknown tension leave his body as Potter and Weasley left to spend their break with the Weasleys.

However, a great deal more students remained at Hogwarts than in all the years previous. The greatest majority of them were Slytherins. Draco did not need to be a welcomed part of his House like he had been when he had been a Malfoy and a Dark Lord supporter to see the shadowy fears in his Housemates' faces. They knew that if they returned home, they faced the pressure to stay home permanently and keep out of the fight. Or perhaps, they would be one of the unlucky few chosen to swear allegiance formally to the Dark Lord and be branded. Draco acknowledged with respect the small group of Slytherins who had stayed at Hogwarts and by doing so, effectively cast themselves on the other side of the war—on the other side of friends, family, and perhaps both. No other family went to the extreme example the Malfoys had set by disowning their only child, but the Headmistress confiscated three letters that would have Portkeyed a child home against his will, and ordered that all mail be filtered and scanned before arriving in a student's hands.

Draco realized, as he looked around the Great Hall this morning, that the remaining students were either Slytherin or part of the DA. _Or both, _he reminded himself with an ounce of disbelieving pride for the brave few souls that fell into both categories. _Or both._ He pushed his chair back, not hungry anymore. Today was Midwinter Day, historically celebrated among witches and wizards although no one had followed those customs in decades. Christmas had become the important day to celebrate. Still, it was a weighty day crackling with potential power. Tonight they would be harnessing some of that potential and channeling it into their ritual.

"Hi," he greeted Skye as he entered the Room of Requirement. She had avoided breakfast today in favor of 'sitting and thinking a bit by myself,' as she'd said to him this morning. He had respected her wishes. After all, it was her life they were gambling with tonight. But she'd asked him to join her after breakfast, if he didn't have any plans today. _Of course I don't have any plans. Not if they don't involve you. _But he hadn't said that. Instead, he'd simply agreed to meet her here.

She'd imagined them a cozy room decorated in warm browns and golds. A large fire crackled in front of a single, oversized blue sofa. It was the only light in the room, and there were no apparent windows. Despite being almost unbearably bright outside today, the sky the color of a new silver coin, it felt like a warm evening inside the room. There were rag rugs everywhere, homey and softening the stone floors. Draco, comfortable in loose black robes that were just a tad too ragged for any Malfoy to have ever worn in public _or _private, padded over softly to seat himself next to Skye.

"Good morning, handsome," she said playfully, and air-hugged him.

Proficient by now at how to maneuver around her intangibility, Draco leaned over and pecked her on her lips, or at least where her lips were although he could not feel them. "Good morning, beautiful," he responded. "How have you been?"

"Oh…just thinking," she sighed, flopping back into the sofa's fluffy cushions. "I never did figure out how I can't seem to _touch _anything, and yet I can walk and sit and stand on solid objects," she mused. "I can't manipulate any object, but at least it bears up my weight…er…non-weight."

Draco sniggered. "Almost every other girl would love to claim at least one aspect of your ghostyness," he told her. "You can truthfully say that you weigh as light as air!"

She joined him in his laughter, giggling aloud at that, but too soon, she trailed off moodily. "I'm scared, Draco," she admitted. "I know this is no kind of life I have right now, but…" she looked at him helplessly, gesturing widely. The firelight gleamed through her. "It's still being _alive. _I want to be able to see the sun rise again, and visit my parents' graves and tell them about what happened today, and joke around with you. Talk with you. I don't want all of that to just…" she paused, struggling to fight back tears.

"You'll get to do that again, and more," Draco insisted.

Skye took a deep breath. "Yeah," she said quietly. She stared fixedly at her clasped hands on her translucent lap, gripping each other tightly. Draco cursed to himself, and then turned his body fully around to face Skye. "Whatever happens, I promise that you will always have my love," he said softly. "I can't really promise that everything, every precaution we've put into place, goes horribly out of whack. I can't promise that the spells won't backfire or do something we didn't want it to do. But I can promise this: that I will love no one else until my dying day and beyond. Skye Corwin, you saw something in me no one else has ever taken the trouble to find, even with the way I treated you and what the Malfoys have done to you. I was a horribly troubled snotty kid when you appeared in my life like an angel, and today everything good about me is entirely due to _you." _Draco reached out in the familiar gesture of palm-to-palm meeting, locked eyes with the girl he had fallen irrevocably in love with. "If you die, you take my heart with you into the peace and happiness that you deserve. If you live, you still hold my heart in your hands and I would be the happiest man in the world if you would agree to spending the rest of that life, however long it is, with me." Draco blinked, and realized what had just come out of his mouth. _Did I just…_propose _to Skye? _He turned red, his chest beating an unbearably fast time. "I…uh, if that's what you wish, anyway," he stammered, heart in his mouth. He hadn't _meant _to propose right off the bat like this!

"I mean, uh,—just—it's your freedom if the ritual works," he continued, well-aware of the heat pressing down on him from Skye's vivid eyes. "I understand if you don't want to, you know, promise forever and all that when you are free again. It wouldn't be fair to just be chained again, and all…"

"Draco?"

He swallowed. Hard. And weakly, he responded, "Yeah…?"

"Yes."

"I understand, it's your freedom and all—wait, what?"

"_Yes, _you doofus. _Yes, yes, _yes!" She was almost shouting now, and her eyes were _definitely _tearing up. "I thought you'd never get up the courage to ask me, and especially since I know you were unreasonably and stupidly worried about me leaving once I got my body back." She snorted to let him know, once again, what she thought of _that _idea. "Wild horses and death wouldn't part me from you, Draco." Her eyes swam with liquid and love. Draco was lost in them, head swirling. "_Yes, _Draco," she half-laughed, half-sobbed. "Yes, I will marry you."

Air came rushing back into his lungs, and he hoarsely croaked something. He wasn't sure what it was, but their palms met each others and then their lips, and although it must have been his imagination, Draco could have _sworn _that he felt heat and pressure on his mouth for a split second, almost as if…almost as if Skye's lips had, at his touch, solidified for an instant. "I love you, Skye Corwin," he murmured. "I love you. We'll be okay. Everything will be okay."

And, just for the moment, it was.

**--break--**

As the participating members of the soul-summoning ritual gathered and took their places in a silent circle on the grass, Tonks dimmed her hair to an appropriate somber black—the real color of her hair, which she rarely wore. It reminded her too much of her unfortunate relatives on her mother's side of the family. She surveyed the small group with a bit of apprehension but appreciation for the hard work they'd done that led up to this moment. It had been a bit of a technical difficulty setting up the ritual, for several reasons. Of course, they needed not just the spirit of Skye but her actual physical body as well. How to get her out of St. Mungo's while she was still in an apparent coma was rather tough, but after multiple strings pulled by Danielle and Hestia, it had been filed as a "home visit," and no one but the Order knew that "home" was currently in the middle of the circle of wizards and witches, lying disturbingly prone on the grass.

Tradition required that it take place out of doors at midnight, far away from the chatter and noise of humanity. Filius had spoken with Hagrid, who had spoken with the Centaurs, and after a long discussion the Centaurs had agreed to protect and watch over the ritual members as they attempted their spells in outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Or, at least, enough Centaurs had agreed to do so and the other dissenting members of the herd had agreed, reluctantly and angrily, to stay out of it and far away from the area that night.

There was little light to see by. Some ordinary lanterns, unsupported by magic, were hung in trees a little ways off, but they couldn't risk having too much light attract any predator in the Forbidden Forest. Nor could they afford the usual spell to mask the light from creatures—it might interfere with the delicate balance of magic in the ritual.

They stood in a perfect circle, the five of them. Tonks turned her head marginally to view her cousin beside her, expression as blank as usual and staring at the empty spot in the middle of the circle right beside where Skye's body lay. That would be where Skye's spirit would be. Or ought to be at this point anyway. Tonks considered the pale-skinned boy for a moment. Her mother had never been very open-mouthed about her family, and Tonks hadn't even known she'd been related to the Malfoys until her fifth year at Hogwarts when she'd stumbled on some old newspaper clippings of the marriage of Narcissa Black to Lucius Malfoy. It stood to reason, with all the unfortunate baggage between both families, that Tonks had never gotten to know her cousin either.

She'd hated Draco Malfoy before she'd even met him, on principle. She'd seen, although her mother had tried to keep it from her, the immeasurable grief of being summarily tossed out of the family and disowned. Her sisters had refused to acknowledge her, and her parents had pretended that they had only two daughters. Although Andromeda loved her husband and child fiercely and wouldn't choose any different, Tonks knew that she still missed the days of her childhood and her family.

But Tonks was grown now, a full Auror, and she had put past grudges behind to work with Malfoy on this project—on restoring Skye to her body and to the people who loved her. She'd been prepared to endure the smarmy little git…and said git had surprised her by being consistently polite, intelligent, and witty. It hadn't taken long before she genuinely _liked _her cousin for himself.

And then he'd been disowned, and Draco Lysander seemed to come into his own away from the name and heritage of the Malfoy lineage. He was less afraid to be himself, more ready to show his emotions, his opinions, his passions.

Speaking of _passions…_Tonks forced her hair to remain the same color. It wouldn't do to alert anyone to the way her face kept trying to twitch and break into an enormous grin at so serious an occasion. She snuck another look at the blond boy, who was still staring at the center of the circle with a clenched jaw. _Oh yes, indeed. Remus will enjoy hearing about this. I wonder if Danielle's guessed? She's normally quite sharp on the uptake, but then it _is _her niece we're talking about. Hestia's already guessed, I've been hard pressed to keep her off Draco's back about it. No matter what she thinks, it's quite obvious as the nose on Snape's ugly, traitorous mug that Draco and Skye are in love. _

That, of all the factors of this ritual, was what made Tonks the most confident of anyone who stood in the circle tonight. Dumbledore had always said that love would triumph, always. He might be dead, but his message wasn't. Tonks made sure of that. She rather thought Dumbledore would have enjoyed the proceedings.

Flitwick, their resident expert on Charms and spells, raised his wand and intoned a long Latin phrase that Tonks didn't catch much of and didn't actually understand. She'd never been good at incantations, but they'd gone over each step of their plan so often that Tonks knew by heart, if not by actual translation, that Flitwick was establishing a Merlin's circle, a bonded circle of magical trust between willing witches and wizards that shared power and unified them as a whole. The short man brought his wand down sharply, and a sphere of light raced from the tip of it to rapidly grow and engulf them all in a translucent pearl glow. Every line in Flitwick's tiny stature was rigid and fierce and not alike the tight stance of a Hippogriff stalking prey. Intellectually, Tonks knew that Flitwick was a formidable wizard despite his height and normally jovial, placid nature. He _had _been the winner of the International Dueling Competition some years ago, after all. Still, to actually see the small man shift abruptly into so different a personality was a different thing altogether.

"Who comes as petitioner?" asked Flitwick formally.

"I do. I am Danielle Corwin, and I come here on behalf of my niece and ward Skye Corwin."

"I do. I am Draco Lysander and I come on behalf of my friend and spirit-companion Skye Corwin," Draco echoed. There was a silence, broken after perhaps ten seconds or so by Draco's brief nod. Skye had presumably said her piece as well.

Flitwick continued on. "What is your request?"

"We request that Skye Corwin's spirit be placed safely back in her body and that she suffer no harm from her time away," Danielle said firmly. Draco once again repeated her answer, and in the silence Skye did as well.

"And can you vouch for Skye Corwin?"

"I can. I have seen Skye brought into this world and grow up in it. She has displayed a consistent deep moral fibre and intelligent curiosity, contributing in any way she can to this world."

"I too can speak for Skye. I have seen her handle painful events with maturity and learn from them. She has not kept hatred close to her heart, but forgiven with grace and love."

"Then your petitions stand. Let the suppliant state her pledge."

An instant later, at Draco's signal, Flitwick raised his wand again. In response, so did everyone else. Tonks felt her hand tremble, just slightly, and willed it steady once more. She wished Remus were here. Latin incantations again, but Tonks was not focusing on the words this time. She was focusing on her part of the ritual now. It was deceptively simple, and appeared that way on the surface—five wizards and witches holding up their wands silently. But the Arithmancy calculations that had gone into it were mind-boggling. Tonks could still see them in her sleep, dancing tauntingly just beyond her reach, numbers shifting now and again, sometimes erasing one line, sometimes creating a paradox so massive she would have to begin from the beginning again. And the _strain _of sheer magic!

No lights, no sound but Flitwick's harsh voice going on and on, no evidence of the soul-summoning. Nothing but the almost-inhuman amount of _energy _that Flitwick was gathering from each of them with each word and twisting together to thrust into some unseen black void. She didn't dare spare even a hand to swipe the sweat that ran, slick and salty, into her eyes and gasping mouth. Wave after staggering wave _pounded, _crashing solidly over her head, lifting her off her feet and tossing her like a rag doll in a maelstrom of pure magic. The tiniest portion of her brain knew that it was merely her mind that was being torn apart—her physical body remained standing calmly, feet planted firmly on the grass, chest heaving without an apparent source of its distress. But the main part of Tonks was flailing desperately in the sea of magic, struggling to keep her head above the water and keep _sending _her magic to Flitwick, who stood, a small solid rock, in the middle of the churning chaos. _Just…a little…more! _She thrust the rest of her magic blindly towards where she thought Flitwick stood, directing the storm, and felt her knees give and her vision blur into black.

There was a ringing silence in her ears, and her body ached. Tonks opened her eyes with a great effort, and realized that she was on her hands and knees on the floor of the Forbidden Forest, and that she must have blacked out just for an instant. Gasping in a deep breath, she wearily pushed herself back, sitting on her legs, and looked around.

It was as though an invisible storm had ripped through their little clearing, but left the rest of the forest untouched. Leaves littered the floor, there were divots where bare soil and ragged patches of torn-up grass showed, and every one of them were in various positions on the ground as if they had all be thrown there by force. _We look like hell, _Tonks decided. And Flitwick looked the worst, lying still with face to the grass, limbs splayed as if he'd been dropped from a great height. One hand still clenched around his wand. He didn't look alive.

Auror training took over, even as she felt every single of her muscles and bones groan and rub painfully against each other. She staggered more or less to her feet, and stumbled her way over to his body. A closer glance told her that he _was _alive, thank Merlin, still breathing, but out cold and no doubt magically exhausted. Conducting and controlling that storm was an almost impossible feat. Tonks shuddered.

A hoarse croak caught her attention. She half-turned to see Draco, hair askew and face dirty, crawl towards the serene body of Skye Corwin, who among all of them lay peacefully without a hair out of place, as if the storm had not touched her.

Lay…_too _still. Heart in her mouth, Tonks watched as her cousin dragged himself to her side and touched her shoulder.

"Skye. _Skye." _He shook her weakly. Tonks and the rest of the group looked on helplessly as the boy searched desperately for a pulse in her wrist, in her throat. "Skye, you have to wake up," he pleaded, his voice raw. "_Please, _Skye. You can't leave me…you _promised. _You _promised!" _

There was a deathly hush, broken only by Draco's rapid pants. He shook her again, futilely, and Tonks felt a tear slip down her own cheek. _It's over, and we lost the battle. She's gone. _

A sob came from beyond Draco, and Tonks vaguely recognized Danielle. But for the life of her, she couldn't tear her eyes from the pathetic tableau the shaking boy and the still girl made, in the heart of the broken circle. _Merlin. Merlin. _She didn't know if it was a prayer or an accusation.

"No…" the boy bent to take the body of Skye Corwin into his arms although his own trembled with effort or sorrow. He rocked back and forth, hypnotically. "_No…_you can't leave me, Skye. You can't…oh gods, Skye…" his voice broke. "I love you…"

What happened next was up for debate. Tonks later swore she saw a spark of gold light leap from Draco's mouth to Skye's as he pressed his lips to hers. Danielle, when pressed, said that she had seen a glow emanate from the boy to wash over her niece as he kissed her. Hestia insisted that there had been nothing to _see, _but a sound like a pure note of phoenix song had rung through the stillness. Flitwick was, of course, unconscious and unable to see anything at all. The subjects in question never spoke of it at all. Whatever had happened, they would never truly know, but one instant Draco had bent to tenderly kiss Skye Corwin, and the next instant—she _moved. _

They froze, as the girl they had known was dead despite all their efforts to the contrary choked, coughed, and then took a breath. And then another. And a third. Her eyes slid open, to meet Draco's, and Tonks averted her eyes at the aura of love and joy that radiated from the couple. She felt as if she were intruding on a preciously intimate scene. A strange longing welled up within herself, and unbidden, the image of Remus came into her mind. _Remus. _Suddenly all she wanted to do was go home and fire-call her love, and spend the rest of her afternoon just lying in his arms.

A new step sounded, and Tonks raised her head to see Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall step into the clearing. Madame Pomfrey had been waiting for a signal from Hestia to come and attend to the lot of them—Flitwick had warned them that they would be useless for anything for at least a week. _But Skye is alive, _Tonks thought wonderingly, as the Mediwitch took charge effortlessly, bustling around to check on Flitwick and Skye with natural efficiency before gaining McGonagall's aid to move them to the self-Levitating stretchers that floated briskly towards Hogwarts and the Hospital Wing. _Skye is alive._ Tonks caught sight of a very familiar brown-haired man pacing anxiously as they entered the Hospital Wing, and her face lit up. With Remus finally holding her hand, murmuring something to her, she finally felt secure enough to let her eyes close and darkness sweep her into a deep and dreamless sleep. Skye was alive and Remus was here, and that was all that mattered right now.

**A.N.: My apologies for the slightly late update. My Internet connection decided to take a hike so I had to wait for a guy to come and replace my broken modem. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	68. Chapter 68

**Disclaimer: Oh HP, how do I own thee? Let me count the ways…hmm…none, none, and none again. Alas! **

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: PLEASE read the Author's Note at the bottom of this chapter. It is very important. **

_"Are you…certain about this, Hermione?" Severus asked, face more drawn with worry than Hermione had seen in a while. He looked uncharacteristically nervous. _

_"Yes, perfectly," she answered with a confidence she did not completely feel. _

_"Then I will do it."_

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, calling to mind the absolute trust he had placed in her, both as his handler and as his partner. Lover. _Well, technically I can't term what we have as such. We haven't _done _anything serious yet. _Of course, the fact that their meetings were more dictated by information-passing and so on, rather than the usual method of seeing one another. And the fact that she couldn't exactly swing by his place to surprise him, nor could he spend a relaxing evening with her in hers. _It's getting bloody frustrating, it is. Sure, it's rather an awkward subject and one I will probably turn red as a tomato confronting, but still, this is totally ridiculous! We're evidently past the casual, getting-to-know-you stage of the relationship, we're mostly comfortable with each other, and...well, a girl's got needs! _

The last was almost a whine. _And, _Hermione shuddered, _in Ginny's voice. _Confound it all to pieces, she was going to go crazy from the _wanting _him soon enough, if the bloody war and the bloody circumstances and their own bloody avoidance didn't stop shredding her relationship into bits before she even had a chance to pass "go" and collect 200. _I wonder if they have a Wizarding version of Monopoly? _she wondered idly, before slapping herself mentally for the distraction.

Today was Christmas Eve. Just barely, of course—the beginnings of a grey-blue dawn with snow clouds patching the sky was just glimmering to life, the new sun peeking like a little child over the horizon. It had been snowing horrifically for the past few days, and would no doubt snow later this day as well, judging by the look of the sky, which was already at this early hour starting to look a little leaden. Hermione had not been able to sleep all night. She'd almost resorted to a Dreamless Sleep potion, but her father's daughter was just too strong to ignore. _You can't take all sorts of medication every time you get a little sniffle or you can't sleep or you've caught a cough, little know-it-all, _her father's voice chided across time and space. _If you do, your body acclimates to them and then they would be useless. _

_Why would they be useless, Daddy? _Hermione's own little-girl voice piped.

_Why, I suppose that's a question you're going to have to find out the answer to yourself, sweetheart. _

Young Hermione smiled gleefully. _Does this mean a trip to the library? _

_Of course. Tomorrow, okay? _

_Okay. _

How she missed her parents, the solid, warm, comforting presence of them. They'd always had the answers to every question she asked, and inevitably they'd always directed her to _find it out yourself. _This would be her second Christmas in a row away from her parents, and she felt their absence bitterly, and the little traditions they had.

_But…_

But. They were alive, living in the midst of a gorgeous and enthralling library crammed with books, and they were together. It didn't drive away the loneliness completely, but it eased the band around her heart a little. They would probably be dragooning everyone into their special traditions, back in their safe house. Between them, they were a force to be reckoned with, Mum and Dad.

And she would see Severus today.

That dispelled the last of the lingering heartache and homesickness. If there was anyone more alone than she, it was Severus. But this Christmas would also mark the first that they would spend as a couple. _And hopefully the last under these kinds of unfortunate circumstances. _Severus was arriving this afternoon to receive his spellphone, for Minerva had finally agreed, albeit reluctantly, to suspend judgment for the time being and allow him into Hogwarts. Hermione had no doubt that it would be taxing on him—on all of them. It would be the first time he had been back since he had fled after killing Albus. Not to mention just because Minerva _said _she'd suspend judgment didn't mean Severus wouldn't feel the full weight of her coldness, and Hermione knew Severus too well to think that he would just be able to brush it off. Outwardly, yes, but inside, it would only add mountain's weight to the guilt he carried around constantly.

_Still. _If there was no one else to be optimistic about it, then it would have to fall to Hermione to dredge up a bit of Gryffindor unflappability and go to it. _Glass half full. Glass half full. Glass—_

Something shimmered and appeared, in the corner of Hermione's eye. She turned her head to look. On a silver tray, there was a large breakfast, a coffee pot steaming and full—and a very large glass _entirely _filled with orange juice. Hermione stared for an instant and then burst out laughing. It looked like fate approved of her attitude, at least. She moved from where she was sitting curled up on the window seat of the window (Charmed to give the view of Hogwarts grounds and beyond as if she were living eight stories above ground rather than several levels below.) Seating herself at the table, she helped herself to the food. It wouldn't do to spurn fate's—or an observant house-elf's—offer, after all.

By ten o'clock that morning, Hermione was unbearably restless. She had completed all the errands she'd needed to run, browsed the library, read several pages of a particularly disinteresting book on the effects of Boggarts on creatures classified as non-human, and rechecked for the thirty-sixth time that her Christmas present for Severus was still safe and right where she'd left it, under the small dark green imitation Christmas tree she'd set up in the corner of her living room. She wondered nervously if he would like what she had gotten him—she'd gone spare, trying to figure out a suitable gift. Everyone else had been easy, but Severus was in a category of his own and _easy _did not describe it.

It had taken three straight weeks of hard thought, an accidental discovery in the Library of Dreams, a weekend of rampaging through both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and a quick lesson from Flitwick, who had been rather curious although she gave him no satisfaction, but she'd finally completed it two days ago. _Good thing too, I was beginning to think I'd overestimated my own skills…_

"Hermione?"

Hermione spun around, wand appearing in her hand, before she registered that she recognized the voice. "Minerva!"

She hastily lowered her wand. The other witch did not remark on it, for which Hermione was thankful. "Good morning," she greeted. "I did not mean to startle you. I dropped by to tell you that your…guests are trickling in."

_Guests? What…oh! _The bubble of panic burst. _Of course. It'll be Lionel Jordan and his gang of helpers who are essential to the binding ritual of the spellphone to the owner. _"I wasn't expecting them this early," Hermione stated in surprise.

"Mister Jordan's enthusiasm for his project is the most likely culprit," Minerva informed her wryly. Hermione sighed gustily.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget Lionel's enthusiasm," she commented in a dry tone. "I'm surprised their parents let them come this early though. It _is _Christmas Eve."

"They are probably on their knees thanking whomever they worship for a day off from the kids," declared another voice from behind Minerva. "Hullo, Minerva, I thought I'd drop by and say hi to one of our recipients of the new spellphone. Perhaps you recall me, Hermione?"

"Chris!" Hermione sprang to her feet, beaming to see the good-natured Auror who had been inducted along with her into the Order. She hadn't seen him since they'd stopped having dueling lessons together, and she hadn't heard from him since. "Chris Harper, I don't believe it's you! How have you been?"

"Drowning in sorrow, since the day we were cruelly parted," the Auror announced dramatically.

She giggled, then caught a glimpse of something bright and silver on his hand. Her own shot out and captured his, and she took a good long look, an enormous smile blossoming on her face. "It looks like you had no trouble replacing me, or did you just get a ring on your wedding finger for kicks?" she retorted.

"Well…"

"Who is she, and does she deserve to be chained to you?"

"Ouch! I protest!"

Hermione slugged him in the arm in response, to the amusement of Minerva, who had been standing and observing them with a glint in her eye. The older witch interrupted quickly before Hermione could find another insult to tease Chris with. "It looks as if you two have a lot to catch up on, so I'll leave you to it," she told Hermione. "There are others arriving as well though, and wandering through Hogwarts. I've told them to meet at the Great Hall at one o'clock."

"Thanks, Minerva," Hermione said fervently. The witch nodded, started to leave, and then paused. A hint of color rose to her cheek.

"My dear, I know I have been slightly unreasonable in…certain matters," she said seriously. "However, know that I will do my utmost best to forgive, if what you have told me is truth."

"Thank you, Minerva," Hermione repeated quietly, meeting the older witch's eyes. "It means a lot to me—to…everyone," she finished vaguely, remembering Chris' presence.

The Scottish witch nodded, seemingly embarrassed, and whisked out within seconds. Hermione turned back to Chris, leading him over to the chairs in front of the fire. "In all seriousness though, congratulations," Hermione said sincerely, ignoring the curious look in his eye after having observed the cryptic exchange between her and Minerva. "You're a great guy, and she's a lucky girl."

Chris smiled, clearly willing to drop his unasked questions. "It was rather a spur-of-the-moment thing we did, Martha and I, or we'd have invited you to the wedding. But since it was just me, her, and the priest…"

"Priest?"

"Yeah, she's completely Muggle. Sister of one of my friends," Chris said easily.

Hermione blinked. "Isn't that a bit unusual? How did she take…you know…"

"Well she already knew about magic, seeing as how her brother is an Auror too," Chris laughed. "But yeah, it was a little hard at first, you know? It took a little work to make it happen, but I think that's how all meaningful relationships are, you know? Working together to find a way around the barriers and obstacles and misunderstandings between each other. Being willing to try, and see past someone's superficial qualities and actually look at _them, _their inner character."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed softly, thinking of Severus. "It is."

Chris pounced on her few words. "_Hermione," _he began warningly. "Have you _met _someone?"

"Of course not, Chris!" She sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears.

"Come on, you can tell me, I won't tell a soul," he pleaded, sounding as usual much younger than his actual age.

"There's nothing to tell."

He snorted. "Come on, Hermione, you're terrible at lying."

_No, not really, _Hermione thought distantly. _Not so terrible at lying at all. I even lied to the Dark Lord and got away with it. _But Chris was right, in this instance. She was doing a horrible job of lying to him.

"It's nothing," she said more firmly. "Nothing at all."

"But…"

"Leave it, Chris."

Her tone convinced him that it was not a wise idea to push further. He gave her a Look but subsided, and the topic shifted not so subtly back to his Martha and how wonderful and brilliant and beautiful she was.

After an hour's worth of catching up in which Hermione's mind wandered with an infuriating frequency to a certain wizard with a penchant for black robes and a sinfully sensual mouth. It was a good thing that Chris, with his newly wedding bliss along with the fact that he _wasn't _Harry or Ron and didn't feel the need to meddle in her life but accepted that Hermione could take care of her own business, made no further comment on her unusual vagueness. Finally, the Auror left to make the rounds of all the remaining professors staying for the holidays, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Casting a _Tempus _charm, she ascertained that it was just past eleven. _Perfect. I'll be a little late to lunch, but it _is _the hols after all. And I need some stress relief that doesn't strain my eyes or require extensive use of my brain, considering how Severus had made absolute mush of it just by his existence. _She hurried to change, gleefully donning the clothes she had only on the strictest and unsatisfactory schedule been able to wear. A hastily thrown on cloak covered the rather unorthodox choice of clothing, and then Hermione and practically ran the flights of stairs. She bumped into Lionel Jordan and another boy—a Hufflepuff third year—gleefully racing at a breakneck speed down a moving staircase.

"Mister Jordan! Mister—" _Hamilton, it has to be Hamilton, he's the one that blew up the cauldron on the last day of Potions before Christmas Hols. _"—Mister Hamilton," Hermione continued without the slightest hint that she had forgotten the Hufflepuff's name. "Are you attempting to kill yourselves?"

"No, Ma'am," they chorused cheerfully as one.

"Then kindly refrain from running in Hogwarts, _especially _on the moving staircases!" she admonished severely.

They grinned at her unrepentantly with expressions reminiscent of the Weasley twins, and Hermione suppressed an involuntary shudder of dread. _Thank goodness they're older than me, and quit school besides. I don't think I could have handled teaching them. No wonder McGonagall always looked so frazzled whenever she spotted them! _"Sorry Ma'am," they sang out, and continued down the rest of the steps at a barely checked pace. She shook her head over them but continued on her way up.

Finally, she stood before a blank section of wall, concentrating, and a thrill rang in her veins as the door to the Room of Requirement slowly slid into being. Slipping inside, Hermione began to stretch and warm up. She hadn't had time lately for more than a bit of a run and some practice against a dummy, and it wouldn't do to pull a muscle. It was time to catch up on all the fitness training and dueling practice she'd missed out on with the million and one things she had to do, and while dummies conjured up by the Room of Requirement weren't quite as good as a real dueling partner, it was all she had at the moment and adding several more dummies to the mix would up the ante a little.

**--break--**

Severus closed his eyes, breathing rhythmically. It was a testimony to his control over himself that his breaths were not panicky or irregular, although if one knew him very well indeed one might notice that his normal rate of breathing had sped up a little. _It's time. _He wore a thick black cloak to ward off the winter chill, but the cold was the least of his worries now. He was about the start the last leg of his stealthy journey to Hogwarts—it had taken three separate a Floo travel, three separate Apparations to get here, out in the middle of…well, no where. He would not risk any part of him traced to Hogwarts—he had no business there and the Dark Lord would not take it too kindly if he heard, whether fact or rumor, that his trusted servant had gone to a stronghold of the Light.

It was only a short distance away now—short not by human judgment, but by a bird. With barely more than a thought, Severus breathed in—and his shape rippled in the blustery wind and silently falling snow. The raven disliked the cold, wet snow bank he was standing on, and took flight, sleek black feathers blurred by the unceasing snow.

The journey was quiet and uneventful. Once, the raven heard a wolf's lonely howl, and shivered although it neither full moon nor night. Another time, the raven saw a lone deer almost hidden in the drifts of snow that was still steadily rising as time wore on, and his heart wept a little in remembrance of his past. But the doe had been foolish—it had wandered out of the forest before the snow started, and it was having trouble making its way back to the forest above which the raven now soared. And it was only a memory, while the future lay solidly before him, and not behind, and so the bird flew onward.

When he saw the towering castle loom out of the whiteness suddenly, like a hidden giant, and he felt the warm _press _of centuries-old wards recognizing him and—with relief, he discovered—allowing him through, Severus let out the first sound he had made since he had begun his journey with the Floo. Screeching a call of triumph, he wheeled, saw a brown head far below, damp and soggy and almost obscured by the damned snow, and the raven thought—_home! _Stooping sharply, he dropped, and with a rush of wings, landed on the woman's shoulder.

"Let's get you inside and dry first," murmured the woman casually as if birds dropped from the sky to land on her shoulder every day. She picked up her feet, striding from the courtyard where she had been standing towards the doors of the castle. "I'm glad whatever Minerva did to the wards worked. They're all inside waiting to begin."

The contrast from outdoors to indoors was stark. Inside, warmth immediately bloomed and tucked around him like a securely built nest, and the glow of lamplight was a much more welcome sight than the confusing whiteness of falling snow that could, and did, confuse both birds and men if one wasn't careful. A tiny honing charm had kept the bird on track during the flight.

Everywhere, there were familiar sights—the floors on which he had once swept by on, cloak and robes flaring out behind him; the daunting flights of stairs that seemed unpredictable and liable to change, but actually moved to the same place at the same time every day on a schedule; the darker gloom and echo-y peace of the dungeons that had been both sanctuary and prison during his years here. Pain and memory flared up in his feathery chest, and the strength of it nearly knocked him off the woman's shoulder, would have had she not calmly put a hand up to steady him as she strode through corridors that rang with the ghosts of his past.

It was a vast relief when she spoke a password and entered an unfamiliar room that held no memories.

She stroked a finger down his slightly damp head. "All right, you can transform back now," she told him. "These are my quarters, and no one will come in." The raven jumped from her shoulder abruptly, spreading its inky-black wings in a swirl of magic to become a man once more.

He regarded Hermione solemnly, but had little time to do so—when she saw him, she closed the space between them and threw her arms around him. "Severus!"

A little uncomfortable at the tight hug and open emotion in Hermione's voice, Severus awkwardly raised his hands to stroke her back. After an instant or two, she finally eased back, and her eyes were bright and cheerful, if suspiciously moist. "I'm so _glad _to see you, you have no idea," she told him fervently. They hadn't met since before Hogwarts had let out for Christmas Hols.

"I am as well," he said honestly. He reached up a hand to push some thick strands of curly hair off her forehead, where it was stuck. Frowning, he smoothed back her hair. "There is a hood on your cloak for a reason," he informed her acidly.

"I know. I forgot, I was too excited looking out for you," she answered. Wrinkling her nose, she broke away for an instant to retrieve two thick, fluffy towels—_standard Hogwarts issue, _Severus noted absently—from the sofa. She tossed him one. "Here you go. Dry off a bit, before any Drying spells. It works better that way," she told him.

He caught the towel she passed him, but did not shake it open. Instead, he took a step closer, mesmerized by the woman he was lucky enough to have somehow become friends—and something more—with. The melted snow had played havoc with her hair, but the light of the fire behind her danced on her features, her skin looked fresh and soft, her mouth entirely kissable, and he felt a stirring of warmth that had nothing to do with the fire at all. Ignoring her suspicious glare, he dropped the towel, still folded, to the floor, took two strides over to her to yank her to the tips of her toes, and laid his lips on hers.

She tasted of clean, new snow and mint, like toothpaste, and the little groan she uttered as he cradled her face gently and took them deeper was music to his ears. Her own hands came up to grasp at his bony shoulders. Her fingers were _cold—_he managed not to yelp halfway through the kiss, and soon forgot it when she leaned against him.

The kiss ended when they both ran out of breath to continue—it felt unfinished, but Severus reminded himself that now was _not _the time nor the place to continue further, and he enjoyed Hermione's glazed expression as he eased back. "You're really good at those," she managed after a second.

"I try," he said smugly. He knelt, and picked up both the towel he had discarded on the floor, and the one she had dropped from nerveless fingers when he'd kissed her. Shaking one out, he stood in a fluid movement and reached out without warning to drape it over Hermione's hair.

"Wha—"

"Drying you off. You could catch a cold standing out in the cold and damp with your head uncovered, and then _you'd _be the one brewing the Pepper Up for yourself," he chided her. "Hold still!" He rubbed vigorously at her limp hair with the towel, and then briskly tucked it around the rest of her. "There."

"Thank you. Your turn, I think," she smiled, and the second towel was unceremoniously yanked from his hands. He raised an eyebrow when she hesitated, glancing up, but resolved the height difference by kneeling once more. Hermione rubbed efficiently at his hair as well before draping it securely around him, and he rose to meet her flushed face. This time, both eyebrows went up. _I wonder just what exactly little miss not-so-innocent is thinking? _Indeed, Hermione, whom he'd taught to reasonably control her emotions and thoughts, was blushing furiously. _Interesting. Very interesting. _

"Well." She cleared her throat. "Um. The…uh…Drying Charms, I guess, would be handy now. I'll just, ah…" she released her wand from the arm holster she'd bought for herself as an early Christmas gift, fumbled for an instant, and then muttered the incantation to magically dry themselves off, pointing first at him and then at herself.

"Thank you," he murmured, watching the pulse jump in her throat.

"Anytime," she muttered, tucking her wand away. His eyes raked over her, taking in her casual, _Muggle _clothing, and he couldn't stop a tiny quirk from appearing on his lips when he noticed her hair.

She noticed his expression, and her hand immediately went to her head. "It _always _gets that way after it's been wet, unless I use numerous combinations of spells and gels and devices," she said in frustration. "It's not quite as bad as when I was a child, of course, but the Drying Charm really makes it act up, even after I've dried off my hair as much as possible before hand."

"It's…very natural and free," he said neutrally.

"It's _big. _And frizzy. You don't have to spare my feelings," she said with resignation. "I've gotten used to it anyway."

"I like it," he told her firmly. "I'd rather it this way than beaten to death by all sorts of torturous devices and _things _I've seen others of your gender do to their hair."

She shrugged, clearly still skeptical but pleased at the attempt at diplomacy. "We really should get going. Do you have the Polyjuice?"

He nodded.

Ten minutes later, a nondescript man with a stocky build and curly chestnut hair followed Hermione out of the dungeons, and to the Great Hall. Inside, there were six people waiting, three adults and three students. Severus fought to keep the emotion off his face as he slowly entered behind Hermione. The glory of the enchanted ceiling seemed as new as it had been the very first time he'd seen it as an eleven-year-old. It paled beside the rigid-looking witch sitting bolt upright at one table that had been set out.

She looked exactly the same as she had, decades ago when he had sat on the crooked little wooden stool and hoped with all his might that he would have friends and that the Hat, after so many different heads, hadn't become infested with lice. She had been one teacher among the many he hadn't trusted, back then.

Then they had become colleagues, and they dynamics had shifted—slowly but surely, through shared dismay over the little brats they taught and the rivalry for the House Cup and the overly long and often off-topic meetings Albus had conducted throughout the years. They hadn't been the sort of friends with whom you drop in to see every other day without notice and share your inner heart with, but Severus had few or no friends of that sort anyway. Rather, they had been friends united by the commonalities they shared: Hogwarts, Albus, and the fierce battle against the Dark Lord.

Only one of those commonalities still remained. It fell to Severus now to see whether Minerva would even begin to forgive him for his unforgivable act, for something he still had nightmares about, or if he had strained their quiet friendship past all bearing. If he had, Severus would survive, like he always had. But he found himself hoping wildly that she would—if not forgive him, then at least pretend to. _Hermione's made me soft, _he thought. _Before her, I wouldn't have even hoped for the slightest chance of forgiveness or redemption. _But he couldn't find the strength to wish things any differently.

His heart in his mouth and eyes steadily fixed on Minerva McGonagall, Severus finished his silent journey to the table.

**--break--**

They made unnecessary small talk. Hermione introduced Severus as "My friend, Richard." The three children, proud to be included—to have been an integral part in creating—what was taking place soon chattered and fidgeted among themselves quietly. The adults, Minerva, Chris, and another lanky blonde woman Hermione didn't recognize who introduced herself as Honour Rabnott, made pleasant conversation with Hermione and 'Richard'. Hermione noticed that Minerva, other than her initial greeting, did not speak directly to 'Richard' at all.

"Rabnott—the name sounds familiar," Hermione mused partially because it did and partially to draw attention away from the stoic 'Richard' beside her and the tension in Minerva's neck.

"If you are at all familiar with Quidditch or Magical Creatures history, you might have heard it," Honour Rabnott remarked with a bland smile.

Minerva laughed. It sounded slightly brittle, but it was a good attempt for someone who didn't pretend for a profession, Hermione thought. "I'm afraid that you strike out on both subjects there, Hermione," she said with slight amusement. "Those were two areas you were never truly interested in."

"It might explain how I know your name though I can't place it," Hermione said to the woman. "My two best male friends from school are Quidditch-obsessed, as is one of my best girl friends. It's rather hard to get away from the sport at times."

_I wonder if Severus likes Quidditch. He never referees, except for that one time during our first year when he was trying to save Harry's neck preemptively. He didn't look like he enjoyed it then, but that might have just been because of Harry and the fact that he was out there to watch over him. _

"They would have to be obsessed Quidditch fans indeed if they knew my family's name," Rabnott said. "My many-times great-grandmother Modesty was present at the first Quidditch game in which the snitch—or rather, the Golden Snidget—was introduced, and she tried to stop the barbaric treatment of the poor creature. Unsuccessfully, of course. Those in the line of sports will do all manner of things to gain a thrill. She was fined ten galleons. Thank goodness that they invented the mechanical snitch, or I am certain my family and I would still be campaigning against this cruelty to creatures and getting poorer all the time." She cracked a smile, which Hermione shared. _I knew I'd heard her name somewhere! I think it must have been when Harry and Ron decided to take turns reading aloud from 'Quidditch Through the Ages' at the top of their lungs in the middle of the common room to 'educate me to the finer things in life'. Goodness, that was almost four years ago! _

"Well, I hate to rush things along but my wife is expecting me home for dinner," Chris spoke up almost apologetically, although he pronounced the words 'my wife' with the sort of careful pride only newly-weds can produce.

"Yes, and the children need to return to their families," Minerva agreed.

Said children looked up from where they had been jabbering away to themselves, heads close together. Two boys and a girl—Hermione felt a flash of nostalgia. Once, _she _had been in a huddle much like that, with _her _two boys by her side. Life had been—not simple, but sim_pler _then.

"Yes, let's get this show on the road, shall we?" Richard said pleasantly. Hermione suppressed a shudder at hearing Severus, even Severus in Richard's voice and face, doing anything so…_nicely. _It was just wrong.

"Of course. Perhaps, Richard, if you could assume a position in the middle of the empty space?" Rabnott snapped naturally to the role of the leader. "Children, you know what to do."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Lionel Jordan bounced up, nearly falling off his chair in the process. The Hufflepuff boy snickered his own way to his feet before turning to courteously help the girl, another third year—Ravenclaw?—to her feet. _Well! I don't recall Harry or Ron ever doing _that _for me, _Hermione remarked to herself. _But then, these are Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Perhaps they're a little less brash and dim-witted as we were as Gryffindors. _Severus would probably agree with her on that, and then point out that a Slytherin would have pushed in their chair as well, just to make the others look unmannerly and bad.

They stood about a foot apart in a tiny curve, directly behind Severus. Rabnott strode into a place directly to Severus' right, and Chris to his left. "Richard, you're right-wanded, correct?"

"That is correct."

"Good, that makes things easier. All right, Minerva if you would?"

The Headmistress pulled out a small box. Taking out a square of white cloth from a pocket, she reached into the box to pull out a shiny black spellphone, wrapped safely in the cloth. She passed it to Hermione, who cradled the phone uncertainly in its cloth blanket. "Hermione, please stand directly to Richard's front and face him—yes, like that." Hermione, noting the odd spacing in the positions that the others had taken up, had deciphered just what it was—it was a modified Merlin's circle, with the three children with lesser powers grouped closer together as one individual, and the other three adults on the other three sides. Minerva sat back down. She would just be observing.

"You don't need to do any spells or magic," Rabnott informed her. "Simply concentrate on Richard—or rather, his individual magical signature that cannot be disguised. It will be hard, which is why that's the only job _you _have. I hope you know him well enough for this spell to work, because magical signatures, while singularly unique to each person, is _very _hard to even decipher. Replication is not possible, not in our world today anyway. Perhaps a century into the future…" Rabnott trailed off. "Well. Suffice to say, if you do not know him well enough this won't work."

Hermione swallowed, then looked at Richard—Severus. _I love you, _she thought fiercely at him. _I love you. I don't claim to know _much _at all about you, because you're far too complicated to learn even if I had a lifetime. But I know your heart, and I know that it is good and pure and beautiful. And if that isn't enough, then I don't know what is. _"It'll be fine," she said with confidence. She didn't know if she was telling Rabnott or Severus, but Rabnott took it for an answer and went on with her instructions.

"Richard, your job is to simply think of yourself, your true self, and let it rise to the surface. Hermione will be holding the spellphone, which is preprogrammed with most of a magical signature of it's own. The rest of the signature will be what makes it completely and utterly unique, and binds the phone to _your _personal use. It's attuned to read both Hermione's and your wills, and combine them to…well, it's rather hard to explain without going into details about magical relativism and the law of magical-soul recognition, but it ought to become bound to you so that anyone who knows _you _as yourself and not as…anything else you might pretend to be on the outside can, if they have a spellphone of their own, call you with barely more than a thought and a need. Other people who don't know you as well will still be able to call you, but they'll need to use a key phrase that you'll link to your phone. Please, during the spell, also think that key phrase in your mind. When the light flashes blue, repeat it out loud three times. Do you have all of that?"

Richard nodded his head a little tersely for a man with a generally agreeable-looking disposition, but he could be excused his odd behavior, since it was rather a lot to remember. Hermione took a breath, and in the next instant, Rabnott and Chris lifted their wands in identical motions. "_Impulsum ego!" _they cried out in unison, and their wands streamed white light.

"_Quaero!" _That was the children, also in a unified voice and action, but the light had gotten so strong that Hermione couldn't see across the small space between them anymore. _Severus. Severus. Concentrate on Severus. _Hermione deliberately closed her eyes to the blinding streams of magical light, and thought of Severus instead.

It was not hard to call up memories of the infuriating man. There was, right in the foreground of her mind, the breathless kiss they'd shared just half an hour earlier in her quarters in front of the fire. He had been all male right then—she hadn't missed the smug look of satisfaction on his face after he'd kissed her senses away. _Gods, _could that man do wonders with his mouth…

There was the man who had dried her hair for her just now, and taken her out to a normal dinner several weeks ago. He'd trusted her with his past, and all of his mistakes and faults. He'd walked with her, discussing topics ranging from hard academia to his choice of music to why he always wore black (_"I like black. It goes with everything."_).

He had been a finicky and hard-riding mentor and teacher, demanding perfection in everything she did. From potions to dueling to spying and stealth, he had trained her meticulously, leaving nothing to chance and forcing her to look again at something she had thought a done deal—only to realize that there was yet something else to be learnt. He'd been a rough professor, unfair and rude and harsh. But he had also saved Harry countless of times and he genuinely cared for the fate and souls of the children he had taught, especially those in his own House with no one else to turn to for advice in an ever-chaotic world. He didn't _like _children particularly. Hermione had gleaned that much from her relationship with Severus. He wasn't naturally inclined to enjoy a child's company. But he had taught, and taught well, for years at a school for children, dealing with their mischief and their pettiness and their problems everyday, and if he had been not-well-liked as a professor, his students had learned something in his classes and no one had died or been permanently injured by the frequent accidents learning students made with potions. And not liking children didn't mean that he couldn't care for them.

Severus was the man who had grieved for weeks, months, after he was forced to kill his own mentor—the man who still felt unbearably guilty and not worthy to be forgiven, although Hermione was continually working on that. His sense of self-worth was measured in the information he could pass on to the Order, and often far less than that even. He lived in a constant state of overwork and still managed to be on top of everything at once. He walked with the darkest of evil but his own soul, though shadowed through all he had seen and done, remained clean and untarnished.

He was the man she loved, who would give his own life in an instant to save the world. Hermione only hoped that it wouldn't come to that, because if it did—she wouldn't, couldn't prevent him from doing so for the war was the first priority, but she thought that if he died, her own life wouldn't be worth much more.

It was a frightening and sobering realization that dazzled her more than the brightness that pressed against her eyelids. How had she fallen so deep? Love, yes, but such an unbearably _deep _pit that she couldn't even see the sky anymore? When had it happened that Severus Snape had become more important than anything else in her life?

Her eyes filled with blue, and it took her a long moment to realize that the blue was not tears, but rather the changing colors of the spell-light. She heard Richard's tenor speaking clearly, but behind her closed eyes she imagined Severus' tall frame in his usual, watchful pose, drawling out the words. "In every cry of every Man." _Again. _"In every cry of every Man." _And once more…_"In every cry of every Man."

_William Blake's _London. _How appropriate…_

The light vanished, leaving bursts of dark and light against Hermione's still-closed eyes. After a moment, she decided that it was safe to open them again, and did so. The others in the circle looked victorious. Richard looked a little befuddled, but the glint buried deep in his eyes told Hermione that whatever he was feeling was definitely _not _befuddled and confused. "So it worked?" she asked cautiously. For an answer, Rabnott strolled over, took the spellphone from Hermione's hands, and tossed it to Severus.

He caught it easily, and Rabnott pulled another one out from her own robes. "In every cry of every Man," she murmured, and instantly Richard made a strangled noise, almost dropping his spellphone. He jabbed at it, and sighed in relief before cautiously placing it to his ear. "You could have warned me," he told Rabnott bitingly. His voice did not just travel across the room normally—Hermione could hear the tinny little voice emerging from the spellphone on Rabnott's end too. She grinned. _Success! _

"Now it's your turn," Chris exclaimed cheerfully. "Switch places!" Hermione gulped, and began reciting her own trigger words mentally in her mind as she took Severus' place.

**--break--**

"Hermione. Richard—a moment, if you will?"

Turning from having seen off the others, Hermione and Severus exchanged uneasy glances. "Of course, Minerva," Hermione replied.

The older witch hesitated. They were in her office—the office that had once belonged to Albus. All of the portraits were gone from their frames, for once, attending a Christmas party gathering in the large painting of a Bacchus festival located in the Room of Lost Things. All but one: the portrait of Albus Dumbledore slept soundly in his portrait, his expression serene. Severus' eyes had immediately found the latest addition on the wall, and it had taken all of Hermione's self-control not to impulsively reach out to comfort him. The others might have been fooled, but even in another body, Hermione could see that Severus was badly shaken by the sight of the former Headmaster. _Perhaps it is a good thing he is still asleep, because if Albus were awake and talking, it would be even harder for Severus. _

Minerva had noticed Severus'—or rather, Richard's—riveted eyes on the sleeping portrait, and although Severus did not see it, her own countenance softened just a little, giving Hermione a burst of hope. _Perhaps Severus has not lost all his friends. _

Awkwardly, Minerva cleared her throat, and Severus jerked his eyes away hastily, as if he had been caught filching cookies from the cupboard. "Richard—" she grimaced. "_Severus. _I know we've never been the closest of friends in years past, but I wanted you to know that I have always valued you as a colleague and person. Last year—" she flinched; _he _flinched. Hermione couldn't stand it anymore, and quietly slipped her hand into his, daring Minerva with her eyes to say anything. The Headmistress paused visibly, eyes tracking Hermione's decisive moment and darting up to scrutinize first her, and then Severus. But she did not comment on Hermione's bold action nor Severus' odd reaction of merely tightening his hold on Hermione rather than scolding her silly, as he might have done in years past.

"Last year," Minerva repeated, and she seemed to make up her mind then. "I did not know—anything. I am still angry," she said bluntly. Severus was very still, as if he agreed with the rightness of Minerva's anger. Hermione grit her teeth. "I am still angry, but not…not for _that." _Minerva closed her eyes, as if in pain or remembrance. "Years ago…oh, long before you had even heard of Hogwarts…before you had even been born, I was involved in…another war. I was heavily involved indeed. And the war was very different from this one. This war is about power, fear, fanaticism." She opened her eyes, pinned them with her gaze. "The one before it was about power, yes, but also about lies—lies big and small, from the smallest white lie of deceiving yourself into thinking that you have the right to rule, to deceiving a nation into believing that an entire population are less than human. It was about seeing who could tell the biggest lie and be believed by the most amount of people, and in the middle of it I discovered that the man I trusted above anyone else was built up almost entirely of falsehood. His entire life was a lie. When the war had ended and the man who had started the game of lies was dead, my mentor swore to me that he would never lie to me again." Now, she turned to face the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. "He lied, and broke his promise to me."

Swinging back, she said heavily, "I am livid, Severus, but not at you for…for doing what you had to. I am angry at Albus, for lying to me when he said he would never keep the truth from me again, back when Hitler had fallen and Grindelwald defeated by his own wand. I apologize for having taken it out on you. Can we start over?" Swallowing, she stepped forward carefully, back erect and head held high, and offered her hand.

Severus stared in silence as the seconds ticked by. _One…two…three…four…_Hermione watched, paralyzed, as Severus almost disbelievingly, haltingly, brought his own hand up to grasp Minerva's. They stood frozen in the moment, and Hermione's eyes involuntarily filled with tears which blurred the scene before her and made it necessary for her to bring up her left hand to swipe at the pesky wetness—for her right hand was still firmly claimed by Severus' other hand.

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: **

**Okay, I will admit I haven't been thinking about it a lot. Or at all. But with the advent of a chapter coming extremely soon, I need to pose this to you: will you be very angry with me if I up my rating to an M?**

**This is not for being extremely explicit or graphic or…**_**detailed**_** in any way. However, while reading over the ratings guide for this website, I realized that some of what I am going to write is going to be borderline between T and M, for sexual implications, swear words, and violence (for the battle scenes, obviously). I honestly don't know how many of my readers are young enough to need to check the rating. I do know that when I started, I thought it would be a solid T rating. However…I really really don't want to be sued or confronted by angry parents for corrupting their children, nor do I wish to present to you younger readers something you don't really want to read (aka Ewww! Why'd she write that?). Hence my dilemma. I will most probably change my rating to be safe—it'll definitely stay on the low side of M but I am no great judge at discerning ratings so I don't know if what I write will be quite up to an M. But for those who are too young but have already started reading my story and don't want to abandon it, it's not quite ideal either way, really.**

**My thought is that, for the chapters in which there will be something I think is stretching past a T and into the realm of an M, I will place a warning at the top of the page and another warning just where to stop reading in the chapter, and when to start again. If there are any crucial plot-points that you have to skip because of this, I will sum it up in an AN. I will also try my utmost to write those scenes in a way that they aren't absolutely essential to the plot. **

**If I go ahead with this, the rating will be changed before the next chapter gets updated. But please, if you have any suggestions other than what I'm thinking, let me know. **

**I'm really really sorry to everyone—I know this isn't fair and I'm being a vile and rotten author by pulling this so suddenly on you. My only excuse is that it kind of crept up on me as well. **

**As to references in the chapter, the sentence Severus choses for his spellphone trigger is from a poem called "London" by William Blake. The verse specifically that it comes from is this:**

**In every cry of every man,**

**In every infant's cry of fear,**

**In every voice, in every ban,**

**The mind-forged manacles I hear:**

**It's rather revolutionary. I thought it suited the occasion (plus, mind-forged manacles just reminds me too much of Legilimency and Occlumency). **

_**Impulsum **_**means to set in motion. **_**Ego **_**refers to the self. **_**Teneo **_**is to grasp, know, understand. **_**Quaero **_**is to seek, to search, to know.**

**Pads, you left a review for my last chapter with a question I'd love to answer, but you forgot to leave your contact/email as well! Just in case anyone else was wondering, I will answer it here. Hermione has not told Ron or Harry about her parents being alive because the fewer people who know that they are alive, the less risk it is to her parents and everyone else who is supposed to be dead but isn't in that safe house. At this point, very few people even in the Order know that there are people who are alive who were declared dead or missing. **

**Again, my apologies for the super-long AN and the fast one I pulled on you with my dilemma about the rating. Please, tell me what you think.**


	69. Chapter 69

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: **

**So for all who read the notice in the last chapter, here's my decision after much thought. This story is going to M—in fact, has already been amended, if you'll check the rating. The overwhelming vote was for the change, and I felt that it would be easier if I didn't have to constantly recheck and rewrite for scenes that are in the grey area between ratings. **

**IF you are underage or simply don't enjoy reading the M stuff, I WILL continue to put warnings on each chapter and right before each scene that merits a "I'm not sure it's low enough for a T". Any such scene will have a note right before it saying "Age line" and where to skip to. Also, I will definitely write a brief summary of any major plot points that you might have missed in skipping part of a chapter, which will be found under my AN at the bottom of each chapter that needs it. **

**If you're expecting explicit…uh, scenes in the M portion of any given chapter, you can stop. It won't be graphic. I don't think it even merits a lemon or lime. On the other hand, there's slightly more substance than a solid T rating might give. Please don't flame me for not living up to your expectations of a T or an M either way. **

**So: Consider this your warning. Look out for the Age Line in this chapter.**

"I have to get back," Severus protested.

Holding two mugs, Hermione turned to gaze at the uncommonly attractive man standing behind her with a stubborn look on his face, glad that the Polyjuice effects had finally ended. _Well, I can be just as stubborn as you! _"No, you don't," she told him. Before he could protest further, she thrust one of the mugs of tea into his hands. "You told me yourself that no one is expecting you to be hanging around the manor tonight, and virtually everyone else is celebrating Christmas privately with their own families. You also said that the Dark Lord would not Summon anyone tonight. Minerva's said that you're welcome at Hogwarts at any time and that the wards will let you in. You don't have anyone waiting up for you at the manor, and I'm here. There, is that enough to assuage your guilt at staying the night?"

Severus stared down at his steaming tea. "Hermione…"

She smiled now. "We don't have to do anything," she said gently. "I'd just like your company. I've missed you, and we never get to spend enough time together."

There was silence, and then—"Well, are you going to invite me to sit down?" he asked grumpily. She beamed at him.

Minutes later, they were installed comfortably in the soft chairs before the glowing fire, alternately blowing on their tea and talking as if they had never been apart.

"So, how do you know for certain that the Dark Lord won't Summon tonight or tomorrow?" she asked curiously as he sipped at the chamomile.

"Death Eaters have families as well, Hermione." Severus informed her, as if she were a particularly slow student. "Most of them would _enjoy _spending time with their families on important holidays, such as Christmas and New Year's. They might not rebel, but they would certainly be very upset with the Dark Lord if he hauled all of us out of our homes on special occasions to play servant and master or go on a killing spree." He rethought that last statement. "Well, perhaps Bellatrix would prefer it—but certainly no one else would. Since it happens to be only a handful of days per year on which important family-gathering days occur—Christmas, New Year's—the Dark Lord prefers to keep his followers content in an easy way by allowing them those days off completely. He has 360 other days to pick, after all. Before you ask," he continued as Hermione opened her mouth, "Halloween is not considered a special family celebratory occasion. Neither are any of the traditional ancient days of power, since few celebrate them anymore." Hermione smiled at how Severus had perfectly guessed her question before she'd even asked it. Nevertheless, now she had another question.

"Why did the Wizarding World stop celebrating the pagan holidays?"

Severus sighed. "There are varying opinions on this very topic, Hermione. Most believe that it was the Muggleborn children who brought their Christian holidays and traditions to the Wizarding World and it simply gained favor as the pagan ones lost favor. Many Purebloods are quite bitter about it, even as they celebrate the same Muggle holidays themselves. Others prefer not to think about the fact that we are celebrating primarily a Muggle holiday. It is a touchy subject best not brought up at all."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thank you, Severus. I understand now."

"Merlin forbid that you don't understand something," he retorted.

She cheerfully ignored his sarcasm, and after a moment, he asked in a different tone, "Why Richard?"

"Why did I choose that name for your alias, you mean?" She grinned a little. "Have you ever heard the Muggle saying, 'Every Tom, Dick, or Harry'?"

Severus furrowed his brow. Hermione took that to mean no. "It's a placeholder for multiple unspecified persons, referring to the general everyone. Tom, obviously, is already taken. So is Harry. I rather though you would not enjoy being named _Dick, _no matter what some of your most stridently antagonistic students thought of you." Hermione smirked. "So, I went with Richard, of which Dick is a diminutive form."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"I thought it was rather clever," Hermione said complacently, eyeing him.

"You have an oversized ego, Granger."

"Pot, meet kettle."

"As long as you realize it." Severus smothered any of Hermione's repartees by smoothly changing the subject. "How is my erstwhile godson?" _Or perhaps not so smoothly, _he thought to himself.

"I'd like to show you something," Hermione told him, watching him speculatively. "You'll have to change forms though—no one else knows that you're an Animagus, right?"

"No one but the Order's high council, unless they've told the ordinary members," Severus affirmed.

"Well then—perhaps as a raven, and I'll Disillusion you for good measure," Hermione decided. "You'll have to be extra quiet, but you can hitch a ride on my shoulder."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." She was remarkably infuriating in her staid secrecy, and even Severus' best glare didn't move her. _But then any amount of glaring or insult has had little to no effect on Hermione since the day she showed up at my doorstep at Spinner's End and told me that she was my handler. _Resigning himself to more surprises, Severus transformed, ruffling his sleek black feathers in disapproval when the cool, unsettling sensation of the Disillusionment sank into him. She held out an arm in his general direction, which he lost no time in making use to hop onto as a ladder to her shoulder.

The mischievous nature of the animal interfered for a moment—he cheekily stuck his cold beak gently into her ear, glorying in her unladylike screech and subsequent scolding. He let her words, and the cadence of her voice, wash over him. When she finally stopped taking him to task and giving him stern instructions to _behave _and _be quiet, _she starting walking and Severus-raven gripped her shoulder a little harder to stay on. Since he didn't appear to be there, Hermione couldn't lift a hand to steady him, but she walked slowly and smoothly enough for him to adjust and balance well enough. Although he made no sound, his beak gaped for a moment and his black eyes blinked in puzzlement when she arrived at her destination—Slytherin dormitories?

"A good Yule's Eve to you, Hermione," greeted the White Witch pleasantly, looking up from her book. "And…to your companion as well." She winked conspiratorially at Severus.

"Thank you," Hermione smiled. "Happy Christmas to you as well. Are they inside?"

"Oh yes, they're in the common room playing Exploding Snap. The others have really taken the news and the addition rather well, I think, especially for Slytherins—we don't like surprises all that well, really."

"I'm glad," Hermione said sincerely. Frustrated at the cryptic words, Severus dug a talon in a little harder—not enough to bruise, but enough to make Hermione wince. "Well, someone is a little impatient, so may I enter?"

"Of course. You know you're welcome within anytime." The portrait swung open easily, and Hermione slipped inside. Another swell of memories flooded Severus, but as raven the distance was easier to achieve, and his overwhelming curiosity defeated the rest of the nostalgia. He heard voices talking excitedly up ahead—they sounded familiar, and in a second he would remember just who they were…

"Professor Granger!" Draco—his godson—jumped up, flushing a little and looking odd…it was his face, Severus realized with shock. His face—it was young and innocent like it should have been without the stress of war and parents who expected what he could not give them, and displaying as open an expression as Severus had ever seen on the boy. He was wearing pajamas.

"Draco, it's not classes," Hermione reminded him. "You _can _call me Hermione. Or just Granger, if you like." She shot a grin at him, then turned to greet the others. Only then did Severus realize there _were _others in the room. A scattering of all the years of Slytherin: in all the years he had taught, the students from his House who had stayed behind for Christmas combined was less than the amount of students here. He held no illusions as to why. For—various reasons, Slytherin House was closer to the war than most and the children had had to make a difficult choice.

The heart he had sometimes cursed for not listening to him warmed and lifted at the sight. There was young Pansy Parkinson teaching a group of younger girls some basic female Glamour charms, stoic and silent Bulstrode in a heated debate over Quidditch with a fifth year boy, and Theodore Nott engaged in an intense game of speed-chess with Eleanora Figg—they were surrounded by a group of cheering observers offering suggestions and raising a ruckus whenever a piece was demolished. And there, at the low table where Draco had been sitting, was Blaise Zabini, who had cast a _Stasis _charm—_advanced for his age, that isn't learned until March of seventh year, if Filius' syllabus hasn't changed this year—_over the in-progress game of Exploding Snap with another girl, who was sitting in the same sofa that Draco himself had just vacated—

Severus almost lost his hold over his form—he felt the ripple of magic warningly on his feathers, and if Hermione hadn't been standing absolutely still he might have fallen off in shock. Perhaps it was a good thing that she was the one holding the Disillusionment over him—he might have lost control of the spell. As it was, his years of practice in controlling his mind and emotions to survive just barely saved him making any damning moves, for there smiling at Draco and Hermione, pink in her cheeks and a sparkle of humor in her eyes, was a girl he had never thought to see alive and _living _again.

She was entirely too solid and real to be a ghost, but what other option was there but hallucination? Because Severus _could not _be seeing Skye Corwin, alive and awake, and willingly snuggled in the heart of Slytherin and casually seated next to _Draco _himself.

It simply wasn't possible.

Through the haze of disbelief, he heard Hermione speaking and struggled to hear her words and comprehend them in an attempt to make sense of the impossible scene before him.

"Skye! How are you doing?" Hermione asked, as Draco unceremoniously plopped back next to the fair-skinned girl. He belatedly remembered his manners and looked uncertainly around for another chair for Hermione, but Hermione's sharp eyes caught his aborted movement and gestured him to relax. She would be fine standing.

"Never better," the image of Skye Corwin—whose family he had failed, over a year ago—chirped. The part of his brain still cool enough to look for every detail for a possible analysis later noted that her voice seemed hoarse—not as if she'd screamed too much, but rather more from disuse, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time. She reached up and shoved her long black hair back off her face. "Glad to be able to touch things."

"Things? Or people?" Hermione asked mischievously, pointedly looking at Draco—why? Inexplicably, Corwin blushed. In detached amazement, Severus watched as Draco-formerly-Malfoy reached out in a movement clearly both casual and possessive to hook an arm around the girl and pull her closer to him.

"And your muscles?"

"Sore and weak, but I'm sticking to the diet and the physiotherapy schedule, and the Healer at St. Mungo's is pleased with my progress," Corwin answered, leaning comfortably against Draco in a move that left Severus' head whirling.

"I'm very happy for you—for _both _of you," Hermione said seriously. "If you ever need help, don't hesitate to ask. I wanted to come up here to congratulate both of you as well, again."

"Thanks, Granger," Draco replied, smiling down at the dark head resting on his shoulder. He hesitated, then plowed on. "We were wondering—Skye and I, that is, you've really done a lot for us both in the past year, and we were wondering if you would be Skye's maid of honor, at our wedding—"

The world turned upside-down again, and Severus with it. _What-what-not possible-not real—_his mind kept stuttering, unable to process the implications of the words that had come out of his godson's mouth. Hermione's answer was lost in a blur of shock. They left soon after that. Severus couldn't have told you what else had been said before Hermione bid everyone a good night and slipped out, finally entering the blessed privacy of her living quarters, and he was able to slip off her shoulder and allow himself to be a man again. The tell-tale trickle signaled that the Disillusion was off, and after a minute of clinking, he felt Hermione gently guide him to a seat, thrust him down into it, and wrap his hands around something cool and glassy—he lifted it to his lips, and sweet fire ran down his throat, burning a path down to his stomach where it spread and began to awake him from his stupor. He blinked, and came back into focus. He was sitting in front of the fire, a carefully poured half-glass of Ogden's firewhisky in his hand. "I didn't know you drank," he said inanely, the first thing that had come to his head.

Hermione, seated quietly in the other armchair, smiled faintly. "I don't, not really—or rather, I've never found the right time and place for it. It was a birthday present from Hestia, who insisted that if I didn't have time to go out with her to drink on my majority in the Wizarding World, then I would at least have some of the good stuff on hand at home for emergencies. I've never opened it."

It seemed true enough—Severus eyed the almost completely full bottle standing on the coffee table by his hand. It glowed gold and amber in the light of the flames. He took another sip, allowing it to resettle himself. When he finally felt more or less like himself once more, he fixed the dratted woman with a stern eye. "Explain," he demanded.

The story she drew for him, complete with her usual enthusiastic hand gestures and earnestness, was so incredulous that if he hadn't spent the better part of two years learning the ins and outs of Hermione Granger as a person, he would have been certain that she was lying, that it was a prank of enormous proportions set to trick him in the style of James Potter and his unholy gang. But this was Hermione, whom he knew without a doubt hated hurting someone else if it was avoidable, who considered pranking a waste of time and effort, and while he had taught her to successfully lie straight to another's face, he thought that he would be able to spot it if she did it to him.

And she was utterly convincing, the way her eyes softened whenever she spoke of the couple—_Draco and Skye! _His mind gibbered—the way she sketched the tale with her hands flying in time to the events she narrated, and the way she sobered as she spoke of the hardships—no, it was not a lie. _Not even a lie that she herself completely believed? _asked his cynical mind, but Severus squashed it in favor of Hermione.

When she had finished describing to him the details of how Skye Corwin had regained her body and gained a fiancé, just days ago at Midwinter, he set his almost-empty glass down and faced Hermione. "You've told me a wild and wonderfully tale," he said slowly. "It's rather hard to believe, except for the evidence that's so clearly there. Skye Corwin has been in a coma for almost a year before suddenly waking up perfectly fine but for muscle atrophy and weakness from not moving enough; she would have _no _reason to talk to Draco before or after her long hospital stay, and more reason to hate him for his unfortunate relatives; they are very clearly head-over-heels in love with each other. I can't factor those into the equation and come out with any _other _story that would satisfy those observations but the one you've just told me, as fantastical as it seems." He paused, catching Hermione's eyes with his gaze. "Tell me something, Hermione. Corwin—is she a good person?"

Hermione opened her mouth as if to exclaim _yes, of course, _and then stopped abruptly, returning his intense gaze with a searching one of her own. Then she took his hand in hers. "I don't know her that well," she confessed. "I can't tell you if she and Draco share the same tastes, or believe the same ideas about small and large things. I can't tell you what they do for fun, or how they've managed so far with Skye's intangibility until now. But I _can _tell you what I've observed. This summer, when I went to visit my parents, Draco was there, training for the Order and researching ways to fix Skye's problem. By then I could already _see _a drastic change in him. My parents have nothing but good things to say about him. This year, he's been intensely focused and yet more _happy _than I've seen him, ever. I don't know Skye herself well enough to tell you if she's _good, _through and through. I suspect that no one who's lived through war is entirely _good, _really. But I do know this—Skye is good for Draco."

Severus sighed, allowing his shoulders to droop just a little. "It's obvious to anyone with eyes that the fools are besotted," he said quietly. "Whether it lasts—whether she remains as _what is good for Draco—_that is yet to be seen. They're too gods-curst _young _to be married! When are they…"

"New Year's Day," she told him. "They wanted to get married before…Beltane. Danielle—Danielle Corwin gave her blessings and go-ahead to get married, and they're too young but they _love _each other and they're sure of it. Severus, it's not your decision. Draco is seventeen and of age, and Skye not far behind. She's been through too much to truly be her real age. It's their choice to make, and if it turns out to be a mistake months or years down the road, it will be entirely due to themselves and not to another. Neither one of them are children anymore, Skye only by age. War makes adults of children far too fast, and if we expect them to fight and die for something, then why can't we also allow them to love and make promises like an adult?"

She was breathing heavily. Severus realized with sorrow that Hermione had not been defending just Draco and Skye—she had been talking about _herself _as well, for hadn't she been one of the first examples of war making adults of children? She had grown up and assumed the responsibilities of a grown up in the space of a year, perhaps less. And she was not a child anymore, not when she had fought and killed and seen what humanity could do to each other. If Severus deemed Skye and Draco children still, unable to understand and risk the consequences for the chance at true happiness and a shared _moment, _even, of love, then how would he view _her? _

Long moments past after her impassioned speech. He absorbed her words, tried to reconcile himself to the painful truth that rang in them. Finally, Severus glanced up at her again, black eyes filled with a sort of half-veiled distress. "He's my _godson, _Hermione," he said—almost a plea. "I swore at his birth that I would shield and protect him and guide him all his life."

"And you have never failed a single second at it," Hermione snapped. "_Listen _to me, Severus. Children need guidance, nurturance—_you _provided that for Draco. He doesn't say much but I know that he misses you. You were his support system. Children also need space to grow as they become older, and learn to make their own decisions, take their own risks, and make their own mistakes without judgment. You never abandoned Draco, Severus, no matter what you think. You gave him space when he needed it, and you challenged him to _think. _You brought him to the attention of the Order and gave him the chance to grow into the man he is today, whom I am proud to call my friend and ally. _You _did that, Severus. You haven't failed. It's just time to let Draco become a full adult."

Hermione was beautiful in the firelight. During her defense of _him, _her hair had spilled past her shoulders and moved with her body as she leaned forward ardently, and her brown eyes caught and glowed soft and fierce at the same time. Her sock-covered slim feet were braced on the floor rather than curled up beneath her in what he knew to be her favorite position. She had not let his hand slip from hers any time during her speech, and they were small and slightly sweaty on his, gripping tighter than strictly necessary.

"Thank you," Severus said softly.

—**Age Line: Please stop reading here and go straight to the AN—**

She seemed unable to answer, staring at him. Did he have something on his face? Severus had barely started to withdraw his hand from her grasp when she inhaled—and moved, a quick, sinuous event that brought her closer to him, close enough to—

Eyes fixed unerringly on his, filled with something unspeakably potent and moving, she kissed him. He responded—_Merlin, _a dead man would have responded to the intoxicating touch of her lips, the maddening brush of her warm body against his as she leaned down. Flushed and driven delirious by the taste of her, the _need _for this woman who understood him on levels no one else had ever taken the trouble to see, this woman who was not afraid to match her wits and herself against him time and time again, who forgave without his asking, Severus reached out gently to draw Hermione inexorably against him, shifting to half-share, half-hold her. The press of her skin, covered in the thin barriers of cloth and fabric, was his undoing. Desire pulsed and _demanded, _and somehow—her sweater found its way over her head and his own robes were somehow unbuttoned, as if by magic, for Severus if he had been thinking rationally at all would have doubted any sort of ability of nimbleness in his fingers _and _Hermione's both, fumbling and passion-hazed as they both were. As it was, he had a spare moment to thank the gods for it before his hands were hard and roving over her body, seeking the bare, superheated flesh that it craved wantonly, his mouth following the trails blazed by his wandering fingers until Hermione sighed, a long, drawn-out _ohh _of simmering desire. She inhaled, a sensuous event in the making, and her body rose up against his.

"Severus." A hand urged him up from where he had been tasting her where the skin disappeared beneath the pants still modestly zipped, through the button had been undone. Reluctantly, he moved up her body again, slipping his tongue teasingly beneath the sensible black cotton of her bra before covering her mouth with his again.

She gave as good as she got, the little vixen, nipping and urging and licking until they both broke apart, having simultaneously run out of air. He met her smoldering gaze, noticed through the cloud of his own desire and the roaring in his ears that her eyes were glazed over with lust and something—more—_deep, _that he couldn't pin down or wouldn't. Now, a tiny tendril of sanity inserted itself into his befogged brain. "Hermione," he rasped, finding it difficult not to just dive right back in. "We need to—we should stop, now. I don't think I can stop, later."

It was more coherent a sentence than he'd thought himself capable of at this point, and it reminded him even more firmly of just who they were and what they had been about to do, and where. With the last of his will, he began to pull away—only to fall back again against the weight of Hermione's full body rolling on top of his. A thigh rubbed teasingly against his groin, and a hand followed. He froze, agonizingly aware that his vaunted self-control was down to almost nil. Then she smiled—not the enormous, innocent grin that generally split her face in half. _This _smile was all seductress. Where _had she learned that? _"Who says we need to stop?" she demanded.

"I can't—you don't, shouldn't want me, Hermione. A man two decades older and flawed, ugly, a failure on so many levels—"

She interrupted him with a kiss that he was unable to push away from. _It seems as if I lose every single vestige of self-control I have around Hermione. _"Stop insulting yourself," she said tartly when she ended the kiss. "I want you on all sorts of levels, and you're not about to insult _my _intelligence are you? Two decades—less, actually—is piffle when we're both consenting adults who…_care, _deeply, for each other. You are not a failure, you are not flawed any more than the next ordinary human being, and you _certainly _are _not _ugly. Gods above, Severus, I can barely look at you without wanting to jump your bones! You may not compare to the Gilderoy Lockharts of the world, but…" she shuddered, finely, and he flinched at the way her body moved minutely against his. "I'd just as rather you _weren't. _The bright and shining handsome men are all very well for childish crushes, but they generally come with egos as large as they are pretty. Furthermore, they rather intimidate me." Hermione smiled a little self-consciously this time. "I'm not beauty prize myself. I wouldn't win any pageants. I'm confident _now, _but just two weeks being with someone that pretty, I think I'd be reduced to the insecure little girl I entered Hogwarts as." She shrugged helplessly. "The point is, you have no idea how attractive you are, Severus. Even more so when there those moments when you drop your guard, I can see that you want _me _too. It does a lot to boost _my _ego and frankly, Severus, it's arousing."

Her blunt speech caught him off-guard. He felt breathless. He hadn't felt this crazily out of his depth and fumbling and adolescent-randy since—well, since he'd been an adolescent. Desires, common sense, and guilt tore at him in different directions. "But...I can't take your innocence, Hermione," he protested. "It's a precious thing—"

"It's not doing much for me these days," she retorted with a tinge of wry humor that seemed out of place in the position they were both in. "If you're talking about innocence as in my virginity, the only good it'll do would be if I actually knew how to harvest it properly for a powerful potion and had the skills to brew it. It's no great loss personally—_especially _if you know how to harvest _and _brew said potions?" Hermione lifted an eyebrow. Severus hadn't noticed until now that she'd started unconsciously mimicking his own facial expressions. Her eyebrow arch was impressive in the unspoken images it conveyed. And her actual _meaning…_his own eyes widened at the appearance of the collected, logical woman he knew, calculating the value of her _own _innocence. He had seriously underestimated her…

"And if you're speaking of the more general type of innocence, then I'm afraid you're all out of luck there too. I'm hardly completely _chaste. _I've experimented some, in years past. Not that far, of course, but enough to be no innocent—and I've certainly _read _enough novels to understand both the technicalities and the…uh, other aspects of sex." She smiled. It disarmed him totally.

"You astound me, Hermione," he murmured.

She sighed, and relaxed against him. A surge of pleasure—he struggled not to groan. "I gave it a lot of thought." She paused. "A _lot," _she emphasized pointedly.

The warm brown hue her eyes reflected was hypnotic, and her words all too persuasive. He would probably curse himself later for having been a depraved man taking advantage of a too-innocent girl, no matter what she claimed, but her skin was soft and slightly slick with sweat against his palm, and trembled where he touched. He could no more refuse her than he could stop the force of a hurricane or destruction of an earthquake. Sighing in defeat, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted—easily enough, for all that she was heavier than she looked with the weight of hard-won muscle. The layout of all the teachers' living quarters were basically similar, and he felt a moment's triumph when he unerringly kicked open a door that did, indeed, lead to Hermione's bedroom. He had a brief moment to notice that it was done, not in Gryffindor colors but in soothing shades of jade and ivory, before he placed Hermione carefully in the center of the large, soft bed with its down quilt.

Her question interrupted the anticipatory _thrum _his nerves had created. "Severus, _do _you know how to properly harvest—and brew those healing potions?"

He stopped his approach for a moment to consider it, furrowing his brow. "Yes," he affirmed finally. "Yes definitely to the harvesting, but I would need the grimmoires which hold the recipes for the potions that can be made from a woman's maidenhead. The Library of Dreams holds those."

"Then I think we should do it, and you can copy down what you need from the Library before you leave," she said immediately.

"It might not work—those potions you're thinking of haven't been successfully brewed in at least half a century due to the lack of ingredients—a willingly given maidenhead is not the only rare ingredient, if I remember correctly, and while the innocent first blood of _one _woman is extremely potent, it is also very little, barely enough to brew possibly only one dose. Maybe two," he warned her.

"We have to try. It could save someone's life that we might not have been able to save without it," Hermione said determinedly, a flash of the stubborn young Gryffindor student-child she'd been coming to the forefront.

He nodded. "Do you have a phial that's never been used?"

She yanked her wand from the arm holster, then on second thoughts took the entire holster off. Summoning the phial, she offered it to him and tossed the wand onto her dresser. He put the empty phial on the dresser next to it with a bit more care. "I know the spell theoretically. I think it will work," he said, catching himself just in time from biting his bottom lip. _It's not just Hermione picking up habits from me—soon enough if I'm not careful, I'm going to find myself chewing my bottom lip or tugging at a piece of my hair absently or using my hands to gesture when I talk! _

"Now that that's settled—I think we need to fix your deplorable abundance of clothing," Hermione—gods—_purred. _"Let me help you take off those robes." Heat thrilled over his nerves. In no time, she slid her competent hands over him. Through the robes had already been unbuttoned, it took far more fumbling and several muttered swear words he'd not heard out of Hermione's mouth at all before his inner clothes, a buttoned-down shirt and his pants, were dealt with, and then there was the matter of the rest of _her _clothes to deal with—he nearly ripped loose a nail trying to unhook her blasted bra—and then there were no more barriers left to hide behind, and much to explore and learn.

**A.N.: **

**Two things. First, if you didn't notice, your author is very human. That means I have some semblance of Real Life and the obligations that go along with it. That in turn implies that I have, unfortunately, only so much free time on my hands. I use that free time primarily to write the next chapter. Therefore, I don't have the time to email this person or that to let them know I've posted a chapter, when the story alert does that just fine or they can go search out my story once a week, since I generally post in the time gap between Thursday and Saturday. I try and keep up with replying reviews, since I think that's only polite, but if I missed you by mistake, please forgive me. So no, if you were the person who asked me to email you every time I updated, I'm sorry but I just don't have the time or frankly, the desire to do so.**

**Also, if you review and aren't signed in and you want or expect a reply, leave an email in the actual text box that's there for emails. I KNOW its there, I've seen it. It's right under the box for your name/penname. This website censors and erases any URL or email address, so if you write it in the body of the review or pm, all I'll see is something like: "If you want to reply me, please email me at ." Not helpful at all.**

**SUMMARY: **

**Hermione reassures Severus in regards to his attractiveness**

**Hermione shocks Severus by inquiring if he knows how to harvest maiden's first blood, used in potent healing potions**

**Severus affirms that he does, but warns her that those potions are hard to brew and one maiden's first blood is likely only barely enough to brew a single dose if they're lucky**

**Hermione decides that its better to try anyway than lose the chance of having a potentially life-saving potion in their possession**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. My apologies for the protracted notices, ANs, and all. Flames will be used to Floo to a tropical destination for an impromptu holiday. **


	70. Chapter 70

**Disclaimer: Are you getting bored of these? I rather enjoy telling people what they already know. If you **_**are **_**bored—**_**too bad. **_**Skip them if you want, but I prefer having my tush covered in all areas. So once more, for the 70****th**** time: I do not own Harry Potter nor anything related, nor anything else that has a copyright referred to here. **

He woke the sense of _something is different, _and his wand was in his hand and aimed before the rest of his brain could catch up with him. Blinking away sleep, he stared at the bed he'd jumped off, where—in a mirror position—Hermione knelt on the rumpled bed, _her _wand pointed at _him. _For a long moment, there was shock, a rush of memories, and uncertainty. Then, Hermione relaxed, lowering her wand sheepishly. She couldn't keep a silly grin from spreading across her face to stretch from ear to ear though, and Severus found, as she sat back on her heels, that her laughter was contagious. Sitting back down on the large, messy bed, he joined her mirth.

"Oh gods, I don't think anyone would ever believe me if I ever told someone about my first 'morning after' experience!" Hermione finally gasped, falling back onto her pillows.

"One could say it was a match made by Merlin," he offered snarkily. "We did, after all, react the exact same way—congratulations on your improved reflexes, by the way, Hermione."

"Merlin was a very old wizard who tried his hand at match-making and ended up with the disaster of the Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot love-triangle," she rejoined smartly. "And—thanks, I've been practicing with the dummies in the Room of Requirement. It's not the same as having a real dueling partner though."

"Hestia hasn't had time to spare for you?"

"Most of her time in the past months were swallowed up her job, by the work going into returning Skye to her physical body, and the…ah, Minister," Hermione said. Severus raised an eyebrow at that last, but made no comment on what was obviously Hestia's usual proclivities. Instead, he rose in as dignified a manner as was possible, being almost nude.

"I don't know about you, but _I _am rather ready for breakfast," he informed her. "If I might make use of your bathroom?"

"Sure. You might want to take your clothes though. Or do you have another set of clothes to wear today?"

He hesitated. "When I…left, last year, my clothing was also left behind with the rest of my possessions. Do you know what happened to everything?"

Hermione smiled. "I wondered when you'd ask," she remarked. "I thought it would be far earlier, but I suppose you didn't really need what you left behind until now. I believe that the Order and the Aurors both did go through your rooms, but upon finding nothing remarkable or dangerous, decided to seal up your quarters entirely until such a time as when you were captured or turned up somewhere. The Aurors confiscated one or two books, but that was it. Nothing else has been touched, and I believe they've all forgotten about it entirely by now." Without waiting for a response, called. "Minny!"

A breath later, a house-elf appeared. "What is Mistress needings from Minny?" she asked, looking attentively alert. She blinked her wide, bulging eyes at Severus, apparently unsurprised at his presence. "Oh, hullo Master Severus! Minny is being thrilled to see yous!" She curtsied in her towel, bumping her nose to her knee in her enthusiasm before springing up again. Severus winced.

"If you'd please go to Professor Snape's old quarters and retrieve a set of clothing—" here, Hermione paused and looked at him. "Do you have something of particular in mind?"

"Yes, actually." He cleared his throat, feeling slightly awkward in front of the house-elf whom he _did _know, albeit not as well as Mippy. _I rather wish Hermione hadn't called for a house-elf, but I suppose now that Minerva is aware of my true allegiance it does not matter. Except for the tiny little fact that if Minerva asks Minny, she will have to tell her that I was a guest in Hermione's quarters—and bed—last night. I would rather not be killed right now. _"One of the standard non-teaching black robes, please, and a jumper and any pair of pants will do—both _dark _colors, please, Minny."

"Minny is being back instantly!" the house-elf told them briskly, ears wiggling with merriment and joy at being of service. She made good on her word—Severus had barely managed to gather up his yesterday's clothing in a neat pile on a chair when the house-elf appeared once more, passing him the fresh garments he'd asked for. Thanking the efficient house-elf and privately noting that Minny was, although prone to cheeriness and super-enthusiasm, _far _less excitable and bubbly than Mippy, Severus headed towards the door of the bedroom. Then he hesitated, and looked back to where Hermione was scanning her own wardrobe for something suitable to wear. "Hermione," he said quietly, to get her attention.

"Hmm?" She looked up absently.

He caught her gaze for a long, protracted moment, searching for any regrets, any remorse, or reserve that she might possess. Her wide brown eyes were sharp and clear, the same shade they were every day. Plain, unremarkable, intelligent. He liked that about her—that her eyes didn't just _change _color the way some other people's eyes did. They were the same day to day, constant and dependable, getting things done efficiently and with no fuss whatsoever. They evoked no guilt, no despair, no sorrow the way any pair of blue or green eyes might have. They held no memories but good ones, of heated debates over tea and effortless companionship. And right now, they were forthright and tranquil and very definitely warm as she gazed back at him. Whatever he was looking for, any tiny hint or sign of dissatisfaction or rue, it was not there. Nor was she lying—her eyes told him that. She was a good spy, for he had trained her himself. He was better.

She was _not _thinking second thoughts about their night spent together. Severus felt a flood of relief and…something else he didn't care to examine wash over him. "Ah—Happy Christmas," he said, gravely.

The eyes that had been the subject of his intense scrutiny lit with a sort of calm _knowing, _even as her mouth spread into a wide smile of contentment. "Happy Christmas to you as well, Severus," she said.

**--break--**

They ate breakfast in her private quarters. Hermione was not about to bring 'Richard' in any shape or form to the Great Hall—at least not just yet. Minerva might suspect, but she would not ask. Not yet, anyway, unless it was shoved in her face. _She trusts me. _That amount of trust from her former Head of House was very sweet indeed, even sweeter than when she had been asked to join the Order. When they were finished, she knew that Severus expected to adjourn to Morgaine's Library immediately. He'd already placed the tiny phial with the tinier amount of blood in a safe place, surrounded in the constant ten degrees below room temperature held in the storage room to make sure it did not lose any of its efficacy. However, she had something else in mind first. "I have a present for you," she announced. She padded over to the imitation tree to pick up the parcel wrapped in dark green paper. She thrust it unceremoniously under his nose.

His eyes were wide with shock. "Hermione…I didn't…you didn't need to," he stammered, for once caught off-guard.

Savoring the surprise in Severus eyes, Hermione grinned. "I know, but I wanted to," she said.

Carefully, Severus set the larger parcel aside as if it were a precious jewel and began to tentatively open the smaller one. "Oh, just rip it!" Hermione exclaimed. Severus shot her a dirty look but resumed unwrapping at a moderately faster pace. The green paper finally fell away to reveal…an amulet?

His face twitched, a sign of puzzlement and the dubious uncertainty of her intelligence. Before he could voice it, she hastily interrupted. "I know, I know, most if not all of the amulets sold are ineffective, counterfeit, or both. This one isn't. I'm sure of it because I made it."

Severus' expression smoothed out, but there was still a tiny amount of skepticism. Hermione was not offended. Amulets were rather disreputable in Britain, after all. But many of the books she'd read in the Library of Dreams on the rare occasions she managed the time to do so, she had read of other times and other places where amulets had held strong power, strong enough even to save lives. _I don't think mine is quite that powerful. The true art of amulet-making is just about lost to the British Wizarding World, and I don't have time to travel to foreign places or seek out ancient books not held in the Library of Dreams that might afford me the knowledge to create something of that magnitude. However, it _should _be fairly effective. _

Severus lifted the small, galleon-sized symbol to examine closer. It was Celtic square knot, forged in silver, and in the center a tiny purple gem lay embedded, winking mysteriously at him. It hung on what seemed to be nothing at all, but as Hermione watched anxiously, his fingers found the invisible cold it hung on. When he said nothing, only held it up by its cord to the light, Hermione felt the need to keep explaining. "I bought the actual talisman, although it took me a good long while to find a piece that was appealing, symbolically appropriate, _and _untainted with whatever passes for spells of protection on the amulets they sell," she told him. "The stone in the middle's amethyst—good for healing and protection against negative energies. The knot is Celtic in origin, and square knots are usually for protection. I found some sources in the Library of Dreams that detailed how to imbue a talisman with a respectable protection-magic—did you know that it doesn't just include spells, like I'd assumed, but also soaking the symbol in certain potions? I was so afraid I'd brewed them wrong. They were rather difficult, and I'm no Master. But it worked." She was babbling and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Filius taught me how to strip the amulet of any spell residue it might have had before, so that it wouldn't react badly, and he also taught me the charmwork that goes into making something transparent and almost invisible but not in a conspicuous way that screams, 'invisibility spell here!'—it has a low-level charm that diverts any unwanted attention from it. Weaving spells together is amazing, I mean, I know I'd studied it in textbook and theory and I've done it a couple times, for my NEWTs you know, but I do envy the seventh years who get a whole month of lessons on how to manipulate and weave any spell with another…"

"Hermione."

"But the amulet should give you some measure of protection, at least enough security so that you can tell if someone is trying to kill you, or shield you from low level hexes. It will probably speed your healing if you do get injured."

"Hermione!" She started. Severus cradled the amulet in one palm. With the other, he pulled her to him and shut her up with a brief kiss. "Thank you," he told her sincerely. "It is a wonderful and thoughtful gift. I will be proud to wear it, and I apologize for making any assumptions, Hermione. It's perfect." He was not lying—she'd learned that much from him, how to tell if someone was lying to her, and he wasn't. He met her eyes squarely. "Would you please put it on for me?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't botched up the gift after all! Taking the amulet from him, she carefully stretched the transparent cord as wide as it could go, and gently placed it over his head. Settling the protective talisman to dangle against his black-clad chest, she took a step back and examined him.

It ought to have looked effeminate, like a man wearing a woman's jewelry. Instead, it looked extraordinarily suited to him. _More like a warrior, wearing the token of the woman he fights for, rather in the style of the Arthurian era, _Hermione decided. Then she realized what she had just thought and suppressed a blush. _Well, I'm no Guinevere to stay safely in the sidelines and watch _my _man go off to do battle, _Hermione reminded herself defiantly. _I'll be fighting right alongside with Severus when the time comes. _

"Well? Does it make me look fat?" Severus asked with a smirk and a laughing twist of his eyebrow. The incongruity of his statement with his masculine appeal was too much. Hermione dissolved into gut-wrenching guffaws, struggling to suck in enough oxygen to stay alive.

"_Gods, _Severus," she gasped out, collapsing back into her own chair. "You'll be the death of me yet!"

"Glad to have done something right," he remarked snarkily. "However, it would be rather inconsiderate of you to cross the veil before you properly admire your gift."

"My…"

Severus opened his hand and stretched it out to her, palms up. There was a small, silver-wrapped package—when had he taken it out? "Severus, you didn't have to!"

"Neither did you," he pointed out, still holding the gift towards her. "Woman, my arm won't last in this position for much longer!"

"Oh. Right." She took the present from him, curiously unsettled. _He got me a present. I didn't expect him to remember or think it important to exchange gifts. It didn't even look like he had one on him. He's wonderful enough without. But he got me one anyway. He cared enough to think of it, and make the effort to get something for me, and make sure to take it with him when he came. _Oh, if only Harry and Ron could see him now, the black heartless bat of their professor, wearing her gift for him with casual pride, watching her tentatively open the present he had given _her _with eyes that were curiously soft and unguarded in the firelight. The silver paper fell away. She gaped soundlessly.

"Less glamorous than your gift to me, I'm afraid," Severus stated casually. Still unable to make a sound, Hermione gingerly lifted out the thumbnail-sized crystal bead, holding it up to the light that streamed from the enchanted window. It gleamed clear and translucent, like a tear, and whispered to her blood the way her wand had when she had first picked it up, years ago on her first visit to Diagon Alley. Seeing that she was still speechless, Severus allowed himself a small smile. "Still," he said, watching her face, "it's rather useful."

"Rather useful? Severus, this is a wand crystal!" Reverently, Hermione cradled it between a forefinger and a thumb. "It attunes your wand to you even further than it is already, it gathers and amplifies all the magic you cast, it even said to be able to unlock any latent ability to cast wandless, silent spells! They're extremely rare, and expensive, and—Severus, how did you get one?"

"Not anywhere in this country," he admitted. "Legally enough, although the crystal's creation and history before it came into my hands might raise some eyebrows."

"But Severus—it's dreadfully expensive, I can't let you spend that much—"

"But I already have," Severus cut in. "Hermione, I am not spending beyond my means, I pledge you. Years ago, I was a recipient of my own wand crystal, so I have no need of another. It would do me no good. _You, _on the other hand, have far too much skill and ability, not to mention your dedicated hard work and discipline, to waste. The crystal will help you conserve and amplify your magic, and you have demonstrated your exceeding ability to control yourself by your will alone past my expectations. You are long overdue for this gift, Hermione." He paused, and in a quieter voice, he added, "If you cannot take this gift as a Christmas present from _me, _then perhaps it would be easier to view this gift as a…graduation present of a sort, from your tutor and very proud teacher."

Hermione swallowed, and her objections died in her throat. What should she say to _that? _Instead, she smiled brilliantly. "I would love to accept the wand crystal, Severus. From both the lover and the mentor," she told him decisively. Before she could change her mind, she extracted her wand and, bracing herself, slipped the clear crystal bead over the tip of the smooth, worn stick.

It was like picking up her wand all over again. A cool foreign breeze from a different plane of existence blew around her, playfully tossing up her curls and rippling against her skin. The bead slid down easily down the wand, coming to rest near the base where her hand met the wood. Halting its journey, the crystal flashed brightly before it darkened into brown, amber, gold, ruby, the colors of the earth and the sun. There it was again, that something indecipherable that had clicked into place when she'd held her wand, vine wood and dragon's heartstring, extremely powerful, good for protection and complicated multi-layered spellwork. It swelled up in her like a symphony, filling her heart with indescribable joy and her mind with swirling colors.

When she came to herself again, blinked her eyes rapidly as the glorious, warm colors faded back to the ordinary view of her own room and her wand, looking as ordinary as always. The wand crystal was nowhere in sight.

"Cast a spell," Severus said softly. She'd almost forgotten that he was there, standing quietly with no smart comment for once because he understood that this moment was too special for humor of any sort. She considered for a moment, and then cast the first spell she'd ever tried, alone and shut up in her childish room with her brand new books, the night that she'd gotten back from Diagon Alley and her parents had gone to bed early, bewildered by this new world their baby girl had entered, one they didn't understand and hadn't researched in length on.

_"Lumos," _she breathed.

The tip of her wand lit, and glowed with a soft, unwavering light. As it had blinked on, Hermione had felt something within her rise in a tiny echo of what she had felt seconds ago, placing the wand crystal on her wand. It did not just whisper to her blood now—it was _in _it, sliding with her magic along the veins and arteries of her body, as irrevocably part of herself as a kidney or a liver, or a heart. It warmed and promised, and answered to her call like a faithful dog who has been with you all their lives.

Severus did not need to ask her if it had worked. It was self-evident, and breathless joy lit up her face as she whirled to kiss him in thanks.

**--break--**

They left for the Library of Dreams soon after Hermione had received her wand crystal, with Severus Dissilusioned and transformed on her shoulder, which was fast becoming a comfortable and familiar perch. He did not attempt to ask needless questions about whether the crystal had worked, and how she felt. It would be impossible to describe with mere words. Severus still remembered when he'd received his, a priceless gift to him from Albus the first Christmas after baby Potter had defeated the Dark Lord. He'd protested, aghast that Albus had the temerity to spend so much on such a worthless excuse for a human being—one who had betrayed Lily and her family—but Albus had insisted. It had been the first time Severus was convinced that Albus truly did absolve him of the terrible things he had done. When the many-faceted crystalline bead had slipped over the top of his wand and shone silver, charcoal, midnight blue, grey the color of a cloudy winter sky, it had felt as if he were flying—far more than the actual flying on a broomstick, or even flight as a raven, actually evoked.

They were in mostly meditative silence as Hermione strode up a flight of stairs. He had not told her that he was staying the day—or the night again, for that matter, but there was an unspoken understanding between them—several, in fact. Hermione might once have been a talkative child with a need for everything outlined, detailed, and double-checked. Now, she was an adult fully matured and capable of divining for herself Severus' intentions and her own. Severus was glad. It made things far more comfortable for him not to have to, Merlin help him, _talk _everything out. No doubt further in their…here, he stumbled on the thought—_relationship, _there would come a time when serious _talks _would be required of them to ascertain where they were in regards to each other. Right now, however, there was an easy balance between them, each understanding the other without the need for such…_talks. _Their step last night, in becoming lovers in truth, would not be discussed. There was no need, not with the accord and understanding between them. Neither regretted their choices; both were quite willing to continue their paths with each other.

And Hermione did not ask if he was staying tonight as well. He did not tell her that yes, he was. It was understood.

_And that, in itself, is frightening, _he thought as they entered the silent library, with Irma nowhere in sight. _It is as we share minds, or as if we have been together for decades, to have achieved this sort of congruence and level of unspoken awareness and acceptance between each other. I have seen such between other couples, but all of those were very old and had been married for no less than forty or fifty years. The Flamels were one such, and they had been married for far longer. _Who was he—and she—to have achieved, in less than a year, what took other worthier men and women decades to achieve?

Severus resolved to worry about it at a later date. Right now, Hermione had opened the password-locked Library of Dreams, and there was research to be done with the woman he most liked by his side.

**--break--**

"I can't use that recipe," Severus told her, giving her back the grimmoire she'd handed to him. "The healing potion itself is powerful, but some of those ingredients it lists are either very rare or, in one case, completely extinct at this point."

Hermione sighed. They'd been at it for the entire day, stopping only for a leisurely lunch, which they'd also taken in private. _We'll have to go to the Great Hall for dinner, though. Otherwise Minerva will…not be happy. And certainly the other students who are still here will notice, and wonder. They might not ever guess remotely at the truth, but it's better not to have any sort of suspicions or questions in the first place. Minerva most likely already knows, but she trusts me, I think._ _The only thing I have to worry about is whether she'll forgive Severus and me for this added secret on top of everything else. If she doesn't—_well, Hermione would be infinitely sorry to have lost such a staunch friend. She would be sorry she'd cost Severus to lose whatever friendship left Minerva might have felt towards him. She would even be sorry that she'd hurt the woman who'd done so much for Hermione. However, she'd have been even sorrier if she gave Severus up. _Not a chance. Not a chance in hell. _

"Well, we'll just have to keep searching, I suppose," she replied Severus. She took the little brown grimmoire and trotted over to the shelves to place it back in the appropriate slot. "We haven't gone through even a quarter of these books here. There's got to be something we can use."

"Perhaps…I hate to suggest this, but might D'alle have anything relevant in her book?"

"D'alle?" Hermione blinked. She hadn't so much as _thought _about that infernal book or writer in a good long time. "SaharaD'alle of _War and Peace_, you mean? The one I used as the basis for my rather unfortunate experiment with Vacuumency?"

"Yes, that D'alle, unless you know another," Severus snapped back testily. "I have not read anything but the chapters relevant to your issue with Vacuumency, last year. _Does _she have anything to say on the topics of blood-magic potions?"

Hermione shook off the chill that always accompanied any thought of her own private failing, for she still had not managed to master it in a form in which she was _not _entirely subsumed into an uncaring, calculative robot. _A failing that, in another world, transformed Harry from the boy I know to a despot and tyrant. _"She does have several chapters devoted to blood magic, at least," she pondered. "I can't remember anything specific on potions such as we're researching on, but then I did not spend so much time reading that section."

"Well, it should be easy enough to check," Severus commented. He got up, wincing as his legs began to remember how to move and work again. Striding over to the shelves, he ran a searching finger down the spines of the books. Hermione suppressed the rising flush on her cheeks, although the rest of her body's reactions were unfortunately not under her control. He'd done the same to her, last night, skimming light fingers down her heated flesh…

A long finger paused, and Severus said neutrally, "It is not here."

"What?" Shaken out of her straying thoughts, Hermione got up and hurried over to where he was standing. "That's not possible. No book from the Library of Dreams is allowed past the threshold, and very few people know of its existence or even how to get in, in the first place. Are you sure it's not…in a different place, maybe?"

In answer, Severus flicked his wand in a complex gesture Hermione had never seen before, muttering an unfamiliar spell. The wand itself glowed blue before fading.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, unfortunately, that _someone _has taken a book out of this room. Ten galleons on that book being the one we search for." He looked grim.

Hermione swallowed, theories coming to mind thick and fast. "Maybe…one of the professors absolutely needed a book for something and just borrowed it?" she offered weakly.

"Possible but improbable." Severus started pacing. "Is Irma here?" he asked her.

"No, she's visiting her niece this Christmas," Hermione replied. "Can't you just..._accio _it or something?"

"The Summoning charm works based on strength of will. If I did so, I might very well get it if it is still in Hogwarts. However, that would do nothing for catching the thief," Severus snapped.

Hermione sighed. "It was a thought." He shot her a derisive look. She winced. "Okay, a bad one." Rubbing at her forehead wearily, she unfolded her legs. "I suppose I should go report this to Minerva."

"I will wait here for you," he told her. She nodded, not bothering to argue, and exited quietly.

The Headmistress was not in her office, nor was she in her quarters—or at least, she hadn't answered when Hermione had knocked. Resorting to her in with the castle itself, Hermione fell to the familiar spot in the back of her mind. _Hogwarts? Do you know where Minerva is? _

_Doors—big, imposing—a glimpse of the snow freshly fallen glistening in the evening light—_

_Outside? _

_Yes—_

_Thank you._

Resisting the urge to scratch the back of her head where the tickle of speaking to Hogwarts seemed to reside, Hermione began the long trot outside. Minerva was, indeed, outside, although Hermione had to go farther out than she'd expected to before she found the stately witch, bundled up warmly and back rigid, standing unmoving a safe distance from the Whomping Willow. Approaching the Headmistress from behind, Hermione cleared her throat. Minerva did not turn around, but she did acknowledge Hermione as the younger witch drew up by her side. "I've always considered the years Severus, Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter went to Hogwarts my ultimate failure as a teacher," she said abruptly, not taking her eyes off the writhing tree.

"You're a wonderful teacher!" Hermione exclaimed, alarmed.

"I'm flattered, Hermione, but it is not entirely true." Restlessly, Minerva tucked a strand of hair fallen from her bun back behind her ear. "You have taught for half a year now. What is the first, most important rule of teaching?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I would say…to provide all students the same chance at learning in a safe environment," she said slowly, thinking back to the months of classes she'd both experienced as student and as teacher.

Minerva smiled, a grim, tight smile. "Exactly. You understand that, barely half a year into teaching and a year younger than an ordinary graduate from Hogwarts. But then, I have always considered you the brightest student I have seen for years." She glanced over at the shorter woman. "I was not so clever nor intelligent, I'm afraid, Hermione. Far from it. Those years, when James and Severus both walked these grounds as young students, I forgot my vows and my obligations as a teacher and temporary guardian of the youth. I lost sight of the fundamental oath of a teacher that you have just told me without hesitation. I taught and my students did not learn. I lectured and demanded and tested, and I forgot to establish a safe and secure environment for my students to express their magic—themselves—in." Minerva bowed her head. "I failed James and Sirius for encouraging their hurtful pranks and allowing them to believe that it was funny and acceptable. I failed Remus by agreeing with Albus that he needed his friends—rather than insisting that he be pushed to learn to be his own friend and person first and foremost. I failed Peter by overlooking him, as everyone else did, adding to his inferiority complex and his suppressed discontent. I failed Lily by not teaching her forgiveness along with moral values. And most of all, I failed Severus, for believing that he was already doomed, for having a hand in shaping him into the Death Eater."

Hermione could not think of anything to say. She could not effectively protest anything, for it was true—Minerva _had _done all of those things, just as Albus had. She had neglected Peter and Severus, spurred on Sirius and James, and indulged Lily's grudge. Whether it had a great hand in the dismal futures of all of them, decades later, Hermione did not know. Some influence, certainly, but who could tell just how much? "The future is unknowable, despite the occasional vague prophecy or fleeting vision," Hermione said in the silence. "Even if you had done everything right, it might have turned out exactly the same."

"Or it could have turned the tide of the war."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for things you can't change, for mistakes you obviously regret," Hermione told her compassionately. "The past is over and done, and cannot be changed. The only thing you can do is repent and make sure it never happens again in the future, and move on."

Minerva said nothing for a long time. It grew darker—almost night, although some light still glimmered in the sky. The bitterly cold wind whipped against Hermione's frozen face. Finally, the older witch spoke. "Thank you for not saying I didn't make dreadful mistakes, Hermione." She looked over ruefully. "Too many people have consoled me by insisting that I have not had that much of a bad influence, or that I was well-intentioned. You didn't."

Hermione shrugged. "You _did _make those mistakes, and break a sacred teacher's oath. It's pointless to say that you didn't. It's equally pointless to say you didn't mean it, because that means nothing to the ones you hurt or affected negatively." Minerva winced but nodded. Hermione continued, "but there really is nothing else you can do, and you truly understand what you've done and I bet you won't do it in the future, will you?"

"No."

"Then there is no point in wallowing in what cannot be changed," Hermione said firmly. Then she added, in a softer tone, "If it means anything to you, I know that although Severus does not speak of it, he views you as a friend and respected colleague. For what its worth, I don't think he holds what you have done against you."

_Whomp. THumP. Crrrack! _The Whomping Willow slammed itself to the ground several meters from their feet in fury, unable to reach them. "Thank you, Hermione," Minerva said.

_THUMP! _"Perhaps," the Headmistress suggested, with a brisk change of tone, obviously uncomfortable for having shared so much, "we might walk back to Hogwarts and partake of the lovely Christmas feast the house-elves have been preparing?"

Hermione shuddered with a sudden vivid memory of Ron being dragged screaming by Sirius down the hole at the base of the vicious tree. Severus confronting them, malice and anger glittering in his eyes—so unreadable to her childish self then. Remus stiffening, changing into a creature straight from the stuff of nightmares. Severus automatically shielding them physically. _Severus, my love, you have done so much for us, such a thankless job saving our ungrateful hearts. _"About the feast," Hermione said aloud as the two women began making their way back to the castle, "you wouldn't mind if I invited, uh, Richard, to join in our dinner tonight? He has no family to celebrate Christmas with."

Minerva gave her a sharp look. Hermione gazed steadily back. After a moment, Minerva nodded, albeit a touch reluctantly. "He is welcome here," she said, although there was obvious concern in her eyes. Hermione ignored the worry. It was, after all, none of Minerva's business despite their heart-to-heart sharing. "Hermione—" she broke off, and then sighed. "You are an adult now, as much as I wish it had not happened so brutally to you before it had to. You will make your own choices whether I will or nay. But please—be careful," Minerva pleaded earnestly.

Hermione turned to clasp Minerva briefly on the shoulder. "I will," she promised, touched by Minerva's obvious effort to stay out of Hermione's business even though she was worried. Noting that Minerva had understood her unspoken _thank you_, Hermione moved on hastily. "I also had something important to tell you. The…Library of Dreams? It houses a particular book of interest to me, and when I went to search for it today, it was missing. Since no books are allowed of that room…"

"What was the name of the book?" Minerva questioned.

_"War and Peace: A Woman's Magick, _by Sahara D'alle," Hermione divulged.

Minerva _hmmed. _"Do not worry about it," she told Hermione, as they entered the castle and a wave of warmth blasted their cold faces. "I know about it, as does Irma."

"You mean you let someone _take a book out?" _Hermione cried, horrorstruck.

"It is safe," Minerva said.

"But is the person who_ took_ it safe?" Hermione retorted angrily. "I know more than most, Minerva, that even with the best of intentions, reading that book—trying some of the magic suggested in the book—it _backfires. _That book isn't safe to read, Minerva!"

"I trust this person not to try anything beyond her capabilities," Minerva stated without yielding, face set. "If you need the book, you'll have it soon, I promise. For now, this is not my secret to share."

And with that, Hermione had to be content, for when Minerva used the Headmistress Voice, stern and resolved, it meant that she was no longer the friend and peer, but rather the employee.

Severus was equally appalled when she told him. "How could she make the same mistake as Albus did?!"

"I'm assuming that the mistake Albus made pertained to me," Hermione said dryly.

Severus looked vaguely guilty. Exasperated, Hermione waved a hand. "Fine, fine. I understand. I was still your pupil then. I'm a teacher—I get the concept of discussing students' progress and challenges." _Although I might never get used to the idea that you used to have those sorts of discussions about _me. "The point is, Minerva is just about as stubborn as Albus is, and I _swear _the Head of Hogwarts position is as cursed as the DADA one. I bet someone got really irritated at someone sometime in the past, and put a curse on the job so that all the Headmasters and Headmistresses _had _to be eccentric, stubborn, and _twinkly. _Although Minerva doesn't do the twinkly as much as Albus did, thank Merlin."

Caught off guard by Hermione's rant, Severus paused in his nervous anger and smirked. "I would have to agree with you completely, Hermione," he told her.

Sighing, Hermione swept her disdainful eyes over the pile of useless books, scrolls, and grimmoires that were piled high on the table. "Well, dinner is going to start soon, so we had better hurry down and get your Polyjuice," she commented. "Should we—"

"I am _not _leaving out books that all pertain to dubious references on blood magic and potions involving illegal or rare ingredients with the common factor of maiden's first blood," Severus hissed.

"I guess," Hermione conceded, cracking an involuntary grin at the thought of anyone walking in and trying to make heads or tails of the rather outré reading materials on the table. "I do have the list of books we've already looked at, so we don't get mixed up."

An irritated flick of Severus' wand later, the desktop was once again visible and everything replaced on the shelves. "I love magic," Hermione muttered gratefully, thinking of the hours she'd spent at the library in her neighborhood, tottering around reshelving books she'd devoured right there and then without checking them out. Severus sneered haughtily, Hermione gave him a warning thwack with the back of her hand to his shoulder to take him down a peg, and they both proceeded to her quarters to retrieve the Polyjuice.

Dinner was an interesting affair. Hermione nearly turned purple with the heroic effort it took to remain calm and self-possessed while watching Severus pass the salt and pepper without a snide remark, pull crackers with Minerva, and, at her insistence, wear the gaudy, shiny red plastic cowboy hat that had come out of it. All as Richard, with a jovial air of course. Hermione—and probably Minerva—were the only two people who saw the convulsive twitch in Severus' eye and the maddening impatience behind his almost-frantic wide smile. _Merlin, he's going to kill me when he gets some privacy! _Hermione thought, trying not to convulse with laughter.

Indeed, he did nearly kill her with his glare when they finally managed to make it to Hermione's rooms late at night. "Do. Not. Laugh," he enunciated crisply as he jerked the ridiculous cowboy hat off his head, punctuating each word with a brighter intensity of The Professor Snape Glare—much more effective now that he was back in his normal, unPolyjuiced self.

"Sorry," she murmured, eyes dancing. She put her head down in an attempt to appear pathetic and sorry. Severus growled.

"You, my dear little bookworm, are _not _sorry at all," he declared. "However, you _will _be sorry by the time I'm through with you!" She nearly squealed when he swept her up in his arms without warning.

"Severus! Put me down! Or at least carry me properly!" she screeched, not daring to struggle. The blood rushed to her head, and the breath wooshed out with each stride he took, her stomach hitting his shoulder. "You blasted man, stop—_oof—_toting me like a sack—_hhuh—_of _potatoes! _Yowch!" He dropped her abruptly onto the soft, welcoming spread of her bed. He raised an eyebrow and his dark eyes gleamed with challenge.

**--Age Line: Please Proceed to the End—**

Hermione had never been able to resist challenges. She offered back a wicked grin. "So, how are you planning to make me very sorry?" she asked cheekily, sliding her body down so that the rose-colored robes she'd changed into for the Christmas dinner feast slipped up her legs to the thigh.

He advanced, expression dangerous in a way that made Hermione's throat dry and her skin shiver in anticipation. "How about I show you instead?"

"That's—_ah!—_accep…Severus!"

"Yes, Hermione?" he asked in an innocent tone. There was no answer. "Would you like to finish your sentence, Hermione?"

"You are…_ohh…_insufferable, Severus Snape. _Oh!" _

"I try to be."

And then there were no more decipherable sentences for a very long time.

**A.N.: Okay I lied. Apparently someone changed the format and I only just got the memo. There is no place for unsigned-in reviewers to write their email except the text box. So if you DO want a review reply, you're either going to have to sign in if you have an account, or you can just put spaces in the .com, or type out the as "at", so that the email doesn't trigger an automatic removal. My apologies. **

**Amethyst, the stone embedded in the amulet, is traditionally associated with healing of the body, mind, and spirit. It also is said to protect against negative energies.**

**Wand crystals are my own creation. Consider it a rather large many-faceted clear quartz crystal bead with a hole large enough for a wand to go through. Clear quartz crystals are supposed to amplify energy, and are also used as crystal balls for scrying or divination. The lore behind the (fictitious) wand crystal is that it is container, amplifier, and tuner of magic all in one. They are created out of a purified quartz crystal and a very complicated process involving multiple spells, and once they are slipped onto a wand, they remain there until the wand is broken or the owner dies (although they don't 'show'- that is, they seem to be 'absorbed' by the wand itself, and the actual physical crystal vanishes.) **

**SUMMARY:**

**- You missed nothing in the little clip that the Age Line blocked off**

**Next week, I fly across several continents and oceans, move back into my dorm, and begin classes. Therefore, from now on I'm going to be majorly busy. I will do my best to keep my regular updates, but if I am late or I miss a week, please forgive me. As much as I love Severus and Hermione, I love good grades better. And since a rookie writer isn't worth two knuts on today's market, I'd rather have an education that allows me to eat. I have an unholy amount of classes, so wish me luck!**


	71. Chapter 71

**Disclaimer: Since my last batch of Polyjuice failed spectacularly, no, I am not Jo, and no, I do not own HP.**

He was gone when she woke up the next morning. She knew it, even as she struggled her way out of the haziness of sleep. Before she could feel more than a jolt of crushing disappointment and fear though, she noticed a piece of paper with a distinctive scrawl on it by her bedside. Carefully, she snatched it off the dresser and devoured the few short sentences with her eyes.

_New Year's Eve, _it said simply, and that was it. More than used to reading unspoken messages—particularly of the Severus ilk—Hermione grinned. To any other person, it would have looked like a simple note or reminder about a date, and no way to tell what it was for. What it really meant was, _I have to go but I will see you again on New Year's Eve. _She thought it meant he would return to Hogwarts, but no doubt he'd confirm with her at some point before the day itself. They had their brand new spellphones, after all.

_I hope you're being careful and staying safe, Severus. _

She shook off the gloom and uncertainty and rose, briskly dressing and washing up. Breakfast in the Great Hall was cheerful, a hum of voices and activity. As the dishes cleared, Hermione wandered towards her quarters, already organizing the rest of the day in her mind. _I should spend some time planning the lessons for after Christmas. Slughorn's actually done his own fair share of work for once! No piles of grading and evaluation—thank goodness, I was getting rather sick of it. He wants to sit down to discuss both the students' progress as well as my own some time before the term starts up again. I should schedule a time with him—tomorrow, after breakfast, perhaps. This afternoon I'd like to go back to the Room of Requirement and get in some more dueling practice. I've really gotten out of hand. I should contact Hestia and see if she has a spot of time anytime in the future, now that she doesn't have to spend her free time researching old rituals for Skye. _

In the end, she got none of the items on her list done that day. Instead, she was accosted in the hallway by Draco and Skye both, looking solemn and asking if she had a spare moment to speak with them. With an entirely mental sigh for her errands and plans going out the metaphorical window, Hermione summoned up a genuine smile and invited them to her office.

"Thanks, Hermione," Skye said, accepting a mug of hot tea with a smile. "We had several important things to discuss with you, actually. The first thing—" she looked over at Draco, seated next to her. When Draco said nothing, cautiously sniffed the cup she'd handed him, Skye's elbow shot out to clip him smartly in the side of his ribs.

"_Oof! _Skye!" he protested, the tea slopping out of the mug onto his robes. He hissed at the scalding hot water and rubbed a hand where Skye had elbowed him. "You're not ghosty anymore, pull your punches would you?"

Skye blushed. "Sorry. I keep forgetting. I got into the habit of hitting you as hard as I could since it had no effect anyway."

"Well, unhabit yourself! I'll probably have a giant bruise right there, marring my beautiful skin!"

"That would be too bad," Skye agreed dryly, eyes sparking with light. "I must be sure to kiss it all better, it would be dreadful to have any injury to blemish that beautiful complexion."

"I'm holding you to that promise," Draco threatened.

Hermione, barely holding in her laughter, cleared her throat. Both Draco and Skye jumped and turned to face her, faces flaming. They had evidently forgotten about her presence for a moment. _It's adorable, really, _she mused, a little wistfully. _I doubt Severus and I will ever do that—be comfortable enough to forget the presence of other people enough to display any sort of private interactions like that. _No, they'd never be able to be so at ease. Hermione found herself hoping that Draco and Skye would never have to learn how to be more cautious around others.

"Um, anyway, what we wanted to talk about," Draco hurried on. "I've been watching the Slytherins, you see, and some of them came to talk to me, and we were hoping you had a solution for us."

"I might, if I knew what the dilemma was," Hermione pointed out pleasantly.

Skye giggled. Draco ignored her, although he was clearly slightly mortified. "A lot of us have families that are either supporters of the Dar—of _Voldemort, _and the rest have families who don't want us involved in anyway with the war or the upcoming battle. The trouble is that a good many of us just want…not to be forced to choose," he said diplomatically. "In this current climate, between Hogwarts and their home, it seems impossible to stay neutral. Some are being pressured into choices, and others are finding their choices made for them. None of us like that." He sneered, half-heartedly. "Slytherins crave, above all, control and power—none of which include being moved around like so many little pawns to someone else's decision. So—they came to me, and I came to you, because you're the most sensible person whom I know who's in the Order. Is there a way to get the ones who don't want to fight or be involved in any sort of conflict somewhere…_safe?" _

Hermione blinked, and furrowed her brow, mind clicking into action. "So you tell me you have several categories of people in Slytherin right now," she said slowly, trying to figure it out. "The ones who will be most likely whisked away by their families and never seen again, for their own safety. The ones who _want _to be somewhere safe where they don't have to choose a side or an opinion. The ones who want to stay and fight on…one side or the other. You're asking me…"

"To find a viable option for those who want to stay neutral but are being pressed into unwilling service on Voldemort's side. To find a way for those who wish to fight for _our _side to do so, despite their family's wishes for them to either fight for the other side or disappear quietly for their own safety." Draco took a breath. "I can tell you right now of at least three Slytherins who managed to arrange their own escape to…probably out of the country entirely, if they're smart, but they're the lucky ones who didn't get caught and had enough influence, connections, and money to do so. There are another seven students who won't be coming back to Hogwarts at all because their families don't want them involved in any sort of conflict at all, and they've heard…rumors from their own connections. At least two of those seven were rumored to have wished that they could stay here and fight against Voldemort. Four students for sure are being branded soon. I don't know if it's against their will or not."

Hermione scribbled busily with the quill she'd hastily snatched up when Draco had begun his litany. Now she paused and stared at her notes for a moment. "Yes, I can see the problem," she murmured. "A rather knotty one. Still…" she pondered, tapping her quill against the parchment. "Do you know who wishes what?"

"I can find that out," Draco said immediately.

"Do that," she ordered. "Get a list to me." _Severus said he had won the tentative cooperation of the house-elves for as far as they could stretch and manipulate their bonds to their owners. I wonder…_Looks like she'd be putting to use that spellphone faster than she anticipated. She looked up from jotting a coded reminder down. "Thanks for trusting me with this, Draco. I promise that I will do my utmost best to get your classmates the help they need," she told him kindly. "Now, I believe you had a second issue to bring up with me?"

"Oh, yeah." It was Skye who spoke this time. She cleared her throat a little self-consciously. "It wasn't anything important, just about the…handfasting." Hermione nodded encouragingly. "We want it very simple. Just the required amount of witnesses and the official who performs the ceremony. We asked you earlier if you would be my maid of honor, but I'm not sure if you know the traditional Wizarding duties a maid of honor has…"

Hermione winced. "No, not really," she confessed. "I only know about Muggle weddings."

"Well then, its easy enough. As maid of honor, you're the second witness on _my _side, and there's a simple pledge you take to swear for my character. My guardian would be my first witness—that's Aunt Dani, since…well." Skye sucked in a breath to fortify herself and plowed right on determinedly. "Draco's already asked Tonks to be _his _best 'man' or second witness."

"But I don't have a first," Draco jumped in. He looked down at his feet for an instant. "My parents are…they're not my parents. And the other person I'd have asked is…not available," he managed. Hermione got a sneaking suspicion in her stomach. Draco met Hermione's eyes gravely. "When I was at the safe house with your parents last summer, they treated me like one of them. Before that I'd never met Muggles before—or not on an equal footing anyway. I was just…I know that they're in hiding and the more people know, the more risk. But in lieu of my parents and S—in lieu of my parents, I was wondering if it was possible to borrow yours to be my first witness?"

Flabbergasted, Hermione slowly laid her quill down. "You want my parents to act as yours in the handfasting ceremony," she said to clarify the astounding statement. _Draco asking for _my _Muggle parents to act in loco parentis! _It was…unbelievable, and it signaled to Hermione the true change that Skye Corwin had wrought on her sometime rival and current friend and ally. _Holy Mother of Merlin…I never thought I'd live to see the day. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would be rolling in their uninhabited graves if they could hear Draco now. _

"Yes," Draco replied firmly. "If its possible, without risking them or the others too much…"

Hermione swallowed her disbelief and once again put her mind to work. "You're having the handfasting at Hogwarts, I presume. Do you have someone to officiate it?"

"Professor McGonagall's promised us one that she knows is trustworthy," Skye affirmed.

"Good, that should work. I think…I will need approval from the top of the Order, but I think that I might just be able to bring them in," Hermione thought aloud. "It might not be _them, _though. Glamours work on Muggles as well, although I don't think Polyjuice does." She came back to herself. "I'll work on it. You don't leave much time for me to work miracles though," she teased wryly.

Draco flushed. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm happy that that's the worst I have to worry about this holiday," she said soberly.

"Better," Skye agreed vehemently. She twined her hand through Draco's possessively, and Draco's hand closed around hers naturally. Hermione's sharp eyes noticed, but gave no indication of it.

**--break--**

In the days following, Hermione found herself just as busy as if school had been in session. She'd sat down with Slughorn to discuss the students as well as herself, and spent an entire afternoon after that in the Room of Requirement blasting things to bits and wearing out her anger. _Condescending old fart! _He'd been oh so jovial and pleased with her progress, that she was learning her proper duties and so efficient in her tasks…_the tasks that shouldn't be _mine! _I'm supposed to be an apprentice professor, not a blasted house-elf picking up after you, tutoring _your _older students, grading your essays…_

She'd also spent hours closeted with McGonagall and Li, working out a way for her parents to come for Draco and Skye's handfasting, plotting the safest route, deciding what sorts of spells and Glamours would work on a Muggle and be the most effective, what identities they should take, how long they should stay…

Add in her own lesson planning, student evaluations, and constant training practice, the holiday was not much of a holiday. _At least I don't have to face rambunctious students in class and potentially explosive lessons yet. _The one bright spot had been her call to Severus.

It had taken him a bit of fumbling to remember how to answer the call, Hermione guessed by the amount of time she spent waiting.

_"Ah—hello?"_

_"Severus, it's Hermione. Are you in a safe place to talk?"_

_"Yes. How are you?"_

_"Busy. Tired. Anticipating New Year's. You?"_

_"The same. The Dark Lord has demanded several rather complicated potions whose brewing process consumes both time and energy. Make sure the Order is warned, they're all potions that boost power and strength to dangerous levels, highly addictive."_

_"That…could be either good or bad."_

_"In this case I'd anticipate the worst. Have you discovered who has the book?"_

_"No such luck, and Minerva keeps her lips locked tighter than her hair."_

_"Too true. In case you're wondering, it would be best if I went to Hogwarts on New Year's Eve, if you don't mind. Some of my guests are planning a rather drunken party."_

_"Will you be missed, though?"_

_"No, I've never yet showed my face at any of their revelries yet, and only very few dinners to which I was forced."_

_"Well that's good. No suspicions?"_

_"None. They all seem to think I went on a harvesting expedition for mistletoe, which is at its most potent for potions if harvested with a golden sickle between Winter Equinox and boxing day. It helped that I collected a fair amount on the way back to Prince Manor."_

_"Smart idea, Severus. You really do think of everything, don't you?"_

_"So should you, since I've had the teaching of you." There was a smirk in his voice. Hermione had to grin at his blatant arrogance in his teaching skills._

_"Of course, Severus."_

_"Was that all you were calling for? To chitchat?"_

_"Severus!"_

_"Sorry, dear," he returned her indignant exclamation in a tone not at all the slightest hint apologetic. _

_Hermione shook her head and sighed ruefully. "No, it was _not _the only thing I called you for. Draco came to talk to me. He and Skye, actually." _

Hermione breathed in the bitterly cold air as she tramped through the layers of fallen snow on her walk. She'd just needed to be outside for a while. Her lips twitched as she remembered her conversation with Severus. She'd laid out Draco's plea for the other Slytherins and had had the pleasure of hearing Severus splutter with shock on the phone for a good two minutes before he'd finally picked himself back up and begun applying his formidable mind to the problem. He'd said that he would have an answer one way or another by the time New Year's Eve came around. She'd also gently broken the news that Draco had asked for the Grangers to be his guardian witness in the handfasting. He'd gone quiet at that. _Poor man. He's sacrificed so much for this never-ending war. Now, he can't even witness his own godson's wedding. Not officially anyway, as a witness. As the guardian he truly is for Draco. _Hermione bit her lip, shivering a little as the wind picked up again. _At least he'll be able to _be _there, barring no unpleasant surprises. _He would be in raven form, Disillusioned.

Sighing, Hermione finally trudged her way to a lonely corner of Hogwarts grounds, where few people ever ventured. It was too far from anything of import to be noticed. She concentrated and silently Transfigured a rock into a solid-looking armchair covered with warm blankets and rugs and cushions. She tentatively sat, half-tensed to see if the armchair would hold. After a minute, she beamed to no one in particular and sank into the cushions. _I love the wand crystal, _she thought for the thousandth time. Before, she'd never have been able to manage such a complex Transfiguration and silently as well. She examined her wand.

It looked no different from before, and Hermione had felt no difference in casting any spell—except for one vital change. _Control. _Her control had been high, before she'd merged her wand with the wand crystal. Now, it was exquisite. Every single inch of power she possessed was harnessed, not a stray strand of it escaping and only the exact amount was expended for each spell she cast as was necessary. And furthermore, it was as if she and her wand had—somehow—taken on an aspect of each other, enough for her to be able to sense it _anywhere _at any time, like it was a fifth detachable limb. And so far, nothing had been able to separate her from her wand when she wanted it. That was good—but only to a point. As a Muggleborn, Hermione was a little worried at how dependent she might be on what was essentially a magical stick. One that could be destroyed, or misplaced. _Okay, perhaps now it can't be misplaced since I know where it is and it always comes back to me. But what if it gets destroyed? Will it backfire on me? _

Time would tell. Time, and research. She was already scouring the books in the Library of Dreams for more information on wand crystals.

_Still, the keen control that the wand crystal had attuned me to is very useful indeed. And more than that—it's almost intoxicating, in a good way. The way it feels when you take your first breath of cold fresh air, or master a really difficult spell. Heady, invigorating. All of it, but wrapped in a layer of…peace, I guess. Fulfillment, the certain knowledge that everything is perfect. It comes with a sort of blankness, almost, like the kind when I go into a trance—_

It hit Hermione a ton of bricks, and she sat up straight, her back cracking in the process. _Trance! Peace! Control! That's it, that's what Master Li has been trying to teach me for forever—_

She inhaled, and slipped into the familiar rhythm of meditation. She'd never been able to go further without endangering herself with her erratic Vacuumency. It had frustrated her to no end. But if she was right, if what she had just realized was right, the wand crystal might have just solved her problems with the rogue mind magic. _Nirvana is about fulfillment and the emptiness of everything—the knowledge that you are nothing, that the universe is nothing with you. To be one with the blank waters of emptiness that surrounds all. To be so much one with the universe and balanced and at peace with the self that the self in turn is no more, but becomes the universe_. Master Li had not been able to explain it more than that, and Hermione with her Western upbringing had never been able to understand why anyone would consider oblivion to be heaven…

Not now. Now, she understood.

Without fear, without hesitation, Hermione invited the peace and emptiness to pervade her mind. It caught her up and spun her around like a snowflake in a playful gust of air. She felt a _snap _and a physical jolt like a dislocated joint snapping back in place.

As naturally, as smoothly, as beautifully _right _as a glass of cool water after a run, as a leaf gently falling into the embrace of the warm earth its origin, as man coming home to woman, as one hand slips into another, as a smile in the silence or the snow crunching underfoot—

Peace.

It dwelt, despite or because of, the messy business of war and hate and prejudice and betrayal and guilt, in the world that had for the most part turned it's "civilized" back to it in favor of haggling over politics and people. It resided deep within the bones of every tree and plant, an unrestrained reaching to the sun and to the sky, to glory and to whatever deity one chose to imbue with power—reached up, and up, and up to seize hold of that which made them what they were.

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled.

**--break--**

Relatively far away, tucked in black rook-shaped house, a girl with silvery-grey eyes lay in her brightly painted bedroom. On her stomach and propped up by her elbows, her almost-invisible eyebrows creased imperceptibly as she encountered a difficult concept in the book she was reading. One hand held the book open to the right page; the other hand absently fiddled with the amulet she wore, that looked as if it were carved out of an everlasting icicle.

_Woman's magick is potente indeed. In its practice, it is most related to blood magick, primal and powerful. The magicks are linked, insofar as to force any female practitioner of women's magick to work and understand blood magick, and vice versa._

_To receive and control the power of Avalon, one must be willing to sacrifice something of great import to themselves. It may or may not be rift from them, but the magick is in the willingness to sacrifice that which is dearest to them, their own lives—to be bound either in service or in death to the magick. _

_How shall I describe the practice of women's magick to you, my sister? It is indescribable. First, there is harmony. A woman's strength lies in the earth, the water, the wind, the flame. It lies in the elements, and is not bound by stale Latin phrases and the dictates of man and law. If I have committed myself to the binding of the magick, I can say to a shrub, _grow, _and it will become a tree. I can say to the wood, _burn, _and it will become ash. I can command the water to be sweet, and no poison will ever taint its surface. The four winds carry me where I will. _

_And yet, bound by this same magick, I do not command nor order, for that is man's will. Woman's magick is in the asking, and the cooperation. For alone, I can command the earth to tremble and it will stay still; _Rain, _I will cry, and it will be drought. But if I ask, and if I ask it with my sisters by my side, verily I say to you, I can tell the mountain, _Move! _and it will move. _

_Harmony, my sister. Harmony is the key. With harmony, a small group of women may start—and end—wars, for is it not the business of harmony to know the cause of both? Thus, woman's magick, in learning to work in concert with each other and reading the balance of nature, is the stronger. For if woman knows the harmonies of nature and men, she may as easily disrupt and destroy it to bring war and endless battle as she chooses to smooth out the unbalance and disharmony to bring peace. _

_This is power. The power to begin and end wars. The power mightier than any man's brute force. This is the power that the sisters of Avalon have always wielded. _

Thoughtfully, the girl propped her chin on her hands and idly waved her bare feet in the air. _It's rather too bad Sahara D'alle stopped practicing woman's magick when she discovered the extremely potent mind magic related to Occlumency and Legilimency, _she mused. Chewing on a fingernail, Luna Lovegood continued to read on.

**A.N.: Thoughts? Comments? Questions? **

**My sincerest apologies for the late update. For the past couple of days, I have been having an epic battle with the uploader, and it just hasn't been letting me upload my documents, and it only just started working again for me. **


	72. Chapter 72

**Disclaimer: Always cite your sources. Everything comes from JKR.**

"Nothing new. Everyone's too busy with their own holiday celebrations," Severus reported, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth of the crackling fire in Hermione's quarters took the chill from his feathers—bones. He cracked a sneer. "Bellatrix proved her true ignorance when she postulated that the mistletoe I'd harvested and brought back was for the…_festivities." _

Hermione wrinkled her nose, thinking of the mad—but very adept—witch. "I trust you straightened out her misconceptions?" she enquired neutrally, hanging up his black outer cloak as well as her own.

"She threatened to _Crucio _me to Timbuktu and back if I didn't stop listing the uses of mistletoe in healing potions."

"What did you do?" he was altogether too placid for Hermione to believe that he'd just listened to the abrasive dark witch…

"I stopped listing the uses of mistletoe in healing potions." Severus paused dramatically. "She never forbade me to list the properties of mistletoe in potions used in some protective wards."

Hermione shook her head, smiling as she made her way over to her love. "You just can't help baiting them, can you?"

"I've discovered that baiting Bellatrix is rather like baiting the Boy-who-lived-to-be-a-nuisance," Severus informed her loftily. "They both react the same way."

Hermione groaned, trying to envision Harry's probable reaction to being compared to mad Bella who had killed his godfather. _Not good. Even worse if he knew it was Severus making the comparison. Merlin, save me! _"Severus…"

"They both blow up with very little provocation and attempt to hex the other person with questionable curses," Severus clarified for her, eyes glinting with acidic humor.

"You're probably the only person in the world who would compare Harry to Bellatrix Lestrange," she said with disgust.

"If you asked nicely, I'm sure Minerva would confirm it for you, since she's taught both" he offered. Then he paused. "No, on the other hand, she might conveniently forget certain events to favor Gryffindor as usual."

"Never mind. I should know better than to fence words with you, Severus Snape," Hermione muttered ungracefully, sighing dramatically. "You always win."

"Practice and experience, Hermione. You've made a good start—but then you had a good teacher," he returned calmly.

Hastily—before he could think up more acerbic witticisms unflattering to her or her choice in friends, Hermione went to the cabinet and yanked the unfinished bottle of Ogden's finest firewhisky out. Pausing, she reached in once more to pull out another bottle, this one slimmer, filled with blood-red liquid. "Would you like something to drink?" she offered.

"Ah, the Ogden's please, but what is the other out of curiosity?" he enquired.

"Elderberry wine. Hestia's Christmas present. I swear that woman is obsessed with 'fixing up my life', her words. Apparently I don't let loose enough." Hermione pursed her lips and looked particularly prim. "It's better than what she gave Danielle. I was chatting with her in the Floo and she said she'd sent Dani an enhanced perfume that literally attracts men—or rather, increases their libido."

Severus smirked. "Hestia is well-known for her unfortunate gifts. Consider yours the most tasteful of the lot. She once gave me a whip with a note that said that it seemed to suit my personality and she thought of me when she saw it."

Hermione choked, nearly spilling the firewhisky as she poured it into a clean glass. "She did _not!" _

"Oh yes, she did," he affirmed, obviously enjoying the flabbergasted look on Hermione's face.

Hermione carefully slid the firewhisky bottle back into the dark cabinet and tapped her wand on the other bottle to open it. "What did you do?" she asked, very neutrally.

"Put it in my bondage collection."

_Thunk, _when the bottle of wine as Hermione abruptly put it down_. _"Severus!" She caught a glint of something in his black eyes—he was teasing her! _Well, two can play the game! _"Fantastic! I was wondering how to broach the subject with you, but now that you've confirmed what I've suspected…" magic went soaring from the tip of Hermione's wand and suddenly Severus found himself shackled, hand and foot, with thick, rattly chains.

She approached him jauntily, holding his firewhisky in one hand, and nearly burst out laughing at the glint of real panic in his eyes. "Uh…Hermione…what—" he stammered.

She deliberately sat herself on his lap. "I think, under the circumstances, you should call me _master, _don't you?" she murmured huskily, leaning in close. She nipped at his lip, felt his heart speed up, and then her façade cracked and she collapsed on his chest helpless with laughter. "Oh Merlin, your _face," _she managed to choke out between snickers. He instantly relaxed, although a second later he was stiff with high indignation.

"You lying little wench," he growled, but Hermione detected that he was not truly angry. Still trying to catch her breath and stop giggling, she straightened and nearly was set off again. He was glaring at her aggrievedly, still encased and bound in chains.

"_Fi_…_Finite Incantatum!" _she finally managed to get out, dissolving the shackles. The wizard immediately shot out a hand to capture Hermione's wrist, locking her into place. Not that she couldn't have, if she tried, gotten the upper hand, since she still retained her wand. Nevertheless, she felt a thrill as his hand closed like a vise, thumb squarely above her pulse point.

"Perhaps," he hissed, "we should see just who deserves to be _master _around here, don't you?"

Quick as lightning, their positions were flipped. Hermione had just begun to sink into a haze of vivid pleasure when she felt—cold? Severus was now standing, wand in his grip, and some very familiar clothing dangling in his other hand. "So, what would you say to a duel to settle the question?" he asked casually, raising an eyebrow at her sudden puzzlement. _Dueling? But that wasn't what—_His face was—not quite—a smirk. Oh yes, he knew very well what he was doing, throwing her off-balance and then leaving her frustrated! His smirk widened as she leapt out of the chair, body still thrumming in an unsatisfactory manner, snatching the dueling clothes out of his hand.

"Let's," she agreed, replying the challenge with one of her own.

Their drinks abandoned haphazardly on various pieces of furniture, it took barely half an hour to change into clothes suitable for the physical activity and make their way unseen to the Room of Requirement. Both of them warmed up carefully first—no point pulling a muscle or something worse just to show off. Hermione concentrated on her own exercises, forcing herself not to glance over to the other half of the enormous room where Severus was, no doubt, carefully limbering up as well.

There was an unspoken pause, and then as if by telepathy or as if they were twin souls, they turned towards each other. As they did, the room rippled and blurred and became the Great Hall, complete with tables and chairs all in disarray, as if they had been left in a hurry. _A good place to practice real fighting, where there are things in the way. In a real scenario, the things might include people as well—students, professors, ghosts, the other side's fighters. _This was not the formal, regulated duel of honor that Filius Flitwick was ascendant at. This was dueling as Severus had taught her, dirty, underhanded, and messy.

"To first blood?" Hermione asked. It was what they'd always done.

But Severus shook his head. "Until one of us is physically unable to duel anymore," he said. Hermione inhaled in shock. Dueling until one of the duelers was too incapacitated to remain in the fight any longer was generally much more dangerous than dueling to first blood. Some of her apprehension must have shown on her face, because Severus spoke again. "You're ready for this, Hermione. In fact, you are past ready. The sortie at the beginning of the school year was a test, of sorts, for you. Not only did you survive the chaotic, ugly scene of messy battle, you did exceedingly well from what I gather from my…colleagues." Severus grimaced. "If you can survive that, then a one-on-one duel till one incapacitates the other past fighting should be within your abilities as well."

She swallowed. _He's right. _"All right then," she nodded, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders. "I'm ready if you are."

They started in a traditional duel form at least, ten paces away from each other. Since there was no other person to referee or begin the fight for them, a simple household charm would do the trick. Hermione tried not to giggle—half from nerves and half from the vision of Severus Snape performing a charm most used by house witches to time their baking. One minute began the countdown, but Hermione was watching him very _very _closely and she saw his muscles tense just an instant before she managed to get a shield up barely in time against his unspoken hex. The first time he'd done that to her, when she and Chris had still been under his tutelage, she'd been furious and caught off-guard. He'd merely replied her rant by reminding her rather coolly that a real Death Eater wouldn't take the time to bow, go ten paces, and wait for someone to start their fight and if she'd been stupid enough to think so, she would have been dead before she knew it.

_Which is true enough, and I realized that once I got past the humiliation of being Petrified before I even got my wand up. _Hermione threw a sizzling curse at Severus and leapt out of the way of an ominous ripple in the air. The problem with dueling by casting without words was that she could, at best, only identify a third of the spells that shot at her, and she had to rely on the motion of her opponent's wand and the small tensing in the muscles that would give away the casting just an instant before the spell was sent. Even worse, the more complex a curse, the more likely it was that it didn't have a spell-light at all, simply a distortion in the air. _That _had been a shock to her, when she realized that for all its deadliness, the Avada Kedavra Curse was a relatively simple spell-construct.

_Confringo! _she thought. It missed, and blew up a chair instead. She cursed mentally. _Bad aim. I am in dire need of more target practice, after this. _But now they were both battling, throwing a shower of curses in between ducking, weaving, and blocking the ones that came their way. Chairs were blasted or kicked aside, a table overturned, and _now _Hermione felt a surge of excitement far different from the thrill that had run through her barely an hour ago. This was pure adrenaline and the drive to _win, _as primal as the other desire and just as strong.

Fire lashed out at her abruptly, to be met by her _Aguamenti Magnus, _a stream of gushing water to fight the blue flame. His eyes glittered madly, black and avid, and a savage caricature of a smile was painted on his face. _Battle fever. _The cool, unimpressed secretarial part of her mind catalogued it and matched it to her own rush of wildness. But the greater part of her was taking in every twitch and jerk of her opponent, every object in the room usable as a weapon, every strategy possible to gain the upper hand and keep it. Energy surged through her wand again at the will of a thought spell. It would have been nasty if it had hit—a bone-breaking curse, painful and most definitely incapacitating. Almost instantly she had to duck to avoid the sharp lash of another ambiguous curse—_muscle melting curse? _

All of this took place in perfect silence, but for their heavy breathing and the occasional _crash _of another chair's demise.

Madly they battled, the two—spy and handler—and if anyone had been observing them at that moment, they would have thought them terrifying. The taller man, for all his height, moved with a savage grace that seemed to suggest that at any moment, he could whip a spell at a passerby and take them down, all without a pause in his current battle. He was as alien and as unpredictable as one of the dragonflies that darted about in a seemingly random pattern in the high summer, insects that might at any moment decide to fly straight at your face, or hurtle pass your nose like an insult. His spells were all colorless and nearly imperceptible, coming left, right, and center at a blistering rate, all of them with enough power to blow up a person. It seemed almost impossible that anyone could hold their own against such an attack—and yet, unbelievably, his opponent was doing far more than holding her own, but also making a concerted attack of her own. If the dark man was dangerously erratic and unpredictable, the woman was liquid and free flowing, weaving her body sinuously to avoid the spells she didn't deflect and aiming her own deadly barrage of curses at the wizard. Nothing, not a single move was misplaced, and every movement was economized to take the tiniest amount of energy needed to achieve what it was meant to do, and still, it seemed as natural and easy as breathing.

Severus had drawn first blood—Hermione hissed quietly as part of the skin of her shoulder, and the clothing covering it, was literally peeled away from her flesh. She had been lucky—only her left shoulder, the shoulder on her non-wand-wielding side, was injured. But it was bleeding freely now, and the pain was immense. _Time for a recoup. _She conjured a shield strong enough to hold against attack for a short time, took two running steps, and _blasted _the table right behind Severus.

He hadn't expected that, and the force of the explosion as well as flying debris kept him busy as he scrambled to right himself, avoid being injured, and defend himself from any potential curses from her. But she had had more than one purpose for the two steps other than to get a clear shot of the table. She was now within reach of a tangle of chairs they'd knocked into each other earlier, and she darted behind them quick as lightning. They weren't much cover, but they _would _obscure his sight of her for just long enough, she hoped, to…

_Damnshityeeooowwch!! _Gritting her teeth, Hermione forced every iota of her will into a whispered word—she couldn't afford not to say the spell. "_Episkey!" _

The searing pain of flayed skin subsided into a dull sort of throb, sullen and still vaguely burning. But it was ignored easily enough with a little determination, and she wasn't in any trouble of bleeding out and losing strength that way. Just in time too—Severus had recovered, and he signaled his recovery with an appropriately placed Vanishing spell, leaving her coverless crouched on the ground. _Time to move, I think. _She yelped as her side dive and roll jarred her bad shoulder horribly, but then she was up on her feet again, and the momentary pain of having rolled on her bad shoulder to flip back on her feet was overcome by the resumed duel.

He may have drawn first blood, but she drew second, and it tore large chunks of flesh out of his leg like deep gouges or claw marks. She had a ridiculous instant of nostalgia as she remembered Fluffy the three-headed dog and her dreaded potion master's bitten leg, but it faded into obscurity as said potions master whipped another spell that would have blinded her if she hadn't ducked and felt the curse take off the few baby hairs standing up on the top of her head.

Now was when most people would have been exhausted, both magically and physically. Right about now, when both parties had been injured, when both had been using huge amounts of will and power to fuel their wordless spells, having probably traversed a good distance not noted in their positions since it involved much back-and-forth and zig-zags, it was the time when duelers began to make mistakes.

No one could keep up the pace they were going at for too long. Not even the best dueler. All Hermione's previous duels had either ended at or before this point, _or _slowed into wariness on both parts rather than full-out aggression. No point in tiring and then becoming sloppy, after all. They held on a little longer. Severus conjured a very nasty swarm of bees that descended on her from above, which gave _him _enough time to field-heal his own wounds before Hermione remembered the spell she'd read in a footnote of a book oh so long ago and sprayed the little black and yellow menaces with a mist that killed them instantly on the spot.

When one tires, one loses more and more of the ability to concentrate. It is simply a human defect. With trained Occlumens—or, indeed, wizards and witches trained in any sort of mind magic, the focus lasted longer—but sooner or later, it would come to the end of their endurance and dissolve. No one was infallible. When Hermione flung a dagger-sharp whipcord spell at Severus, she actually _felt _her focus give. _Damnit. _With the focus went the ability to perform wordless spells.

Severus showed no signs of slipping yet. _His _spells were just as silent as ever. _Time to resort to strategy B. _

"_Fodio, Stupefy, Depulso, Lascero Membrana, Glacialis!" _

She had caught him by surprise—too busy defending himself against the shouted curses, he didn't deflect the last one which had been aimed not at _him _but at his feet. The small patch of ground where he was standing on iced over in a heartbeat—and Severus slipped, managing to fall without breaking anything. But it gave her an instant where he was not defending himself—

"_Stupefy!" _

It should have worked, but here her loss of concentration and silent casting cost her. Hearing the beginning of her hex, Severus managed to roll out of the way of the red jet of light, and the force of the spell cracked the ice instead. His roll had gotten him away from the slippery patch of ground, and he was already up on his knees, firing at her. She dodged hastily, swearing a blue streak, and just managed to dive out of the way of another spell bolt.

"_Depulso!" _Severus whispered hoarsely. She blocked it. _Hah! Silent spellcasting is out for him too! _That should level the playing field again.

The next few minutes passed in a fury of battle-lights and shouted spells that would have impressed the most jaded of watchers. They inched forward and then back, dancing nimbly out of the way of smoking, half-charred bits of wood and flying curses, neither gaining the upper hand despite the blur of their wands moving, twisting, and casting. Then suddenly, they came too close to each other—and it was no longer a battle of pure magic, but of physical fighting.

Hermione panted as she struggled and writhed. She had the bigger disadvantage here—she was shorter than Severus. In a standing grapple contest, she would probably lose, since standing, he could use his superior height to gain an edge on her. _Down, _she thought desperately, and before he could react, she hooked a leg around the back of his knee and _yanked, _hard. He stumbled but would have caught his balance if she hadn't shot an elbow into his gut at the same time. They both fell, Hermione unceremoniously brought along forcefully by a fistful of hair and a vise-like grip on one hand, the one still holding her wand.

She tried to switch the wand to her other hand, since it appeared as if Severus wouldn't let go of it any time soon. But he brought _his _leg up now, knee thudding solidly into her hip, jarring her enough for him to slash at her jerkily with his wand, hampered by the close space. His grip locked her down in place, and she cursed even as blackness overtook her.

When she woke, it was to the fading sting of wounds healing under the influence of magic, and the smug face of her lover peering down at her. "I won," he informed her unnecessarily.

She pulled a face at him and sat up. "Only because I haven't had real practice in far too long," she retorted. Then she took a second long look at him, raking her eyes over his tattered, ripped clothes and injuries. "You don't look so good there."

He snorted. "For someone who hasn't gotten much practice in, you are far quicker than you have any right to be."

She sat up and found her wand next to the bed she was lying on—from the destroyed Great Hall, the Room of Requirement had become a miniature version of the Hospital Wing. "Well, come over here so I can fix you," she ordered.

She applied the healing spells a little harder than was strictly necessary, and had the satisfaction of making him hiss through his teeth at the sting. "Merlin, woman, could you be any less gentle?" he cried, flinching as she targeted another deep laceration.

"Be grateful I'm healing them at all," she said smartly.

Severus had a coughing fit, but it sounded suspiciously like _coughsorelosercough. _Sniffing, Hermione sealed the last of his wounds, extracting an embedded splinter the size of a clothespin. "There. All done."

Obviously picking up on her snit, like the wise and very intelligent man he was, Severus quickly went about the business of placating Hermione in the manner of all men who wish not to be kicked out to sleep on the couch for the next week: praise and self-abasement. "You were brilliant," he tried. "The trick with exploding the table was genius."

She leveled a long look at him that told him that she knew exactly what he was trying to do and that he would have to try harder to get anywhere. Hastily, he continued, "I may have won but you inflicted more injuries on me than I did on you."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It's true!" he insisted. "It was luck more than anything that I got an aim on you. You fight like the devil, woman! You nearly shred me to strips with all your curses."

She gave him a long, cool stare and then burst out laughing. "Laying it on a bit thick, are you Severus?"

He sneered at her, pleased that he'd made her laugh. "Only the best for you, _honey," _he drawled, the endearment foreign and alien-sounding on his lips. Hermione winced at it.

"I'm so flattered, _sugarcakes," _she simpered back, nearly losing it again as his face became, if it was possible, even more nauseated.

"_Sugarcakes?" _he asked in disbelief.

She grinned at him, shifting her seat. "Ouch!" the jolt of pain was unexpected and she sucked in her breath as she clutched at her hip. "Merlin's beard Severus, what did you _do _to my hip?"

"Nothing more than a bone bruise," he answered. "But those aren't fixed by healing spells."

"It hurts." She glared at him.

"If you have bruise balm, that should take care of it," he answered.

"I do, but I have to _walk _to my room to get it," she whined. "It feels like my entire side is one massive bruise."

Severus smirked. "I'll fly rather than sit on your shoulder, shall I?"

It took her a while to make it to the dungeons and her quarters, complaining under her breath all the way. She was out of breath and her hip throbbing when she finally collapsed on her armchair, Summoning the bruise balm. Severus caught it deftly before it reached her, turning it around to examine the three-quarters empty bottle. "This is one of my make," he commented.

"Yes, it is. You gave it to me last year after slamming me against a wall, remember?"

He looked surprised, and then abashed. "You still keep this?"

"Of course," she snarked. "It's perfectly good bruise balm. And it would be _even better if it were on my bruise right now." _

"Oh. Right." He hastily knelt, opening the jar and scooping out a generous measure of the soothing balm. She lifted fabric out of the way, and with two large fingers he smeared it gently over her abused flesh. As the medicinal and magical properties of the substance immediately sank into her skin and began to work its way down to her bone, cooling and easing as it went, she sighed with pure relief. The familiar scent of spearmint and lemon wafted up like memories.

"Thanks," she said, watching as he rubbed the balm into her bruise in slow, sensual motions. _Merlin, the man is irresistible, _she thought, licking her chapped lips.

He finished, and screwed the top back on the almost-empty jar, eyeing the small amount left. "You've certainly made use of it," he commented.

"I had a lot of bruises in the last few months," Hermione said primly. She did _not _tell him that she had, from time to time, dabbed a little of the balm on her wrist or neck where there had been no bruise and no need for it, just so she could occasionally smell the distinct scent that brought her memories of Severus and made her think of him.

"Then I suppose I should brew some more, so that you don't run out," he said, placing the jar on the table. "On second thoughts—" he picked it up again, uncapping it and dipping fingers into the salve again. As she watched, he rubbed into several places on his body where, she guessed, he had accumulated bruises as well.

"But it can wait," he decided. "I'm starving."

"So am I," she realized. A quick charm told her that they'd missed lunch. "Minny!"

The little creature appeared. She looked at both Hermione and Severus, and somehow her expression seemed to suggest that she was appalled at their appearance. "Showers!" she squeaked bossily. "Now!"

"But Minny, we're hungry," Hermione coaxed. "Can't we just eat lunch now and shower later?"

Minny pursed her lips, bouncing agitatedly on her toes. "_Showers," _she emphasized, glaring at them for good measure. "Minny will bring yous food _after." _

_Pop. _The house-elf vanished, and Severus had to stifle a laugh at Hermione's woebegone face. "She's always like this," Hermione said gloomily.

"If its any consolation, Mippy is far worse," Severus offered gravely.

Hermione sighed. "Well, she won't bring food unless we shower first, so…in the interest of saving time, I propose we share a shower."

Severus stopped mid-step, looking over at Hermione incredulously. She lifted an eyebrow and smiled, a long slow widening of wanton abandon.

"I think," he said carefully as the blood rushed from his head, "that that is a very smart idea."

**--break--**

Late lunch was followed by an argument over British empire-building versus the rebellions of Ireland, Wales, and Scotland to become separate nations and the benefits and drawbacks to both. As late afternoon faded into evening and the wind picked up, Hermione and Severus eagerly eschewed the Great Hall for another private dinner. After dinner, they settled into a comfortable silence as they sat side by side, reading. This time it was for pleasure—Hermione was reading a fictional book set in the Cultural Revolution of China. _"If I go one more day without reading something light, undemanding, and utterly unrelated to my life and the war, I will go mad," she'd said when he blinked at her choice of books. "My mum gave it to me for Christmas, so I haven't read it yet." _

He browsed her private collection and hit gold when he found Tolkien, an old friend he hadn't opened since…oh too long ago. And so they sat in companionable quiet, the fire crackling and toasting their toes, and they were both soon caught up enough in their respective books that Severus didn't sneak a peek at Hermione's bare feet, nor Hermione glance over admiringly at Severus' hands, caressing the heavy book as he read.

They lost hours, reading. It was only when Hermione felt a yawn that she realized that she had no idea how late it was. She picked up her wand off the table to check the time. "Eleven thirty!" she exclaimed. "It's almost the New Year!"

Severus looked up out of his book, dark locks of hair falling back. "Indeed," he noted. He hesitated, and then closed his book. Hermione cocked her head to one side at the sudden change in expression on Severus' face. He rose, and then slowly took one of her hands in his two large ones. "Hermione, do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, still unsure of what was going on in that opaque gaze. _You'd think a year of friendship and several months of being involved would enlighten me to the mysteries behind Severus Snape's mask, but the damn man is too much a Slytherin and a spy to give away anything without a fight._

"I have an idea." He abruptly stood up, dragging her with him albeit gently. "Come," he ordered, not giving her a choice as he strode over to the doorway—her hand was still captured in his.

"Severus!" Laughing, she hurried her shorter legs to keep up with his larger steps. "What's going on?" He merely turned his head slightly to shoot her a glance full of—dare she think it—mischief, of the sort that would not have looked out of place on Harry or Ron, or the Weasley twins. _Uh oh. What have I gotten myself into? _She was glad that she was the most fit she'd ever been, because the pace he had set was beginning to wind her a little, hampered as she was by their relative stride-length.

He'd disillusioned both of them as a matter of habit, but they encountered no one in their short journey out of the dungeons and outdoors. Severus stopped briefly right outside the main entrance of Hogwarts and cursed before muttering, "_Accio _Severus' and Hermione's cloaks!" And indeed, the bitter winter chill had already shot straight through Hermione's bones, and she was shivering by the time their warm cloaks soared gracefully into Severus' outstretched hand. Hermione heroically refrained from commenting on how, at the last minute before obediently draping itself on Severus' arm, his cloak had flared out dramatically with an audible _swoosh, _looking uncommonly like the great black bat students had likened Professor Snape to. Her restraint was rewarded in turn when, in a curiously intimate gesture, Severus shook out Hermione's cloak, flung it out in a graceful motion, and draped it securely around her before she had time to do more than begin to reach out to take it from him. Tucking it snugly around her, he stooped a little to fasten the clasp. His hands lingered over her heart, and Hermione felt the aforementioned heart stutter and the romantic side of her she rarely indulged launch into a series of somersaults. _Or perhaps it's just my stomach. _Swallowing a lump that had somehow build itself a home in her throat, when Severus' hands finally fell unwillingly away from their task—and her heart—she reached one of her own up.

She had to stand on tiptoe, but she threaded gentle fingers through his soft hair, setting to rights the few strands the chilly wind had upset, then let her palm brush his cheek before tucking it back under her cloak. Their eyes met and held, and there was no need for mere words, simply the extra warmth in Severus' gaze and the sudden brightness in Hermione's.

They could have stood there forever, but such moments end, as moments tend to do, and Severus moved to put on his own cloak. Hermione added a Warming charm to his cloak first, and then hers, and he raised an eyebrow at her presumptiveness before thanking her.

"So, what's your brilliant idea that you had to drag us outdoors into the cold, half an hour before midnight on New Year's Day?"

"Perhaps you would care to make use of that brain of yours which you claim to possess, and employ some deductive reasoning skills?" Severus teased, and then raised his wand for one final spell. A second later, zipping through the air, was a large broomstick, which, as obediently as the cloaks had, slowed and came to rest in Severus' hand.

"Oh no." Hermione began to shake her head, and kept shaking it, backing up a step or two. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Absolutely _not. _I refuse. Thanks, but no thanks. I'll just, ah, head back inside now…"

Her vehemence only further served to widen that irritating smirk on Severus' face. "Come on, my dear," he wheedled, and if Hermione hadn't been so annoyed at him she would have gaped at the sight of Severus, wheedling. "It's just a short flight. I'll keep you safe, we'll be on the same broom and I'll be steering. I've never once crashed, fallen off, or lost a passenger in my life. I won't go very high, and we'll stay near Hogwarts."

"No," Hermione stated.

Severus smirked harder. "And here I thought I had snared a Gryffindor lioness. Where's that infamous courage and foolhardiness exhibited by you and your House on many an occasion?"

"It flew to the South of France," Hermione snapped. "And you didn't snare anything! I chose you!"

Severus was immediately contrite. "Dear heart, I did not mean—"

"Oh, I know what you didn't meant!" Hermione growled, then gave up, sighing. "I'm sorry, Severus, I just dislike the nausea that accompanies flying."

"Ah, but you did not allow me to explain fully!" Severus' hand fished for an instant in his robes to come up triumphantly with a small phial that caught the moonlight and glittered softly like the fresh snow on the ground. "I've been working on this—it's an improved version of the various motion-triggered sickness potions that you told me failed to, ah, make the grade and instead earned a Professor Snape Detention for its sheer uselessness." Severus slid his voice in a slight mockery of Hermione's prissiest tone, and Hermione blushed at hearing her own words echoed back at her even as she felt a warmth that had entirely nothing to do with the Warming charm she'd cast on herself, that Severus had remembered what she'd said in an insignificant conversation months ago. Severus sobered. "I can promise you, Hermione, that the potion will work. It was difficult, but I finally managed to counter the drowsiness without affecting the performance of the anti-nausea effects negatively, as none of the other marketed potions have done. It's completely safe for flight, and it works."

Hermione looked at the phial Severus held out. She looked at Severus, the man she had, in a scant year, fallen in love with—_her, Hermione Granger, the ultimate logician, recklessly falling in love, and with a man just about twice her age and a wanted Death Eater!—_and, taking a deep breath, trusted. This wonderful man had spent goodness knows how many hours solving a problem that had had eluded researchers and inventors for decades, _just for her. _It spoke, more than any words he might have said, that Hermione meant something to him.

There was one instant of sheer fear, when the world abruptly dropped away from them, and everything spun. Then the pressure eased, and taking comfort in the reassuring solidity of Severus' arms around her, gripping the handle of the broom in front of her, Hermione opened her eyes.

And whooped. "I'm not sick, Severus! This is great! It actually worked!"

"I'm flattered, you trusted in my potions skills that much," he murmured ironically, his mouth right by her ear.

"Severus! I didn't mean—I didn't—" His laughter was rich and she gloried in the rare sound, even as she risked freeing a hand long enough to reach behind and swat him. "You're teasing me! You're incorrigible, Severus," she informed him tartly.

"Why thank you, Hermione." The broom tilted upwards.

"Look at the stars!" she gasped. It was a clear night, and as the broom continued to swoop smoothly higher and higher, they were treated to an eye-popping, panoramic view of the heavens.

"Shining, shimmering, splendid?"

"What—_Severus! _Do _not _tell me you just quoted from Aladdin," Hermione gasped, flabbergasted.

"What, you wouldn't want to be a princess?"

"You just want to see me in that questionable outfit Jasmine wears," she accused.

"I _am _a man," he said blandly.

Daringly, she pressed back, wiggled a little, and had the pleasure of hearing a tiny gasp escape from Severus' lips. "Obviously," she smirked.

"Well, now that we've—ah, established that, let me _show you the world, _princess."

If anyone had been awake and crazy enough to venture out into sub-zero degree temperature, they might have heard, faintly, the unladylike strains of boisterous laughter, mingled with the deeper tone of a man's laughter, high in the air where no sane person should have been. And if they had been high enough to see the crazy fools who would risk frostbite, when the midnight had declared the new year officially started, they might have seen a man and a woman kissing with reckless abandon, heedless of the precarious height and the broom that seemed to dart about without any guidance.

**A.N.: Hope you liked it. **

_**Depulso- banishing spell (this is actually cannon—as far as I know, since it is in the index of spells at HP lexicon)**_

_**Fodio- to prick or sting**_

_**Lascero Membrana – tear or mangle the membrane/thin skin**_

_**Glacialis- ice**_

_**Pardon the bad online translator Latin. **_


	73. Chapter 73

**Disclaimer: A repudiation or denial of responsibility or connection. Yeah. That.**

The next morning, the adrenaline rush and the shock of having someone else sleeping in the same bed was much less than previous occasions. In fact, Hermione considered it a miracle that they'd progressed from pulling wands on each other to merely reaching for them before remembering that the other presence was not a security threat. Still, it was a rather unpleasant, abrupt awakening all around for sore muscles and left no chance of going back to sleep again.

Then again, perhaps that was to the better, since today was Draco and Skye's handfasting, and there were far too many things to get done.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked Severus as she prepared to leave to meet her parents.

Severus considered it, then shook his head. "I would simply be in the way, invisible and an inconvenient weight on your shoulder. Not to mention that I would most likely be dislodged or discovered the first time someone tried to _hug _you."

Hermione laughed. "That's probably true," she admitted, amusement dancing in her brown eyes. "Make yourself at home here, then. Minny can get you anything you need, and I'll be back as soon as I can. Before the handfasting, definitely. I'm sorry to leave you alone like this—"

"With a peaceful set of rooms, the books from your personal collection quite better than the average person's, and a chance to snoop through your private things without you looking over my shoulder? I can assure you, Hermione, I can entertain myself quite well for several hours if need be," he told her.

"Good thing I locked up my diary and hid it where you'll never think to look," Hermione joked, wrestling her feet into shoes. "I'll see you soon, love," she added, leaning up to kiss him soundly. Then the door clicked shut, and Severus was left standing in the middle of her living room, mouth agape and mind stuttering and stumbling in disarray at the word that had, until now, been very carefully avoided in all of their many, many conversations.

It wasn't until Hermione had taken two steps down the dungeon corridor outside her quarters, door swinging back to shut securely, that she realized what she had just said. _Oh Merlin, _she thought, stilling abruptly.

She had called him _love. _

Without realizing it.

_Maybe he won't have noticed it, _she thought despairingly, but she knew that it was a faint hope at best. Severus was a _spy. _It was his job to notice things. "Oh gods," she moaned, wishing that Hogwarts would simply open up beneath her and swallow her whole. Then she wouldn't have to worry about facing Severus again, having just effectively told the man like a silly moonstruck calf in heat that she loved him. _That wasn't how I planned to tell him! _How would he react? Would he push her away? Had she destroyed their still-just-blossoming relationship? She hadn't planned to tell him at _all _for at _least _another three months! _December and January to get used to the new physical aspect of our relationship and fall into a comfortable, accepted rhythm. Skip February—that's Valentine's month and he would see it as sickeningly childish, as if I still had stars in my eyes. Not to mention I hate the holiday anyway. March, late March or early April, to get some distance from that sickly-sweet day, but not late enough to be considered battle-nerves. I had a _plan, _damnit!_

And she had just blown that plan to Timbuktu and back with her disgusting lack of discretion. _What kind of spy am I? _A dead one, if that secret had been a matter of life and death. Hermione uttered a short, humorless bark of laughter. _Gallows humor. I suppose it is appropriate since I'm not sure I'll survive facing Severus again after this. _Struggling with the mixture of humiliation, helpless fear, and a growing sense of trepidation—along with a curious relief (_the secret's out)_, Hermione finally remembered where she had been going and began walking again, heading for Minerva's office.

She fretted over her slip up until the moment she stepped into the room—and then all thoughts abandoned her, and she threw herself with a very un-adultish squeal of delight. "_Mum! Dad!" _

She flew into the warm, enthusiastic arms of her mother first. Her father, not to be left out, swooped down on his two women and wrapped his long arms around both. "Hermione dear, you haven't been eating well have you?" Jane Granger scolded as she unblushingly poked at Hermione's ribs. "Goodness, darling, you're practically skin and bones!"

"_Mu-um," _Hermione whined, squirming away hastily before she succumbed to the ticklish sensation. "I have been eating. I thought I gained weight!"

"Not at all," Jane returned smartly, eyeing her daughter critically. "You need fattening up." Then she softened, cupping her dry hands around Hermione's face and chin gently. "I've missed you. Letters just aren't enough."

"I've missed my little know-it-all," Daniel Granger added hurriedly, noticing that one or both of his two favorite women would, if allowed, end up in a bawl-fest.

"How are you honestly?" her mother queried seriously, and Hermione realized with some trepidation that her mum had definitely picked up on the undercurrent of all the letters she'd sent and wouldn't be satisfied with a brush-off or vague answer. Opening her mouth to say something—she wasn't sure what—Hermione was saved by the door swinging open again.

"Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger," Draco greeted formally as he stepped in cautiously. He looked disheveled, his hair for once imperfect and messy. Hermione stifled a giggle at the barely repressed gleam of panic that lurked deep in his slightly stiff, almost arrogant posture. Draco might have been a changed man, but much of his mannerisms that had rubbed the wrong way—a haughty stance, refined speech—would never completely leave him, ingrained as they were in his childhood. Still, he was much closer to the other Draco she had known for several months in December last year, and as such she could easily tell that he was most likely quivering-in-his-boots anxious at the moment—probably over a combination of meeting her parents once more and the sinking-in fact that he was _getting married _today. "It is nice to see both of you again and in good health."

"Draco!" Hermione's mother compounded on Hermione's amusement of the situation as she ungracefully strode over to embrace the lanky blond boy with as much enthusiasm as she had greeted Hermione with just prior. "You look wonderful? Where's your girl? I'd like to meet her. Oh, I am so happy for you!"

Looking a little stunned, Draco was promptly passed over to Hermione's father where his arm was pumped vigorously and his back clapped so hard that he lurched forward and nearly fell. "Good to see you, son. We are very honored that you chose us to stand in for your parents," her father told him quietly.

"I—I hope you didn't mind—" he stammered.

"Not at all. We're proud to do so for such a fine young man," Jane informed him tartly but with ringing truth.

"Thank you both," Draco acknowledged sincerely to them, meeting their gazes squarely. Then he stepped back and looked over at Hermione to include her. "Skye is currently sequestered in her room with Cousin Tonks and Madame Corwin, but she wants to meet you. We have about two hours before the actual handfasting begins, so there's time to meet everyone and…uh, get ready." He looked down at himself sheepishly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. He was dressed well enough but clearly in casual sweater and pants—in, in fact, an almost completely Muggle-style outfit. _Probably Skye's influence. I've noticed his clothing get more and more Muggle in fashion, and she's almost always in Muggle clothing entirely. She's just about as crazed as Arthur about the Muggle world except she actually knows how things work and is mostly up to date in her knowledge. _Another thought occurred to Hermione. _He might have purposefully dressed this way to put Mum and Dad more at ease. I know their last letter mentioned that they were rather anxious about being entirely out of place in Hogwarts. The last time they were here they were fascinated and worried about their lives and about me, but this time they'll be spending a more substantial amount of time and involvement in a fully-magical building and community. Mum didn't say it but I think they are worried about flubbing up the handfasting ritual for Draco and Skye._

If it _had _been an attempt at putting her parents more at ease, Hermione was grateful to Draco. It prompted a burst of good will that spurred her to speak. "Tell you what, why don't you bring us to Skye's room and you can introduce her to Mum and Dad. Then Dad can take you off to get ready and start the preliminary ritual, and Tonks, Dani, Mum, and I will stay with Skye and do the same, and by that time it'll be your handfasting."

"If I'm not distracted, I may fret myself to pieces," Draco admitted a little ashamedly.

"I'll distract you well enough, Draco," Daniel Granger promised solemnly, but both his wife and daughter caught the devilish gleam in his eyes and groaned simultaneously.

"No getting him drunk—"

"—or broken—"

"—or otherwise impaired," Jane finished as she and Hermione both folded their arms and stared primly at the two men. "His fiancée no doubt would not appreciate it."

"And don't get distracted by the library either," Hermione included hurriedly.

"Pot, meet kettle," muttered Daniel, winking at Draco. Louder, he announced, "I promise, my dears. No bodily harm shall come to Draco before his handfasting. _After, _will be up to his future wife to prevent—or inflict."

Jane swatted her husband's arm and turned to Draco with a smile. "Why don't you lead the way to your fiancée and just ignore Daniel. He's all talk and no action."

"I resent that!" Daniel protested as they all filed out of the office, Draco awkwardly leading the way. "You definitely admired my 'talk' back in our university days on the debate team!"

"I'd just give up, Dad," Hermione advised her father as her mother's eyes sparked with argument and she opened her mouth to rebut the statement. "Mum's going to get on her warpath soon, and no one sane would get in her way."

"This is the room," Draco interrupted hastily before the Grangers could continue their familial bickering. _Definitely a single child and unused to the high level of family sparring that we engage in, _Hermione noted, smirking a little. _He's going to have to get used to it. Once he asked Mum and Dad to preside as his guardians for the handfasting, he officially lost all control of whether or not he wanted to be part of the family. They consider him another nephew or son now. _

Which would make the Slytherin her cousin or brother. Hermione pursed her lips at that thought. _Hmm. I've always wanted a sibling, if just so that we could gang up together against Mum and Dad sometimes for a more equal chance of winning in a debate if they agreed with each other. _Some other children had discreetly envied Hermione her parents, who were articulate, easy company, and almost never embarrassing. That was all very well and good, but it could be frequently annoying to find yourself constantly outwitted, out reasoned, and out argued by a team of debate-partners in the form of your parents. Even if they weren't right, they could make their side _sound _as if it were right and convince you of the rightness of it. They'd persuaded many a recalcitrant patient in the dentist's seat that they _wanted _to have their tooth out or a cavity filled in that way as well as reluctant parents that their children really ought to have that expensive orthodontic treatment for nice, straight teeth. _And they had to persuade _me _not to start that procedure too early before my adult teeth were fully in and grown, _she remembered wryly. _Some things are just better with magic, no matter how much I love my parents. _She ran her tongue over her magically-straightened teeth and resolutely tried to forget the sudden image of her lover (_her _lover! _Didn't it sound wonderfully adult and mature?) _that swam to her mind.

"Skye?"

The door unlatched to reveal a girl of middling height with milky-white skin and a smile as wide as an ocean. "Draco! Are these the Grangers? Oh, hullo Hermione," Skye exclaimed, grey eyes direct and enthusiastic. She stepped forward, greeting Draco rather self-consciously with an odd gesture Hermione was becoming accustomed to see—a palm-to-palm meeting that was almost like a high five without the clap and greatly extended in actual contact. It was an intensely private gesture. The first time Hermione had seen Draco and Skye performing their queer ritual, she'd been taken aback at the intensity and unspoken words that seemed to pass between the two. Now, she watched them a little wistfully as they briefly got lost in their own world before quickly coming back to themselves, both raised too polite to ignore other people around them. _I wonder if Severus and I will ever share that sort of connection. Other than just in bed—which was and _is _immeasurably precious and wonderful, but…what would it be like to have that sort of soul communication like that? Just a glance, a touch—its more than being good at reading body language or anything Severus taught me in spymanship. It's infinitely more than that_.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, may I make known to you my fiancée, Skye Corwin," Draco introduced, naturally sliding an arm around Skye's lower back. "Skye, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

"I've wanted to actually talk to you for ages," Skye smiled, and dipped a little curtsy that in Pureblooding tradition would have been both greeting and respect. Her parents didn't know that, but there was little awkwardness as they both nodded in acknowledgement and her mum moved forward to clasp Skye's hands earnestly.

"We were both stunned and extremely happy when Li came to us with your incredible story and Draco's request," Jane replied. "As my husband has already told Draco, we are very honored that you would ask us to be an important part of your marriage. We wish you both the same joy Daniel and I have found with each other." She glanced affectionately over at Hermione's father as she mentioned the last, and Daniel grinned broadly.

"Gives us practice for when our own daughter decides to get hitched," he joked, jerking his head at Hermione, who scowled theatrically.

"No marriage, Dad, I'd be driven to distraction in a week," she declared.

"More likely you'd drive the poor man to distraction first," called a new voice, and someone else came into view. Her similar appearance to Skye, if much more intimidating and sternly built, made Hermione's face light up.

"Dani!"

"Hermione, it's good to see you!"

They embraced, Hermione truly glad to see her friend once again. If there was a bad thing about working at Hogwarts (or rather, one of the many unfortunate issues working at Hogwarts) it was that she didn't often get to see any of her friends who didn't either attend or work at Hogwarts. "How's the work going?"

"Unspeakably awful," Danielle joked. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Hermione's parents. "You must be the Grangers. I'm glad to meet the couple who raised such a wonderful mature young woman."

Hermione fidgeted, uncomfortable at Danielle's praise as well as the awkwardness of the generational confusion that was inevitable as Danielle, though Hermione's friend like Harry and Ron were, was also much closer to her parents in age than Hermione—maybe even a little older, since Wizards and Witches lived so much longer. "Wotcher, Draco, Hermione," a new voice came, lighthearted and mischievous-sounding. Tonks appeared behind Danielle and Skye, her hair brightening to highlighter pink from dusky rose as she ambled up. "The doorway's a little crowded for introductions," she commented. "Maybe if we move either all out or all in?"

"Oh! Please, come in," Skye exclaimed, blushing at her forgetfulness. "It's a little messy inside, but…"

"A girl has a right to live in chaos on her wedding day," Jane Granger declared reassuringly. She moved forward along with the rest as they made their way into Skye's room. It was small, containing a single bed, dresser, closet, and rug, but it was not part of the dormitories for now—Minerva had decided that Skye would need a little time readjusting back to living in her own body and interacting with people other than Draco, and as such had allowed her the privacy she had become accustomed to in the form of her own room. Hogwarts had obligingly provided a room that was both accessible from the corridor as well as from the Ravenclaw dormitories so that she would be able to socialize with her Housemates easily when they came back from Christmas holidays. An attached bathroom ensured that Skye wouldn't have to go to the common bathroom in the Ravenclaw girls' dorms and wear out her still-weak muscles.

Ensconced in Skye's room which was indeed, rather messy, Hermione listened as her parents charmed their way into everyone's hearts, simply enjoying listening to their voices. Allowing herself a brief moment of luxury in _not _listening and filing away everything around her, she instead let the conversation blur as she observed the disparate faces around her.

Draco was still fastened to Skye's side, both of them perched on the small, light blue quilt of the bed. Skye still looked fairly well rested—no doubt saving her energy for the actual handfasting marriage. She idly played with Draco's fingers as she patiently answered queries about her unexpected term as a semi-ghost. On the chair by the dresser, Mum by deference had been seated despite her protests, and Hermione drank in the sight of each small smile line and the way her hands waved sharply in emphasis when talking. Dad, no less intense but calmer and more prone to shutting out the world when lost in a book was standing by her, a hand casually on the top of the chair's back, listening with great interest.

In the other corner leaning on the closet, Tonks was loud and rambunctious with her interjections and exclamations, keeping them all entertained. Danielle was quieter from where she stood next to Tonks, but every part of her body was engaged in various activities—listening actively, responding, watching out for a potential hazard to the group's safety in general and Skye in particular. Hermione herself leaned almost outside the intimate circle, just inside the entrance to the room and she felt almost awkward here. What was Severus doing now? How would he be entertaining himself? As much as she had missed her parents and enjoyed the company of those in the room, Hermione found—somewhat to her own surprise—that she most intensely missed Severus' looming presence, a comfort and a sure place to turn to for an acerbic comment or witty aside, whether delivering one or understanding one. _He knows more about me than perhaps even Mum and Dad! Of course, through no fault of theirs—we've been living very separate lives for a while now, and letters just aren't a good substitute for spending time together. But Severus…_

Severus understood her better than she understood her own self—and Hermione might even venture to guess that she in turn knew things about Severus that he might not acknowledge about himself. _Like that he can be ridiculously and wonderfully romantic when he wishes. _The anti-nausea potion must have taken _months _to formulate, test, and brew. That, even more than the perfect night up among the sparkling winter constellations, touched Hermione deeply.

_I really ought to get back to him soon. Maybe I can somehow get him into Slytherin dormitories so that he can watch Draco and my father prepare for the handfasting. He hasn't said anything, but I know that he wishes that he could truly stand in as Draco's godfather rather than occupy that niche in name only. If only there wasn't this need for _secrecy…

"Hermione…Hermione!"

Startling, Hermione reacted without thinking and her still-new magical reflexes afforded by the wand crystal reacted with her—though she reached abortively for her wand, before she could grab it, the smooth wood of it materialized in her hand. She blinked, glancing down at her right hand with surprise. _Merlin! That's convenient. _Then she looked up.

Six pairs of eyes of various shades stared back at her along with varying expressions. Dani looked approving. Draco grinned, probably remembering his own practice duel with her—Skye too looked amused but also a little impressed. Tonks was visibly shaken—the Auror had turned pale, chalky white—_literally. _

Mum was smiling and evidently proud of her although she too looked a little startled. Dad though, didn't seem to know whether he wanted to be proud as well or absolutely horrified that his baby girl had become essentially a soldier trained to react almost-instinctively.

"Time was, you'd have had a shield up in less time than it took for you to get your wand," Danielle jabbed with obvious humor, and Hermione sighed in relief at her friend's attempt at breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Time was, you and Hestia were around to keep me on my toes," she shot back, lowing her wand.

"I've known Aurors who didn't have that fast of a reaction!" Tonks exclaimed, still a bright bleach-white although her lips and eyes had darkened to a pale shade of fawn and her hair to ivory rather than snow-white.

Hermione shrugged a little awkwardly even as her parents' eyes zoomed to Tonks and then zeroed back in on her a little too sharply. "Just practice is all, Tonks. And I had good teachers." She nodded at Dani. _And Severus, but I believe I will leave that out. _"Shouldn't Skye and Draco start getting ready?"

"Merlin!" Skye took the initiative, thankfully picking up on the tension in Hermione. "Look at the time! I'll never be able to get ready in that time. Out, Draco, I have to get dressed. Out!"

She swatted him—the blond hastily scooted off the bed, shrugging ruefully at Dad. "Sorry, Mr. Granger, but it looks as though we've been dismissed."

"_Daniel. _It's Daniel, I keep telling you, Draco. And I do believe we _have _been dismissed—shall we see what mode of outfit you'll be donning then?" Hermione's father leaned down to peck his wife on the cheek and strolled out, winking at Hermione and nodding to the others. "Good luck, ladies."

"See you soon—wife-to-be," Draco called back as he himself exited.

"And on _time, _you ass," Skye yelled after him, instants before the door clicked close with a little more force than necessary. She grinned. "He's so easy to bait."

Danielle Corwin shook her head at her niece, bewildered. "I never thought I'd live to see the day my only niece get hitched to a M—to Draco."

Skye shot her aunt a sharp warning glance at her almost-slip, protective hackles automatically going up. Like any good former debater, Jane Granger interceded with ease. "Hermione wrote and told us of the disinheriting. We were both exceedingly shocked. Draco is such a nice young man. He even wrote and thanked us after he left to go back to Hogwarts."

"I didn't know that!" Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Why yes he did," her mother responded. "We wrote back and we've kept up correspondence since. Infrequent, of course—far more infrequent than your letters, dear. But he has a fine hand and a fine way with words on a page when he wishes it. He'd make a great speech writer."

Danielle _hmmed, _looking thoughtful. Hermione rather thought that Dani had blessed the handfasting because she couldn't bear to deny her niece, long-considered a hopeless medical case and only remaining member of her family, anything. Now though—perhaps with a process first begun with her own work with Draco in re-interring Skye into her physical body, continued with the shock of Draco's disownment and subsequent request for two _Muggles, _themselves the parents of former rival and nemesis Hermione Granger, to stand in as guardians, and completed by this new information—that he'd been in contact with said Muggles for several months already.

_Well, good. Draco could use more solid friends rather than cautious allies. _Still, Hermione herself was rather taken aback that she hadn't known about the continuing correspondence between Draco and her parents.

"He is very eloquent, isn't he?" Skye gazed with sincere tenderness at the closed door. "He doesn't think so, you know. He thinks he doesn't truly have any real talents."

"Well we'll just have to work on convincing him otherwise then," Hermione broke in decidedly. "In the mean time, perhaps we should get started on transforming you?"

Skye's eyes lit up with undisguised anticipation coupled with nerves, and she clapped her hands together as all three women sprang into action.

**--break--**

"It's good to see you happy, Draco," Daniel Granger said heartily, holding out a hand. Draco didn't hesitate, reaching back out to grasp it firmly.

"Thank you," Draco responded, his face breaking out uncontrollably into a giant smile. "_Hippogriff hunger," _he told the portrait of the White Witch. The elegant lady looked up from a needlepoint work and paused to incline her head to both men without comment before swinging open. "This is the Slytherin dormitory—common room here—hey, Pansy, Millicent," he greeted cautiously. The two girls, heads bent over a Witch Weekly issue, uncertainly rose to their feet, staring at the stranger.

"Pansy Parkinson, sir," the black-haired witch offered to Daniel Granger a little stiffly, bobbing her head in acknowledgment.

"Millicent Bulstrode. Nice to meet you, sir," the other stockier girl added. She gave nothing, no unease or confusion, away. _There's a Slytherin. _

"Pansy, Millicent. A pleasure to meet the both of you," Daniel smiled pleasantly with no hint of discomfit. "I am Daniel Granger."

Draco held his breath as both girls' faces went blank at the name. But before they could…well, what he wasn't sure, but before it happened, Daniel flourished a dramatic bow. "What are you two lovely ladies doing indoors on such a beautiful day? You should be out enjoying the fresh, crisp weather outdoors!"

"It's a little cold for my taste," Millicent remarked, tone colored with half-disbelief and half-amusement.

"Exactly. Put some nice pink to your cheeks and spring to your step! Why, I always run ten laps outdoors in the winter before breakfast, or my own wife wouldn't allow me in!" he winked at them, then shot a side-glance at Draco. "Your fiancée will soon be setting her own rules for you, eh Draco?"

"She already has," Draco commented. Ruefully he rubbed his arm where Skye most liked to hit him. "She reinforces it very vigorously too."

Pansy couldn't seem to help it. A tiny, tiny tilt of her lips upwards told Draco that Daniel Granger had done the impossible and charmed the very pureblood-minded Pansy Parkinson who, for all her support of Draco now, still considered Muggles and the Muggleborn beneath her by class, by blood, and by station. Millicent too, seemed to take Pansy's lead.

"It's no wonder Gra—your daughter enjoys holing herself up in the warm library so much," she observed daringly.

"No doubt," Daniel agreed easily. "However, if you'll excuse us and accept our fervent regrets, I believe that Draco's fiancée does expect Draco to show up to his handfasting on time as she very strongly expressed as we left, and Draco needs to get ready."

"Good luck, Draco," Millicent spoke, this time honestly sincere to the core.

Pansy chimed in. "Congratulations again, Draco. She is a very nice young woman." She hesitated and then lifted her chin. "I wish you joy in your matrimony, Draco. Truly. I'm…I regret the past."

Draco regarded her solemnly. "Thank you, Pansy. That means a great deal. And thank you, Millicent, as well."

A little awkwardly, both girls murmured something indistinct, and recognizing the need for a tactical retreat, Draco hastily led the way his room without further ado. The Slytherin boy's dormitory was empty—Professor McGonagall had requested that all the boys who weren't Draco leave the room for him for the morning. They were all no doubt discussing his upcoming nuptials in little groups all over Hogwarts right now. His involvement—and engagement—with Skye had thrown them all for a loop, and while they seemed to tentatively like her, they were all still for the most part bewildered, uncertain, and shocked that they were handfasting so early. _But we have the written blessings from her aunt who happens to be a highly placed Unspeakable in the Ministry, and the approval of Hestia Jones, the Minister of Magic's favorite Auror. And we're of age. They can't do anything. _

Traditionally, the men attending to the groom before a handfasting would have cast a Spell of Blessings on the lucky husband to be. It was a spell that did nothing in itself but conveyed a shared experience of the feelings a father felt for his son. Since Daniel was unable to cast such a spell, he opted to instead speak his thoughts rather than magically share them.

Draco could see Daniel visibly gathering his thoughts as he began to speak slowly, brown eyes kind and trained on him. "I should like to tell you, Draco, that I consider you a very mature young man and am delighted to have made your acquaintance. Hermione used to write back about the horrid little boy who thought he was better than her because he was rich and came from old blood and old money. When you first came to the safe house, you were no longer that snobbish prig, but you were one confused lad, lost and uncertain of your place in this world. Jane and I tried to give you what we taught Hermione early on—self-reliance, self-confidence, and a sense of purpose. Perhaps we helped a little. I certainly hope we offered enough grounding for you to succeed in a new sort of life. But today I am seeing a wonderful, assured young man ready and willing to share his life to someone he loves, and I think this young lady is one lucky girl to be with you. Despite your late start, you have all the qualities we've always taught Hermione. I think she would agree too." He smiled fondly over at the two women. "Jane and I would never presume to have any authority or hold on you, but if you ever need advice or a listening ear, Hermione has never been afraid to come to us and I hope you will do the same. Or talk to her, if it needs the perspective of someone of your world and magic. I rather think Jane and I have raised a clever and competent young woman. But anything you need at all, don't hesitate to come to us."

Draco swallowed. During the rather remarkable speech from Daniel Granger, his jaw had come close to dropping more than once, and he suddenly wondered what it would have felt like if the man had actually been able to cast the Spell of Blessing—it was overwhelming enough to _hear _this, and know that it was truth coming from sincere and honest lips! For all that they were Muggles and perhaps _because _they were, Draco respected Daniel and Jane deeply. They'd stood in for the adult figures in his life that had all failed him when he'd needed them—most notably his parents. Even Dumbledore had abruptly died before Draco could truly turn to the old man for any sort of advice or help. Uncle Severus—well, best not to go there. Draco's heart ached the most at the loss of someone he'd thought intrinsically on _his side, _past all politics and wartime loyalties. Skye had been as much a source of confusion as of comfort at many times. But Daniel Granger had been a steadfast example of a decent, honest human being concerned with justice, truth, and morals. Jane Granger had always been willing to discuss any thought large or trivial, often intuiting things beyond his comprehension, and just as willing to accept him flaws and all without judgment. And they were offering now to officially be those roles for him—be a place where he could go and not be judged, condemned, or fussed over. Skye had always been his absolution, but the Grangers were his promise of stability.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured respectfully, trying to convey how he felt in those two words.

The other man clapped him on his back, and without any further sentimental words (for which Draco was thankful for, since it was becoming rather too dangerously close), Draco went off to change.

**--break--**

It felt like two seconds—or forever—when Hermione returned. Severus had finally managed to unfreeze himself, and had nearly poured a generous snifter of firewhisky before recalling that he was going to have to maintain invisibility and stay entirely out of the way of people later in the day. It had taken longer to convince himself well enough that Hermione hadn't truly meant what she had said.

_It's all very well and easy for a young woman raised by a loving family to 'love' others—I am certain she tells her friends, including the two menaces, that she 'loves them' all the time. Hermione is a caring woman. Saying something and actually meaning _It _is an entirely different matter. _Yes, Hermione had only casually let a word she habitually employed in everyday conversation slip to him. It signified that their relationship was cordial enough for slips to happen, and most definitely proved—as if it hadn't already—that every vestige of Snape The Bastard had been forgotten or rather, forgiven. _For which I am eternally grateful, though I do not understand how she was able to forgive and put aside so easily. _Still, it did not mean any more than a mild affection or a bond of caring between them, which was naturally generated by friendship, a common goal, and sharing a bed.

When she slipped in, he had just convinced himself of this truth. Then he looked up at her entrance, calm brown eyes and familiar small face lighting up as she saw him sitting in "his" armchair with a book in his hand, and his heart simply stopped and stuttered even as it welcomed her presence with a kind of relief that was unparalleled to anything he'd ever experienced with another person, not even Lily, not even Albus. _Beautiful, _he thought, although he knew better. Her chin was just a little too stubborn, her eyes entirely boring in shape and color, her nose too small, and her hair frizzy rather than graciously curly.

"Severus! If you hurry, you should be able to catch my father and Draco at their pre-handfasting ritual," she told him, hair fanning out in enthusiastic curls and frizz as she leaned up to brush her lips against his.

"Will the White Witch let me in?"  
"I believe so, but if you hurry, I'll let you in so that it doesn't look suspicious, the portrait opening for no one," Hermione replied. "The girls think I'm in the bathroom."

"Very well." Hastily, he shimmered out of visibility—then he paused. "I believe I will remain in my human form, at least for now. Flying indoors silently is harder than it looks."

Hermione grinned at approximately where his voice was originating. "Good plan." She paused with her hand on the door. "Ready?"

"Yes," he affirmed shortly.

They departed, lapsing into silence until they reached the familiar entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. At Hermione's call, the White Witch, who had been out of her frame, glided gracefully back into view. Smoothing her pale ivory hands over her full skirts, her sharp, heartachingly vivid blue-green eyes slid instantly from Hermione to the Disillusioned Severus and back to Hermione again. "It is good to see you, sister," the White Witch spoke directly to Hermione.

Hermione nodded. "It is good to see you as well. Has my father and Draco passed through?"

"Ah, yes, the lucky bridegroom," she smiled. "I am truly proud of him. He has made a truly intelligent choice in finding a heart-sib to share his life with." Her eyes shifted just fractionally to where Severus was standing silently. "I am proud of my Slytherins today, for their strength of character and willingness to follow their hearts along with their abilities in cool logic and intelligence or enterprise and drive."

Severus soundlessly bowed his head in acknowledgement. Satisfied that he had gotten the message, the White Witch said nothing else but unlatched and allowed them in. The common room was devoid of life save a crackling, snapping fire and an abandoned copy of Witch Weekly on a chair, still open to the page on the latest winter fashions. Hermione though, gave no indication that she was here on false pretenses. Pursing her lips, she approached the room Draco slept in—after a small shock that she _knew _where Draco's room was, followed on its heels by the memory of last year and assigning her to watch the boy and her subsequent unprecedented entry into the Slytherin dorms, Severus followed.

Rather than alerting the men to her presence, Hermione merely opened the door. It moved to reveal both of them—and both of them engaged in earnest conversation, turned away from where Hermione and he stood, entirely unaware of them.

"…give you what we taught Hermione early on—self-reliance, self-confidence, and a sense of purpose. Perhaps we helped a little," Daniel Granger was saying with quiet sincerity to Draco.

Draco…Draco, the little boy he'd taught how to chop and slice potions ingredients, the arrogant and cocksure little fool with a too-sensitive heart in his House and class, and now, Draco the young man who had grown up and taken his place among the adults, had found a love the lucky only found once and had it reciprocated, who was now listening with an earnest expression as Daniel Granger continued to express sentiments Severus might outwardly dismiss as "emotional drivel" but inwardly wished he himself able to say to Draco as well.

Hermione sensed something in him, he was certain, for she purposely moved just enough in his direction to brush the side of his arm with hers—the only comfort she could ostensibly give right now. He wondered how she had known he had been standing just there, but the majority of his attention was caught up in what the other man was saying to his godson.

"…anything you need at all, don't hesitate to come to us," he pressed.

And Severus mourned as a virtual stranger, before his eyes, took the place he longed—and was _obligated—_to perform for his godson.

**--break--**

Her mother wanted to talk to her, that was for sure. Jane Granger kept shooting glances at her daughter that were far too examining or keen for Hermione's comfort. Still, at least so far she'd been unable to corner Hermione in private and she wouldn't bring it up in front of company. Especially not when it would be an innumerably rude topic for another woman's wedding day.

Instead, they both immersed themselves in preparation. Danielle Corwin cast the traditional Spell of Blessing, which Hermione knew very little about. She caught her breath and Mum audibly gasped as a golden glow brightened around both Corwins and joy threaded through with bittersweet pride, grief, and an overriding love pulsed from the two women. _That is amazing, _Hermione marveled as she watched emotions suffused on Skye's face and Dani's. _There is a lot to be said about the Pureblood traditions, and much of it is not bad at all. I don't think very many families and certainly none of the halfblood or Muggleborn families even know, let alone practice the ritual of the Blessing Spell. I wonder which Pureblooded families still even practice it regularly? _

The mist of pale gold thinned, rather as it were being absorbed into the two witches. As the light dimmed, Danielle and then Skye blinked, broke their fixed eye contact, and then spontaneously embraced. "Aunt Dani…" Skye breathed, her voice becoming suspiciously choked.

"Oh, sweetheart, your parents would be so proud, so happy for you today," Danielle whispered fiercely as her arms went around her niece, cradling her protectively.

"Even…even though I'm marrying Draco?" Skye quavered.

"Even still," Danielle affirmed without hesitation. She moved Skye out to arm's length, gazing deeply into the younger witch's moist eyes. "Your mother and father raised you to know your own heart and follow it, no matter what anyone else thought or said. Draco might not have been their pick for you, but today he is a mature young man who clearly adores you and is willing to place you above anything else, and even an old fool like I can tell that you love him just as much. You have nothing to be fearful or ashamed of, my darling. Your parents would be the first ones to bless you and your man."

Hermione exchanged a glance with her mum, and was surprised to see an echoing sort of emotion in Jane Granger's soft hazel eyes. _What does she know? What does she suspect? _Hermione tried not to panic and quickly shunted her eyes away to Tonks. The brightly clad metamorph was gazing dreamily and rather longingly at Skye. To Hermione's amusement, she noted that both hair and eye color had shifted to mirror the exact shade of Remus Lupin's appearance. _A little envy and a lot of longing there. I suspect Remus will find himself at the altar soon as well, if Tonks has anything to say about it! _

To her bemusement, Hermione found herself remaining in contemplative, quiet mood as she assisted Skye in getting dressed. Mum noticed, but Hermione doubted anyone else did.

"Oh no!" Skye suddenly wailed. "I forgot—I don't have shoes that match my robes!" She stared in dismay at her bare feet, poking out from beneath the light silvery-grey of her silk robes. "What do I do?"

"Not to worry," Hermione hurried to say. "I am quite proficient at Transfiguring footwear, Skye. If you have another pair of shoes I can Transfigure?"

With worried eyes, Skye dragged out a pair of black pumps. "Honey, I don't think that you should wear such high shoes so soon in your recovery process," Jane Granger said gently.

Danielle backed that up strongly. "No heels for her, Hermione. Keep it something she can wear for support," she instructed. Tonks, though, pursed her lips in thought.

"Why not boots?" she suggested suddenly. "Mooncalf-skin boots are very much in fashion right now, and they're made soft and with only the smallest platform?"

Skye's eyes lit up. Hermione looked to Dani for confirmation, and at the woman's uncertain nod, she turned back to the unprepossessing pumps. She furrowed her brow, constructing an image of the perfect boot in her mind. _Simple. Soft. Delicate, but with support. Cradling the foot. _Her highly attuned wand hummed with power and imagination, and reached out decisively. An instant later, a pair of low, soft leather boots, cut just above the ankle in a graceful curve and decorated with a small silver buckle on one side appeared in the place of the black heels. They looked amazingly pliant and supple, and the color was just a shade lighter than the new silver shade of Skye's robes. "Try them on," Hermione urged, and Skye did so, reverently caressing the suede.

"They're just a little tight," she said hesitantly, standing up and staring down in wonder at her feet.

"Hold on." Aiming her wand again, Hermione concentrated and slowly resized the boots in millimeter increments, stopping when Skye decided that it was perfect. "There. You're ready, and it's just about time to leave too," Hermione said with satisfaction. Tonks clapped her hands loudly.

"Oh, go look at the mirror Skye!"

"Merlin," Skye breathed, staring. "Is that me?"

She was wearing rather modest dress robes with large, flared sleeves that showed a long eyelet slit up her arm to her shoulder that allowed peeks of her pale skin. It was empire-waisted, with beading at the high waist, and a neckline that fell in a shallow circle a little below her prominent collarbone. The back was laced up with a satin ribbon, which would be covered by a thin, silky cloak made of the same stuff as her dress.

With her dark, dark hair down and a wreath of the same grey silk ribbon and blue and scarlet flowers circling her head, Skye looked like something out of a myth or legend—a demure maiden goddess of the sky or the evening. "You are absolutely stunning, Skye," Danielle murmured. "You look just like your mother did, when she was getting married to your father."

Somehow—although Hermione wasn't sure how—they all managed to stave off the feminine reaction, and it was with great trepidation, nerves, and anticipation that the little procession of women and one glowing bride-to-be traversed the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to a room known as the Room of Requirement, where someone had imagined a lovely copse, shady trees, new grass, and all. Stepping in, Hermione blinked, a little disoriented and in wonder. _Hogwarts, you've outdone yourself, _she whispered in the special place at the back of her head.

It was as if she had stepped straight into one of the fairy woods of her childhood bedtime tales. A circle of trees with healthy green foliage stood in a rough circle, and when Hermione placed a hand on one trunk, the bark was scratchy and small flakes stuck to her skin. It smelt like the forest after a cleansing rain, but there were no mud puddles or churned up dirt to show for it, and a stray breeze _shhhd _and sighed in a glad sort of way, whisking from where Draco stood eagerly in the center, eyes fixed on Skye, to dart around the girl and whirl her skirts playfully. Hermione craned her neck up, noticing as she did so that her mum was staring open-mouthed around as well, and was rewarded by a blue, blue sky, the sort of hue that poets and artists call "heartbreaking" and "unattainable to replicate". Already, Hermione could feel the same joyful chattering breeze dance around her hair and blow strands against her face and into her mouth, though she pushed it out of the way.

It smelled of spring.

Everyone else was already there, the few witnesses to the union seated on conveniently placed stumps of trees. Hermione saw Tonks settle with a wink on the empty stump next to Hestia Jones, who gave a thumbs up at Skye—who didn't see it at all as she walked steadily, as if she were in a dream, with her eyes fixed on Draco.

It was silent, but for the wind through the trees and soft, tickling grass. Half-caught up in the dreamy, magical atmosphere of the room—woods—Hermione seated herself quietly by Minerva. _Where's Severus? _

It was as if some sort of peaceful half-cloud had descended on all the members participating or watching. Master Li, dressed in forest green robes with a magnificent overlay of embroidered gold dragons—a stylistic sort of Chinese fireball breed, much abstracted, Hermione thought—stood in the middle of the circle, bearing a pure white cord and a scroll with a quill.

"May the place of this rite be consecrated and clean of malicious spells and intent," Li intoned to signal the start of the handfasting, and like she had been told to do, Hermione uneasily drew her wand and placed it at her feet on the grass. _I hate not having my wand safe on me. _Automatically, Draco and Skye clasped hands, facing Li with a kind of self-assurance that Hermione thought beautiful. "We gather here to confirm that neither air, nor water, nor earth, nor fire, can induce Skye Corwin and Draco Lysander to repeal their love for each other." Draco and Skye fumbled, pulling out their polished wooden wands, and Hermione could have sworn she saw them flare softly, almost invisibly, with a swell of acceptance as they exchanged hands. She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes, but no one else seemed to have noticed or paid attention to it—was it just part of the general tradition of the ceremony that was so common among Wizarding marriage that it was never a topic of discussion?

"I, Draco Lysander, do so swear that I am here of my own free will and proclaim that neither air, nor water, nor earth, nor fire, shall ever induce me to turn my back willingly on the love we pledge today," Draco asserted, voice strong and clear for every person there to hear.

Eyes intently fixed on Draco's, Skye repeated the vow. "I, Skye Charlotte Corwin, do so swear…"

"From now on, let his wand be your wand, and your wand be his, to serve and help and aid in any way," Li intoned solemnly. And the wands _did _light up this time, flickering with an unworldly aura that wasn't quite gold and wasn't quite silver, but rather seemed to be almost colorless and yet visible. _I think I am going to be researching traditional Pureblood handfastings when I have time, _Hermione decided, staring at the now entirely normal wands, which were handed back to the respective owners and tucked away. "Who witnesses these two?" Li called, his voice now ringing and crisp. Hermione held her breath, heart in her mouth. Right now would be when her part—and her _parents' _part—came into play. Would they be able to hold their own?

"By virtue of having seen Draco Lysander grow from boy to man and assume the responsibilities of his adulthood, I vouch for his hand," came a resonant timbre that Hermione knew all to well. _Dad. _He was standing by Draco now, and he briefly clapped the slighter boy on the shoulder before reaching for the scroll. Li unrolled it, holding it out angled for her father to sign in a strong, sure hand although he must have been unused to the sudden pain of the blood quill used for legal and binding ceremonies.

"And by the virtue of having seen Draco Lysander grow from boy to man and learn the secrets of himself, I vouch for his soul," Jane Granger continued, also squeezing Draco's arm gently in support. She too did not flinch although her hand trembled a little as she signed in her own blood. _Probably hoping that magic will prevent it from being unsanitary and unsafe. _Someone must have told her parents every aspect of traditional handfastings. Hermione was grateful, for she'd told them all she knew but it was not a subject she knew much of at all.

"By the virtue of seeing the love between Draco and Skye, I vouch for his heart," finished Tonks, who had—wonder of wonders—_not _tripped while entering the druid's circle to make her statement. The pure, spiritual reverence of the ceremony dimmed, however, for an instant when she promptly dropped the quill and then nearly fell over on her own feet in her haste to pick it up. Hermione stifled laughter, and both Skye and Draco seemed thoroughly amused and a little less intensely lost in each other as they watched her sign.

Then it was Skye's witnesses' turns. Hermione somehow managed to get up off the stump, following Danielle. "By the virtue of having seen Skye Charlotte Corwin mature from child to woman and assume the duties of adulthood, exploring her own mind's mysteries, I attest to her hand and her soul," Danielle affirmed. Her voice broke as she said _"child," _and hurriedly, before tears overflowed, she snatched the quill from Li and dashed off her blessing before thrusting it into Hermione's hand and hastening back to her seat in the circle. Hermione cleared her throat, and prayed that she hadn't forgotten her own lines.

"By…by the virtue of seeing the bond between Skye and Draco, I attest to her true heart," Hermione declared, and set the quill to parchment. The sting of the blood quill was relatively low—there was a sharp, _cold _shooting pain like a slash against the skin at the back of her hand, and then it died into a twinge as she finished the last "r" on "Granger".

"Above you are the stars; below you are the stones.

As time does pass, remember:

Like a star should love be constant

Like a stone should love be firm

Like magic should love be wondrous.

Be close, but not too close

Have patience each with the other

For storms will come, and storms will go.

Be free in the gifting of affection and warmth

Share in your fears and troubles

For burdens shared are burdens halved."

Li offered the scroll and quill to Draco. "If you will it so that you be made husband and wife, bound in all regards by the magic you share and the love you give, then sign the parchment."

With no hesitation, Draco signed his own name, although he winced noticeably and hissed softly through his teeth at the pain of the cuts. Li repeated his line to Skye, who also signed with no pause and looked, if anything, more radiant as the magic sliced shallowly into her flesh. There was a moment of stillness, and then Hestia was now in the circle, and she made no comment at all but took the proffered eagle feather quill, signing easily without a hint of pain. _I suppose she must be used to having to sign important documents with a blood quill. _Then she pursed her lips and tapped her wand on the seal at the top of the scroll. With an audible _pop, _the parchment vanished, and Hermione knew that it had gone straight to the Ministry records of marriages. As it disappeared though, another tied up scroll appeared in its place in Hestia's hand, and she passed it to Master Li, turned without a word to sit once more.

_Must be the copy of the marriage certificate, _Hermione guessed as Master Li calmly tucked it in his pocket and spread out his hands, cord laxly resting in his palms. "This cord is white, symbolizing pureness and your life before this moment," he told them. With a swift movement, he brought Draco's left and Skye's right hand together, looping the rope around their wrists. Instantly, the cord took over for itself, twining around the linked arms and tying itself into a knot. Hermione was reminded of the magical measuring tape at Ollivander's.

Li stepped back. It acted as a signal for Draco to start his own personal vows, and all eyes now turned to him as he gathered his thoughts and met Skye's gaze steadily. "Skye Charlotte Corwin, I do so pledge to love you for as long as love lasts, to cherish and value you. You are my equal and my partner in all things, and in all things I promise to listen and communicate with a truthful heart. I could promise you the stars, the moon, the sky above, or all the money I still possess, but none of them would fulfill anything. So instead I swear to you this. From this day forward, your house is my house. Your family mine. Your name mine, and my heart yours. This I do pledge, as Draco Lysander _Corwin." _

Gasps echoed through the clearing, ranging in shock from mild to severe. Not surprisingly, the Purebloods in the room looked absolutely dumbfounded—in contrast, Hermione's parents simply looked mildly surprised and somewhat pleased. Hermione herself struggled to understand what, in the Muggle world, might have been an aberration but not a monumental one. _In Pureblooding society, family and blood is extremely important. The Corwin family was down to two members—Dani and Skye. According to _Doctum de Familia, _as females they cannot pass on their name or bloodline as a Pureblood family clan to be referred to as such, unless the man they marry changes his blood allegiance to his wife's family. Draco had the right, as a disinherited Pureblood, to declare his own blood family and start a Wizarding Pureblood family Lysander. In fact, I think that's the only way new Pureblood families can begin, if they aren't already Pureblood. By swearing allegiance to the family Corwin, it means that he's given up rights to be head of house. Danielle's the head of the Corwin family, with Skye next in line, and if they have any children unless Skye or Danielle specifically write Draco into the succession, it will just pass straight on from Skye to her oldest child. That's a lot of power Draco's just given up to the hands of Danielle and Skye right there. Everyone just assumed that Draco was planning to start the family Lysander…_

Perhaps in retrospect, they might see how obvious a choice Draco had made. He'd already sworn his allegiance to Skye and her family in all but formality, especially once he'd been disowned, and while he might have had high pretensions and arrogance years ago as a snobbish little snot, Hermione would be the first one to say that Draco had truly taken responsibility for himself and left behind any grand ambitions to create something great. Or rather, he'd exchanged his castles in the air for a different ambition, to be the man Skye thought of him as. _Being in love does that to you. _She wondered what Severus was thinking right now—if he had expected it. Surely he had! He wasn't their best and highest-placed spy with the longest rate of survival for nothing. He'd probably seen it coming from kilometers away.

Skye obviously had had no clue that Draco would be pledging allegiance to her family, and she also knew the significance of it. The radiance on her face was not in any way hampered by the wetness glimmering in her long grey eyes as she squeezed her bound hand tightly on his. "I do accept today your pledge, and welcome you, Draco Lysander Corwin, to my hearth and home. What I have, I share, and my heart to yours." She wavered and wobbled just a tiny inch on the word _heart, _but swallowed and recovered, continuing on with her vow to him. "Draco Lysander _Corwin, _I do so pledge to love you and cherish you for as long as love shall last. I swear to honor you, help you, and be your equal in pulling the weights we are given. I will listen without judgment, hear without accusation, and speak without falsehood or deceit, but only trust and truth between us. I have little to bring to our shared table, but this I swear—that I will provide, the best I am able, for us and for our children for the best quality of life possible, giving up my own portion if need be to support, nurture, and raise any family we have in a loving and supported family. And I swear that you will never want if I have something to give, and that the family of Corwin will welcome you with open arms. This I do swear as Skye Charlotte Corwin."

"And I, Draco Lysander Corwin, acknowledge and accept your pledge."

_Light. _It was instantaneous and unexpected, and Hermione nearly fell backwards off her tree stump as her eyes slammed shut against the assault of bright sunlight that seemed to jump from some point high in its arc in the sky to the couple's bound hands and then refract into a thousand brilliant rays going every which way and radiating like sun off water directly in Hermione's eyes. She threw up an arm in an attempt to ward it off. Her eyes were already watering ferociously, and she heard several startled cries and a grunt of pain as other people no doubt were also dealing with the excess of light.

Abruptly, the light ceased, but it left dancing yellow and white spots in Hermione's vision among a field of black. She blinked rapidly. One by one, the spots reluctantly dissolved except for one particularly stubborn one located in the upper left corner of her sight, and the druid's circle sluggishly redefined itself, grass stalk by leaf by tree. The last to reappear were Skye and Draco, and Hermione gaped at them when she could finally _see _properly. The cord tying their hands together, which had been white, was now the same cornflower blue as the flowers in Skye's wreath, with not a single thread hinting that it had been anything but a pretty azure. _Blue? _What did the blue signify?

Hermione didn't have to wait long to find out. Master Li cried out in a resounding tone, "Your pledges have been accepted, and your souls have found the love tested and true. This blue signifies patience, devotion, understanding, honor, loyalty, peace, wisdom, and protection. May these words and the qualities the blue cord stands for dwell in your hearts and your lives from today, and may this cord reflecting the harmony between your souls hang in your house as a reminder of that which binds you together in this life for as long as love shall last. I now pronounce you in the name of the elements that we call to magic bonded and married."

**A.N.: Okay so the chapter's a little late, but the extreme length of it makes up for it I think. It took me **_**forever **_**to write this, and I'm still not satisfied with it. However, at this point I am completely sick of rewriting parts over and over, and you'd probably throw rocks at me if I delayed another week or so that it probably needs to slowly improve. Therefore, you're getting it in just about raw form and I hope it isn't too disappointing. **

**The handfasting ritual is partially copied from www dot handfasting dot info slash, and partially my own creation. The blue cord really does signify the qualities listed; in addition, it can also signify astral projection (which I thought was an added bonus considering what Skye's just been through). I got that info from www dot handfastingceremonies dot com dot au slash cord_colour_symbolism dot php**

**Doctum de Familia is Latin, and my handy-dandy translator doesn't really give me grammar or syntax organization so I have no idea if I'm using the right words but the general meaning is **_**supposed **_**to be "To instruct concerning the family." **


	74. Chapter 74

**Disclaimer: There can be miracles, when you believe…(but suddenly owning HP & co is not going to be one of them, Whitney)**

_The very first step for any novice is the Spell of Seeing and Knowing. The very beginning, a spell to reveal to the mind's eye the energies of nature. One must first learn the intricacies of each leaf, pebble, and drop of water before you may ask of it what you will, and be heard. To see the power within the self as natural energies…_--Sahara D'alle, _War and Peace. _

Luna's face was outwardly calm and serene. Inwardly, she was as focused as a deadly-sharp blade edge. She was surrounded in a protective circle of flickering squat white candles and herbs—fennel for warding, bay laurel for clairvoyance, pennyroyal for harmony and unity between the sexes. Breathing in the mixed scents of the burning candles and herbs, she relaxed further into her easy pose, cross-legged and unhampered. Further…until she silently slipped from the edge of the true world to the one just below it. She began to chant a song to the drumbeats only she could hear; what mattered was not what she _said, _which could have been a recitation of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, but _how _she said it. It took time; time to match her tone to the frequency of the thrumming that the otherworld vibrated at. The otherworld that lay just beneath the outer layer of the true world, and ought to glow and flicker with all sorts of beautiful colors and auras according to Sahara D'alle.

It was harder than it sounded. _Much _harder: this was Luna's fourth attempt. The previous three tries had all failed. But each had brought her closer and closer to the right frequency.

Her breath caught in her throat as she inhaled—hastily, she swallowed and kept the rhythm and flow of her song (one she'd picked at random because she knew the words by heart and the chorus repeated many times) unbroken. The edge of her focus wavered for a second with the tiny hiccup, and then, to her relief, straightened out again, stretching back into the still lake surface. _There—an eighth of a pitch lower…_

The insides of her eyelids jerked and flooded with an outpouring of light. _Yes. This is it. _She opened her eyes and gasped, a small sound of wonder. The world around her was transformed. It was as if she could _see _the elements that made up the objects around her, rather than the objects themselves. Her hardwood bed, for example, an antique passed down for generations on her father's side, glowed with a steady faint pink light; the wood, when looked at, produced flickering ghostly images of the imposing strength of an enormous tree surrounded by equally tall brethren. It spoke of centuries of love, of comfort, of dreams and enchantments and family bonds. It was a good bed.

Her wand, placed carefully on the dresser, shone even more fiercely with all the colors of the rainbow. The cherry wood echoed of earth, the grounding influence, unification, an eye for insight. The Thestral hair core whispered images of wisdom from sorrow and grace in the tear that spilled from the eye.

Everywhere she looked, the underlying magic gleamed strong from her possessions, even the walls of her house. Dreamily, Luna danced out of the circle, the candles extinguishing themselves as she leaped over them. Her father was downstairs, and he positively _glowed _with warm protective love like a soft blanket in winter, of the brightest sunny yellow and orange and lime green. Something within him shifted when she squinted at him, but though she seached for it, it was as elusive as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

"Hey Little Luna Lulu," her father beamed, from where he sat at the kitchen table making the last changes to his latest article for The Quibbler.

"Hi Daddy," she trilled, skipping over lightheartedly to kiss his cheek. "I can see energies now!"

"That's my girl," he said proudly. "Your Mum would be so proud of you."

Luna leaned over him to fix a spelling mistake on his rather blotchy draft. She had no quill, but that didn't bother her in the least—fingers worked just as well, tracing invisibly across the parchment, and Daddy was more clear-sighted and smart than her classmates. He brightened, visibly. "I couldn't remember if it was spelled with an 'oo' or a 'u', he admitted, dipping his own quill into the bright purple ink and following her on the page. "Are you going to test out your new skill then, Little Lulu?"

"Outside," she nodded. "I'll be back before dinnertime."

"Remember, don't let down your guard and don't trust strangers," he admonished as he always did when she went out. "And keep—"

"—an eye out for Ornitha Killiplars and Blibbering Humdingers," Luna finished in chorus with him. "I'll refill the bowl of milk and honey by the doorstep while I'm at it as well. Perhaps we'll be lucky this time."

"Good girl." He absently patted her on the shoulder.

Luna retrieved the milk and honey, carefully poured out both in generous doses into the stone bowl on the doorstep outside the entrance to their house, and then replaced the items back in the kitchen. Cheerfully calling out her farewell, she bundled up, twirling her favorite school scarf on a gloved finger as she went outside. It was still bright, and snow crunched underfoot as she made her way out of the hibernating garden into the true open.

The Lovegoods lived in relative isolation in their house affectionately named Rook's Castle. Some distance away lay Ottery St. Catchpole, but it was far enough that the town was not visible from where she stood. It had meant, as a child, that her closest playmate had been Ginny Weasley, but _that _had diminished as the years went by and vanished entirely when Luna's mother had died. No matter, now—Luna enjoyed the quiet and peaceful surroundings. And, she discovered today with joy, the peaceful surroundings enjoyed _her. _Everywhere she ran, colors and auras seemed to brighten and almost reach out to her as if they knew her. _Perhaps so. The trees, the ground, the hedges and everything here have all known me since I was a babe in swaddling carried outside by my parents. _A breeze swirled around her like a long lost friend. Everything rippled with a multitude of bright and dark. Luna laughed, a tinkly sound of pure delight. It was echoed back at her by the bare branches of the trees, veined in glittering brown and gold and silver. Something told her to look down. Down past her out two feet, past the brilliant snow underfoot, past the dead grass under that, down past the first layer of dirt…light flared. "Oh!"

She crouched down on her hands and knees, uncaring of the cold snow, and stared. It took her several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dazzling radiance of pure white…but when they did, they took in the sight with amazed surprise. Lines, great and small, like a network or a cobweb, spread for as far as she could see against the surface of the earth—some lines evidently buried deeper, others almost near the top. Most of the lines were thin threads and fibers of threads, barely visible yet all connected and…_flowing, _pulsing with the same sort of vital energy. She followed one such system of connections and was gratified to find herself facing the way she'd come. There, under the tall black cylinder shape of her house in the distance, was a connection of at least five or six lines and fibers, and the energy that met at the middle seemed almost like a subterranean pool, quiescent and calm. "Oh…beautiful," she sighed, gazing at it. _This _was magic worth studying. This was the magic that D'alle had once seen and been a part of, the magic she'd claimed could move mountains and drain oceans. The magic she'd given up. Luna spun around giddily, and let herself take in the harmony and balance she saw all around her. _Beautiful. _And the peace settled on her like the first truly warm spring breeze of the season, embracing and unexpected and welcome.

**--break--**

The door shut on the back of Skye—who was a tad tipsy, but certainly sober enough to find her way to her room. Hermione shared grins with Hestia, while Danielle looked a little sick. They were all scattered on various pieces of furniture in Hermione's living room around the fireplace, each nursing a glass of wine in different stages of being drunk. It was relatively early in the evening, actually. Skye's excuse of being 'tired' had been as transparent as her attempts to not give anything away anything about her abbreviated honeymoon to an Order safe-house not in England—that is, about as clear as glass. She'd arrived back just this morning breathless and glowing and dreamy still, prompting Danielle to glare at Draco when she'd bumped into him as she'd arrived to welcome her niece back. Thankfully, Draco had been just as starry-eyed and cliché, and hadn't noticed Danielle's virulent glare at all. Hestia, on the other hand, had wanted to pry out every single detail from her best friend's niece, and had organized tonight as a 'girl's night in' in that attempt.

Not that Skye had actually _told _them, in so many words, what Hestia had wanted to know, but her emotion was all too entirely easy to read—and people thought _Harry _wore his heart on his sleeve! But then, Skye had gone an entire year invisible to the greater population with no need to hide what she was thinking and feeling.

"Now that Skye is gone—and no, Hestia, I do _not _want to think about what she's doing with her new husband—I was curious about something," Danielle began. "Most of us were Order members and it wasn't a decision of great magnitude to reveal that your parents had been rescued and kept safe and remind us of our Order vows to protect and serve and so on. But there were those couple of Slytherins, and the one Ravenclaw—how did you decide to allow them to find out that your parents were alive and kicking?"

Hermione grimaced. "It wasn't my first decision, to be honest, and if I'd had my way I'd have had them completely and utterly disguised. But my parents insisted on coming as themselves, and then there was the matter of swearing to the Ministry document as witnesses in the handfasting. Apparently there would be reams of trouble and the question of validity if they pretended to be anyone but who they were, even if they signed their real names." She sighed. "I talked to Minerva, Li, Hestia—I would have talked to you too, but Hestia told me that they had assigned you double work because one of your colleagues was sick." Danielle nodded, distaste written all over her face.

"He has an incurable disease and has good and bad days—I don't know why they don't just put him on part-time rather than full, and induct another Mysteries, we could certainly use another person working in the department anyhow," she commented.

"They're too cheap," Hestia put in sardonically. "Even Rufus is a cheapskate."

"Please, _don't _refer to the Minister of Magic like that," Hermione begged. "Every time you call him by his first name, I have _horrible _images I just do _not _want to see of anyone, let alone you and the Minister."

Hestia winked. "Mission: Corrupt Hermione accomplished," she crowed, splashing the blood-red wine a little onto her fingers as she toasted herself gleefully.

Hermione sniffed. "_Anyway, _getting back to the story at hand," she said pointedly, "The _only _people who will ever see the real copy of the marriage certificate is herself and the Minister, and the Minster himself has promised to take a Wand Oath to not reveal it. It's going to be housed in a special place the Department of Mysteries utilizes for just this kind of situation, and a modified copy with just Minerva's name as Draco's guardian will be filed. No one will question that the headmistress of Hogwarts had the right to claim guardianship for one of her students in the absence of older relatives willing to take up that responsibility."

Pursing her lips, Danielle nodded sharply. "That seems reasonable enough, but it doesn't explain the Slytherins and the DA members not in the Order," she reminded Hermione. Hermione wrinkled her nose, looking obviously troubled.

"They won't remember it." Seeing that both Hestia and Danielle were confused, Hermione clarified for her. "Except for Skye, before anyone non-Order-sworn were allowed permission to participate in the handfasting, they had to agree to both a Wand Oath and a controlled semi-Obliviation afterwards. It's far less common and much harder a spell, but Flitwick's proficient in it and he was amenable to performing it on anyone who agreed to it. The Wand Oath will suppress any urge to examine their memories too closely or even think about parts of their memories that seem off, as well as make them unconsciously do their best to keep it from others as well. The semi-Obliviate actually removes the memory of my parents ever being there, and replaces it with Minerva signing to the guardianship witness."

Danielle whistled, impressed. "That's some strong security measures. Even the Aurors probably wouldn't go that far, although we Mysteries would, as we're all paranoid buggers. What about Skye? You said she didn't have to agree—obviously since it _is _her handfasting."

"Skye offered," Hermione corrected. "But neither Draco nor I considered it a good idea to do so—it might have meddled with the Healer's work and her recovery. Magical things are always interconnected somehow, and I didn't want to set her back or harm her. So she's the one free agent in this, but I trust her and she said that you'd already taught her rudimentary Occlumency."

Dani nodded. "Yes, she holds enough of a barrier that she can't be mentally read unless there's a good Legilimens actively seeking to get through. But she doesn't have the skill or practice to stand against an active seeking probe," she worried.

Hermione smiled. "Draco's practicing with her for now, and then they're both going to get some training although I don't know from who. Li's promised to look after it, which is good enough for me."

The other woman relaxed minutely, evidently relieved that Skye would not pose a weakness in their defense. Hestia, seeing an opportunity to jump in, did. "I'm surprised that many kids subjected themselves to that, though. There were plenty at the handfasting. I wasn't expecting it," she exclaimed.

Hermione shrugged. "Most of them truly wanted to see Draco's wedding, and the DA sticks together. Plus Skye is like a magnet to many of them—they can't comprehend her or her survival. She really just sort of slipped from their consciousness after the initial horror had faded, to be honest."

Danielle sighed. "I suppose I can't blame them. Skye was not close to any one person in particular before she was attacked."

"Well, if it goes on the way it has begun, she'll soon be the most popular girl in Hogwarts," Hermione joked, trying to lighten the mood." Seeing that Dani still looked brooding and Hestia ready to go beat something up, Hermione quickly redirected the conversation. "I wasn't entirely happy with the compromise with the DA and neither was Minerva, which probably means that it's a good solution. Mum and Dad ended up wearing a mild Glamour that doesn't actually change their appearance but distorts it so that they seem mildly familiar and as if they belong, but like it just slipped your mind—rather like a Glamour charm made up of a Confundusspell. Anyone who already knew who they were and what they were doing here wasn't affected, but the rest were. The few DA members you saw that were here in school but didn't come to the handfasting were the ones who refused to have anyone tampering with their minds." _Rightly so. I can't believe that many people would willingly let someone else fiddle with their minds and their oaths. _It gave Hermione the shudders. _Even if it were to watch my very best friend get married, I don't think I would allow anyone to touch my thoughts or extract an oath from me like that._

"Well," Hestia commented, plainly ready to leave the questions of conscience and the harsh topics of war behind. "I for one say that we stop discussing anything serious for the rest of the night and Hermione can tell me, since Dani is such a _bore _and a straight-lace, have you been getting any action lately?"

"Hestia!" Hermione yelped, face reddening as she set her wine glass down with a clink on the floor by her chair. She struggled not to think of a certain tall, dark, and handsome—_Merlin, what a hackneyed description!—_man and the rest of the night descended into a whirl of chatter, unashamed prying into one anothers' lives, and drinking.

Hours later, Hermione sat with her eyes vaguely unfocused, contemplating her life in general to the sound of snapping logs. _The last night of peace. _Tomorrow, everyone would flood back to Hogwarts' venerated halls. Tomorrow, the students would return, bringing life, chatter, and noise back to the school. And worries—oh my yes, the worries and the fears and the anguish as well that went not only with being any ordinary human being and an adolescent at that, but with the looming war that threatened to wipe out all the other ordinary troubles of growing up in its shadow. _I'm becoming maudlin. Is this why people describe some drunks as overemotional? _Hermione blinked and stared at the swimming image of her hand, fingers closed loosely around her glass of elderberry wine ("elf-made, the best there is in the entire Wizarding World!" Hestia had exclaimed after her third glass.) If she could be surprised in her condition—mostly drunk although apparently still unable to turn her brain off—Hermione would have been. Only she and Hestia were still conscious. Hestia was currently vexing the kitchen elves by insisting on making "the most divine pasta, recipe straight from my coworker's aunt's cousin in Venice!" without any help at all. Skye had left early, only a little hazy from the alcohol, to find her new husband and…well. And Danielle was currently sprawled on Hermione's bed, snoring gently, cheeks a little flushed still.

"She's no fun when she's drunk," Hestia had grumbled after watching Danielle progress from stone-cold sober straight to unconsciousness in sleep. "I've tried a thousand different types of liquors, and she still passes out once she reaches a certain threshold. No in-between at all."

That left Hermione, sitting curled up by the fire with the dregs of her last glass of wine hanging in her hand, feeling maudlin. _I don't think I like being drunk if this is how I'm going to feel every time I imbibe too much, _she thought mournfully. She stared at the dancing, flickering flames, utterly disgusted with herself. _I'm even thinking in clichés now. Pathetic. _Sighing aloud, she set the glass down and tucked her knees securely against her chest, resting her chin on them and arms around them. _I wonder what Severus is doing? _Sleeping? Brewing? Thinking of her? He had left so abruptly, after the handfasting, and he hadn't contacted her since. She'd called him once on the spellphone, to check in on how he was doing and how his cover story had been taken. He'd answered in clipped, measured tones with the briefest reply possible, and he'd proceeded to tell her that he was still working logistics with the house-elves but when he had the actual escape plans in hand, he would let her know. And that had been it. Not a peep since. _I knew theoretically that he might draw back a little because of the handfasting, since he couldn't attend publicly or even have Draco know of his role. I guessed that he might be more hurt than he realized or would ever show, that he wasn't able to stand in his anointed position as guardian to Draco, as godfather, and sign and witness. But I just wasn't prepared for absolute disappearance. He barely said two words before he left, and he only kissed me because I kissed him first. _

Was it just because of the Draco situation? Or was it something deeper? _Perhaps he really was scared off by my use of the endearment 'love'. What if he doesn't love me and never does? Can I live without him? Don't be a doltish dullard and saccharine simpleton, Hermione, of course you can live without him. You're no medieval woman to sit and weep over a lost love. No matter how archaic the Wizarding World is, I won't accept that status or become a stereotype. Still…_

_What if he's lost all interest in me, or was frightened off by the mention of love? _Her thoughts repeated in an endless loop. _All men are shy of the word. I might have smote to death our relationship. Annihilated. Destroyed, in one single error. I am an imbecile. A dunderhead. Halfwit. Peabrain. Can't even make a relationship work. _

_Severus…_

Feeling extremely sorry for herself, Hermione burrowed even deeper into her armchair and allowed the drowsy mist to obscure the rest of the world.

When she woke in the morning to the sound of her alarm and a groan, followed by a resounding _crash_, she had a cotton-mouth and a fuzzy head. She thought she heard a grunt, but was unable to truly bring herself to care or be curious. Even her instincts of _not-alone-danger _were dulled: her hand went searching for her wand, but came up with a wine glass sticky with residue instead. Reminding herself not to throw it at the intruder, she stumbled to her bathroom. Thankfully there was no one in it, and Hermione was soon cursing and clear-eyed under the spray of her freezing shower, having washed out her mouth to rid herself of the dry and peculiar tang on the roof of her mouth and her tongue. _Dear Merlin, did I really think the words 'smote to death'? _she thought incredulously, running her memory of last night through her head as she slowly brushed her teeth and got ready for the day, fingers still a little thick and clumsy. _And 'doltish dullard'? 'Saccharine simpleton?' _she winced. _Evidently, my word choice becomes rather fantastical and elaborate when I am in my cups. Figures. _And apparently, she was _not _a cheerful drunk.

"I somehow think it was not a smart idea to overly indulge in alcohol for the first time the night before the students return," she muttered to herself, examining her bleary self in the mirror. Thankfully, it was not of the talking variety, so her reflection merely stared reproachfully back at her. Shaking her head—and then quickly stopping at the uncomfortable motion—Hermione left her bathroom before she initiated an entire conversation with herself. _I wonder what happened to the others? _She'd left Danielle unconscious on top of her bedcovers, and Hestia still in the kitchen. She hoped Hestia had made it back to her quarters at some point. Walking into the bedroom, Hermione stopped and then gaped openly at the scene greeting her eyes.

Hestia was fully under a mountain of covers—or rather, Hermione assumed that the lump was Hestia since Danielle was currently half-clothed and crazy-haired and grimly beating the remnants of what Hermione _thought _might be her alarm clock into the floor. "Danielle. Dani. _Dani!" _Hermione hurriedly moved forward, grabbing Danielle forcefully by the arm and gently leading her away from the smashed bits of the clock.

"It woke me up," the taller woman said sulkily. Hermione swallowed a laugh. She'd never heard Danielle sound so petulantly childish before—it was rather amusing to see a grown woman reduced to a five year old by an alarm clock. _Which, by the way…I wonder. _

"_Reparo!" _

The scattered pieces of the clock tried, it really did, but it was harder to fix a mechanical-magical device than it was to piece together a simple broken plate. The resulting conglomeration looked as if some crazy scientist had taken apart her humble clock bought on sale from a store in Hogsmeade and put it all back together with the goal to build something entirely new. Sighing, Hermione set it down on her dresser by the bed, and looked over at where Danielle was currently poking the lump in the bedcovers, which responded with an irritated growl. "Get _up, _Hester Horrible,_" _Danielle ordered. "You have to be at work in approximately eighteen minutes. Or you did a little while ago when the alarm rang before I destroyed it."

"Bloody buggering…" the lump swore and heaved itself out of bed, clawing at the sheets over her head. They fell off to reveal a tousled head of dark hair and flushed cheeks and sleepy eyes. "What time is it, damn you?"

"I don't know," Danielle said with exaggerated patience. "I killed the timepiece."

Hermione cleared her throat. "_Tempus." _Ribbons of light formed numbers: 8:03:26 AM.

"_Cripes!" _Hestia leaped out of bed, and an arm reached out to snatch Danielle and drag her off to the bathroom. "We're late! Come on, lazybones, shake it!"

Hermione could hear Dani's loud complaints even over the sound of the toilet flushing and the water running, and she eyed the unfortunate alarm clock and the torn apart bed. "Remind me never to wake Danielle up in the mornings," she murmured to nobody in particular, imagining just what Severus might have said if he'd been here to see the havoc. _Probably sneered, glared at Hestia and Danielle, and informed them to take out their violent tendencies somewhere else and not affront his senses or assault his bedroom. _And she was right back to where she had started, wondering just what Severus was doing or thinking at the moment and missing him dreadfully. Hermione sighed and began to wave her wand to put her room back to rights.

**--break--**

"Hermione!" Hearing the familiar voices call out cheerily, Hermione turned back.

"Harry! Ron!" She laughed a little breathlessly as she was summarily swept up in an exuberant hug and then passed on to the other for the same treatment. "How was Christmas? How are you?"

"Wasn't the same without you," Harry told her. "Thanks for the present, by the way." He beamed, evidently pleased at what Hermione had given him for Christmas and sent to the Burrow via owl post. "It was nice to get something not related to…Beltane," he continued, a little more soberly.

_Yes, I had rather thought that Harry might not want yet another reminder of his own looming tenuous mortality and fate. _She could always give him something designed to protect or aid him in battle at any time, but this Christmas she'd consulted Ginny and made a shrinkable memory box with an undetectable extension charm of the same variety as the one on her own purse, in fact. Hermione had been seriously tempted, when she'd first read about the charm, to attempt to enchant a carpet bag, but common sense had prevailed and she'd picked a more sensible and unnoticeable beaded purse instead. Still, the idea of carrying a Mary Poppins' carpet bag around had never left her, and she had actually made one for her mum this Christmas. (Her mum had, predictably, gone spare trying to figure out just exactly how it worked and her father had called her Mary for the entire week, apparently.) Harry, with his unfortunate childhood, might not have watched the classic, but Hermione had made sure that what she filled the memory box with would be meaningful to him. Hence pictures both still and moving of the three of them together, of him and Ginny, the few of his parents she'd gleaned from past issues of Witch Weekly (_Bachelor of the Year: James Potter! _screamed one headline, and _Young Potter Scion Engaged to Childhood Sweetheart!_ was emblazoned on the other she'd found.) Madame Hooch had grudgingly given her the very snitch Harry had caught, or rather, swallowed, in his first game. There was a small tuft of hair from Fluffy, a copy of the study schedule for OWLs she'd made out for him, _Quidditch Through the Ages, _a leaf from the Whomping Willow (which had been entirely too easy to get—just irritate the idiot tree and it thrashed about in its attempts to whomp you, scattering leaves everywhere), the mirror she'd been holding when she'd gotten petrified by the basilisk…oh, and a hundred other little things that each held a memory in them.

"And you really got Ron a great present too," Harry went on, oblivious to Hermione's wandering thoughts. "Mrs. Weasley is just about ready to send you another box of baked goods and _another _Weasley sweater. She was near-sobbing with joy when she found Ron actually _reading _something non-Quidditch related. _How _did you manage it, Hermione?"

Ron promptly hit Harry, face as flaming as his hair. "Oy! I read," he asserted indignantly. There was dead silence, and then Harry and Hermione both snorted simultaneously. Ron colored further. "Well, I read _some," _he muttered, sticking his nose up.

"Of course, Ron," Hermione said, voice trembling with held laughter. "I'm glad you enjoyed the books I sent you."

Ron's eyes lit up with undisguised avidity, forgetting all pretense of being offended. "They were bloody brilliant, Hermione! I didn't know books like that existed! Books that actually have something real and important to say, instead of just stupid pointless fac—er, really old knowledge I don't understand," Ron hastily amended, catching Hermione's death glare. "But this guy who wrote that one book I've been reading, he's dead brill."

Hermione smiled. "I rather thought you might enjoy Sun Tzu's _The Art of War. _It occurred to me that you would appreciate the common sense strategy approach that he takes to leading armies and engaging in war. Have you tried Machiavelli yet?"

"Not yet," Ron shook his head. "I'm still reading Sun…Sun Tzu?"

"Yes, that's how I've always heard it pronounced," Hermione confirmed for Ron. "Well, I think you'll find _The Prince _a little harder going than _The Art of War, _but it has some vital propositions on the role of leaders or rulers that take much thought on whether you agree with Machiavelli's position or not."

Harry grinned. "I can't believe…" he began, ready to tease Ron again, but Hermione cut in sternly with a warning glance at him.

"Harry, _you'd _benefit from reading Machiavelli as well," she scolded. "At this rate, Ron will be much more cultured and well-read than you!" Harry looked properly abashed, and Ron gratified. "Now," Hermione continued briskly, "If I'm not mistaken we have a bit of time before dinner. Why don't you come to my room and you can entertain me with stories of Fred and George's latest stunts."

She led the way, falling easily back into a pattern of familiar prissiness and scoldings threaded with humor. The wash of unchallenging and effortless friendship, the kind that had lasted for years even when on the surface it had often seemed to be over _this _time, swept over her and she let it. Still, niggling in the very back of her mind was the unrelenting sense of unease—an unease that, though she didn't want to think about it, was linked directly back to Severus Snape.

**A.N.: Thank you to daydreaming redhead, who caught a plot hole/error big enough to drive a truck through. It's been as fixed as I can make it without changing the actual events of the story. If you didn't notice/don't know what I'm talking about, that's fine too—I'm super embarrassed and would rather not dwell on it. **

**I also noticed something disturbing I plan on changing at some point when I have a spare moment. In chapter 71, in the excerpt from D'alle, I paraphrased a verse straight out of the Bible and meant to cite it, but didn't. My sincere apologies. The verse pertains to asking a mountain to move, and it comes from Matthew 21:21**

**Thanks to you all for sticking with me this far, readers! You're awesome. With the advent of the new year and new semester for Hermione and co, we're racing on to the end which is a rather scary thought. There is still time yet, since we need to cover everything in between now and Beltane, but for those of you who don't like surprises, you should be aware that this story will come to its final conclusion just after Beltane and the Final Battle, with an epilogue to see how our friends are doing down the road. We've some time yet to go, but we're in the last lap, guys!**


	75. Chapter 75

**Disclaimer: Simon Says, all due credit and royalties belong to JKR.**

People enjoyed staring, Luna decided. They'd stared at her when she'd first stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, and when she'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw (_although you have the compassion of a Hufflepuff, the courage of a Gryffindor, and the presence of mind of a Slytherin, the Hat had remarked), _they'd stared the first time she'd tried to initiate a debate on the dialogical nature of the Heliopath. _(On the one hand, it burns everything in its path and its fury is unceasing, but on the other, that fire is also reputed to have cleansing qualities and if two soul mates stand together, it is said that the flames become innately replicated rather than fleshly burned.) _They stared at her earrings, her bare feet, and her copies of the Quibbler (although they quickly learned not to insult Daddy's paper, at least within her earshot). Luna rather enjoyed it. Her father had always said that people couldn't help but stare at the special things in life. It was if they _stopped _looking at you that you were in trouble. Luna tried often to stare at the students around her who were the most at risk for going unseen and forgettable. The little Hufflepuff first year who suffered from acute shyness, the seventh year Slytherin boy who _practiced _looking inconspicuous the better to avoid unpleasantness from either political side.

Now, with eight other girls staring at her, Luna smiled cordially back at the sixteen eyes. They were all very different. Even without her mastery of women's natural sight, she had known it—but with the overlaying sight, it almost left Luna breathless. When she'd first come back to Hogwarts, she'd stood for a good three hours outside the castle and just gloried in the beauty of everything surrounding her—the enormous, river-wide surges of pure magic beneath the earth, the glowing shifting network of colors that marked each and every being on the grounds and in the castle, and the fierce protective runes that rose, heartbreaking in splendor and emotion, from Hogwarts castle itself.

_Everything _was more alive.

Ginny with her strong flare of red, brown, orange, ruby spoke first. "You're saying that…with this…type of magick, you can…see auras? I suppose that's rather intriguing, but how does this help in battle?"

For an answer, Luna concentrated on the surges of magic, of light and dark interplaying in shadows everywhere. It had taken her a while to get used to it, to seeing it everywhere she walked, but she was now adjusting to the odd overlay on her vision. Spotting a particular thin little thread that stretched far and wide all the way home, she sunk herself in the grounds of her birth and they gave to her without question. She thought, _blow. _Instantly, any stray breeze nearby that had in the past lingered for any amount of time over Rook's Castle or the forest and fields by it swirled around her like a pleased cat before responding to her unvoiced desire, and large puffs of air began to gust into the girls, exerting so much pressure that each girl found herself stumbling backwards, closing teared-up eyes against the sharp wind, and bracing against the sudden chill and breeze.

Abruptly, the wind died. Luna continued to smile serenely, nodding her gratitude to the breezes that had responded to her and the earth of her home that had allowed her request. "What was that?" Ginny demanded. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes sparkled dangerously. She was a woman on a mission—to find out about this odd magic Luna had literally blown them all away with? Perhaps.

"Women's magic. I asked the land my house is on for access to its ley line magic, and linked from there to the winds that had connections to it. I can't do much yet though," Luna admitted cheerfully, voice high and sweet even as Ginny and the other girls threw wide and suspicious and shocked glances at each other. "I haven't dared to try asking Hogwarts and Hogwarts grounds yet, because there's just so much magic I think it might burn me up if I tried. I can only control a miniscule amount of the connective power safely. A bit of breeze and possibly purifying a tainted drink might be the most I can do right now, but the book I've been reading has emphasized that the more women connected together and working in unison, the more the control and the bigger the amount of power we can request and safely use."

"Wow," breathed Susan Bones. "That's amazing. Why hasn't anyone tried this before?"

"It has a reputation for either being extremely dark or extremely weak and entirely feminine and beneath a wizard's dignity," Millicent Bulstrode contributed unexpectedly. She shrugged her broad shoulders a little uncomfortably when six pairs of eyes turned to her questioningly. "Pureblood families are rather contradictory on the issue. Actually, they are rather contradictory on many issues," Millicent continued thoughtfully. "Either way, its not something considered to be polite conversation except for a brief footnote in our history of the Pureblood nation and genealogies."

Ginny shuddered. "Mum insisted that we all at least learn our family genealogies," she confided. "It was horribly boring. I can't imagine having to learn the entire history of Pureblood families in Britain."

"It really was rather interesting—better than deportation," Millicent responded. "I enjoy learning about the past. Or I did until I came to Hogwarts."

At that, everyone groaned, natural reservations and long-established divides temporarily suspended in the moment of unity in denigrating Binns. Luna was delighted, watching the pretty whirls of glitter and glow that brightened even as she watched. She could—_almost—_see how it should be, each individual dot of color and light shining fiercely enough to overlap, merge with those around them until all the colors of the rainbow had formed a bowl of white radiance, coalesced and strong, moving mountains.

_I think this may work, _she mused as she watched the other girls bicker good-naturedly over the dangers she'd outlined and the benefits as well—one didn't remain a friend of Hermione Granger's, no matter how distant a friend, without either receiving a lecture on organization or learning quickly how to deal with the unfortunate practicalities of life. Lists were dull things to reduce such glorious _life-_filled events and ideas to, but they were efficient and they impressed others.

_If they agree—this may actually work! _

**--break--**

Severus was brewing.

He had run out of Dreamless Sleep. Several of the liberated prisoners from Azkaban were not adjusting well, and although he had explicitly warned them against the dangers of addiction, he was not their mother nor keeper. He was just the brewer, and as much as he disliked watching men and women drive themselves down the road of destruction, Severus held no authority over them and was not averse—in cold terms—to weakening the Dark Lord's formidable force one person at a time.

Besides, it kept him from having to think too closely about the all-together infuriating woman in his life and what he was going to do.

_Stir nine times counterclockwise and twenty-one clockwise…_Severus trained dark eyes on the bubbling and rapidly darkening-into-purple liquid. This dose was in its final stages. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something glowing vaguely white in the 'message corner' of his laboratory. Mippy knew better, after Severus' extensive instruction, not to enter the lab at all, and most especially _not _with any loud noise or with anyone else in tow. Critical potions were brewed in here—if he were startled or distracted during a volatile stage or when experimenting, not only could he be seriously injured or killed, Mippy would also most likely suffer some harm and certainly the eminent destruction of the lab in a case of an explosion or disaster would set off other ingredients or potions he kept down here. Hence, the creation of the 'message corner,' where Mippy would send messages to him that needed his immediate attention, and he was not so easily thrown off by the subtle white glow of the "speak-mist," as Mippy had termed the odd magic he had produced in lieu of a written education. It hovered, voluminous and almost as bouncy as Mippy himself—it looked, from a fleeting glance, almost like a ghostly version of Hermione's head as she might shake it from side to side as she disagreed vehemently with a point or idea and set her hair flying. _No! _Severus inhaled sharply as his thoughts led from Hermione's hair to, inevitably, the way she had called him _love…_

_Merlin's bloody beard. _Severus pointedly looked away from the mist and concentrated wholly on his brewing for the next two minutes before breathing slowly as he extinguished the fire and then efficiently bottled the finished potion, carefully not thinking of Hermione. Cleansing his roughened hands thoroughly of any residue, he strode over to the small desk where the speak-mist hovered, waiting. "Wait a moment," he murmured to it as he reached for a towel, wiping the droplets of sweat off his face and neck. Briskly pushing his sweat-and-grease-soaked hair, the product of hours over the hot fires required to brew and the fumes from various potions themselves as they heated and cooled, he methodically checked the cup in his drawer for poisons, potions, or spells before filling it with water with a quick _Aguamenti _and greedily guzzling the cool liquid.

Refreshed and ready, he firmly set the cup down and stepped into the middle of the smoke-white fog, which had calmed down in the wait for him. Instantly, the physical presence of the mist brushed by his ear, and a chirpy voice sounded. "Missy Too-Perfect is heres for sleep-dark potion, Master. Mippy is sendings her to sit in uncomfortable room for waitings. She is having no sleep, Master, and muttering to herself on many things Mippy cannot hears."

_That would be Evangeline Cain. _She was one of his most frequent visitors these days, each time demanding Dreamless Sleep or some other, stronger, variant. Each time she visited, she looked worse and worse, as if she were wasting away or deteriorating. Once, she had been the pride and beauty of her family, set to make a no doubt wonderful match, highly sought-after. Now—well, Severus suspected that soon Dreamless Sleep in any quantity would not be enough for the tolerance she'd built up to the narcotic. It was entirely possible she would go searching for an illegal version with far more dangerous levels as to heighten the effects. Hypnos Potion, perhaps, or Black Dragon. Perhaps even Lethe, if she had high enough connections and money enough to satisfy those particular specialized black market brewers. Severus knew of only two brewers who had both the skill to brew Lethe and the type of character to actually brew such a potent slow poison for the black market. Lethe was highly banned, one of the top banned potions on the list at the Ministry in fact. There had been a scandal only eighty years ago that had involved at least three deaths among high-ranking Ministry officials, one of them Undersecretary to the Minister himself, due to Lethe's lethal effects both sudden or gradual. Lethe never left the body's system. It was complicated and damned sensitive to brew, but he had brewed it several times—it seemed a lifetime ago, though Severus felt the weight of his sin press down just as heavily despite intervening years. _I was one of the suppliers, once…_it was, in fact, just exactly how he had come into the bulk of his comfortable living for years even past when he had stopped brewing it altogether. 

Cain most likely wouldn't ask him to brew it, since she would want to hide her potion addiction and while Dreamless Sleep was both legal and understandable, none of the aforementioned brews—especially Lethe—could be said to qualify as either. Severus would hold much blackmail material over her if she asked him outright to brew those drugs for her. _What a debasement of the former pride and glory of the young generation of Purebloods! _His mental remark was flavored with both a real regret for the waste of a life—any young life, in such an ignominious way—and a large dose of ironic sarcasm for the lofty, arrogant, deluded Cains. The girl, invested wholly in the scriptures of Pureblood fanaticism that she'd learned from birth, had simply crumbled to pieces under the stress of Azkaban and the Dementors. _A nasty fate. One I would not truly wish on anyone but the worst of criminals. The loss of what is essentially all of yourself but your fears and pain…_the echoes of many many a memory he wished he didn't possess rose up to reproach him.

But even as they paraded themselves like sullen door-to-door salesmen looking for the next paying customer, a different image too coalesced and interposed herself between the guilt and uncertainty and fear—oh yes, the constant fear of his father, of losing Lily, of being caught unawares by the Marauders, of being discovered for the traitor he was (and here his thoughts were more murky, for some of the fear was that Hermione or Albus would discover the lengths to which he had gone while in the Dark Lord's service as well as the ever-present wariness that the Dark Lord find out that he was a spy…). But no—Albus had never asked the types of penetrating questions that might lead to his sordid behavior. Either he already knew, or he suspected and did not wish to confirm his suspicions. And now Albus was dead, dead by Severus' hand, dead by a curse of which Albus had never revealed its origins or how he had been struck by it.

And Hermione understood.

_Damn. _Severus jerked his mind away from the poisonous route it had been following. _How in Merlin's beard did I wander from Cain to Albus to Hermione? Hermione, Hermione, even now you are a thoroughly obnoxious, brassy little mouth with a brain to go along. _

_That's exactly why you like her, _whispered his mind.

_She called you love. Do you think she really means it? _jabbed another voice, also belonging to his mind.

Grunting angrily, Severus slammed up the highest level of Occlumency shields he knew how to produce, layering thick slabs of granite around the tiniest portion of his mind, shutting out the rest of his prodding, pestering, troubling thoughts. In this mode, every part of himself not absolutely relevant to survival were silenced—temporarily, at least. It was exhausting work to maintain it, and he left the lab hurriedly before he became tempted to let the nagging hints flood back in as well as the face of the woman he—_cared _for.

He took his time. After almost a full day's worth of brewing over a hot fire had left him in dire need of a bath, and he did not especially rush to accommodate the silly girl. Well-accustomed to his master by now, Mippy had immediately taken note of Severus' emergence from his lair and laid out the regular one-person silverware. Severus was generally hungry when he finished long brewing hours, and though it was a little too early for dinner, he didn't particularly care for manners nor rigid schedules with no reason behind them. Especially not in his own home. Each 'guest' took his or her own meal by themselves without the expectation that their 'host' would appear at all. If they wished it, they could organize their own collective meals together in the large common dining room and ask Mippy to serve them there, but if anyone expected Severus to attend, they would be sorely disappointed. He had better things to do than dine with snobbish escapees and crazy zealots.

Young Evangeline Cain was, indeed, still waiting for him when he finally stepped into the room she'd been shown to, almost two hours after she'd arrived. She was visibly impatient, pacing restlessly like a caged tiger up and down the length of the lush, carpeted teal-themed room. An _unhealthy _tiger, poorly nourished and taken care of by zookeepers, if the analogy were to hold. Cain had just not been trained as he had learned the hard way by himself and later taught Hermione, to cast an extreme-circumstance Glamour. Hers was the strongest of the spells classified as essentially beautifying, and it would fool almost everyone but those who could notice tiny inconsistencies that identified her perfect appearance as a mere charm. Beneath the bright and mysterious wide eyes, cream and ivory complexion, and cherry-red lips were most likely dark circles around her eyes, deathly pale skin characteristic of overuse of any Sleeping or Calming Potion, and cracked, drying lips sore from the constant and nervous licking she was currently exhibiting. Cain might have been a brilliant witch while at Hogwarts and under his impersonal tutelage in classes (certainly not as talented or intelligent as Hermione) and she might have been a reputedly vicious spell-caster ("not quite her brother's cadre, but then she _is _a very accomplished young Pureblood lady of high virtue and sensibilities," so he had overheard an old and balding wizard comment to no one in particular on one occasion—he'd had the misfortune of saying all this in a proprietary, condescending tone in the earshot of Bellatrix, who'd taken offense at his chauvinism and challenged him to an immediate duel, defeating him in half a minute and torturing him for far longer before the Dark Lord had finally appeared silently and commanded her to respect a fellow follower's pure blood and ancestry and devotion and refrain from another Longbottom.) Yes, Evangeline Cain might have possessed some respectable skills and she'd certainly not hesitated in bringing Death Eaters and with them, death itself, to Hogwarts grounds, herself killing another student—one _younger _than herself.

None of it did any good to conceal her state from Severus' cool, trained eye. He noticed the jerky movements of her hand and noted far too many behaviors inconsistent with her flawless image. _Far past a general craving and venturing into real addiction and need, _he thought, and mentally sighed.

"Miss Cain," he greeted with a hint of sardonic arrogance in his voice. He had startled her; she jumped and whipped her head around to stare at him.

"Snape," she muttered. "You're late."

"Not at all. _You_ are merely a nuisance," he replied coldly. "Do not even attempt to begin dictating what I should or should not do, Miss Cain. Especially not in my own home." His black pupils glittered like disdainful aliens, and perhaps Evangeline was not too far gone after all for she swallowed hard and took a tiny step back, trepidation entering her own gaze. If she had been entirely drowned in the craving, she would not have noticed or cared for her own safety or the possibility of danger and threat.

He let the uncomfortable, weighted silence drag on for long minutes, fixing his impersonal contemptuous stare on her as she linked fingers together and looked away and down like a recalcitrant child. The last time she'd shown such deference to anyone but the Dark Lord had been when she was eleven and had just entered Hogwarts, still not quite completely corrupted by her family though well on her way. She'd entered as wide-eyed as every other child, wonder on her face, and afforded a kind of well-bred, snooty respect to all of her teachers—especially her Head of House. It had only been the onset of thirteen when rebellion and perverted values had taken her and remade her subtly into a haughty, cold creature after the example of Narcissa and Bellatrix Black…

Finally, he spoke. "Four full-adult doses," he informed her without a flicker of emotion. "Don't take a second dose within the first six hours of having taken the first one, and don't take more than two doses every seven days. Eat something preferably before you drink the potion, and go straight to sleep after." _It's useless telling her all of this. She won't follow those instructions—she's already too dependent on Dreamless Sleep. _"I don't want to see you again for at least another two weeks." Eagerly nodding, the girl reached for the four phials he held. Disgusted, he shoved them into her fumbling hands. "Now get out."

As if it had been a pre-rehearsed cue, Mippy appeared behind him, and beckoned the Pureblood girl, who followed the little elf out without thanks except an uncertain glance backwards. Severus let them leave without comment before returning to the warmth of his own quarters, breathing an unconscious sigh of relief as he shut the door securely against the bitter chill and increasingly hard-to-maintain persona. He had scarcely collapsed into his chair when Mippy _popped _in again, wordlessly handing him a tiny brown drawstring bag. Inside would no doubt be the price, in sickles, for four phials of Dreamless Sleep as agreed-upon some months earlier. _At least she retains enough of a sense of Pureblood propriety as to refrain from being overwhelmingly vulgar and giving me the money from her own hand, _he thought sarcastically of the traditional Pureblood distaste for such monetary practices. _Cheap, obscene, and indecent, as Lucius remarked cuttingly the first time I brewed a potion for him and expected money upfront during the exchange. Oh no, it either must go through a trusted middleman, a special owl courier, or a house-elf. House-elves preferable since, if you own them, you can ostensibly trust them. _"Thank you, Mippy," he murmured, tossing the clinking bag carelessly onto a tabletop.

"Master should drink some teas and go to bed early tonight," Mippy half-scolded half-lectured. "Master has been working hard alls day, and has been thinking very hard about not thinkings, which Mippy knows is very tireysome—tire—tir_ing._" Ears briefly flagged up with delight as the house-elf managed to correct himself and use a fairly unknown—by elf standards—word with the proper grammar.

"But our chess game—" Severus protested, choosing to ignore Mippy's all-too-apt observation on his 'thinking about not thinking'.

"Can wait," Mippy interrupted authoritatively, his hands poised on his hips in a—_Merlin help me—_Molly Weasleyish fashion. _When house-elves begin to remind you of Molly Weasley you ought to know that you're in trouble and to get out if you're sensible. _Still, hot tea and an early night sounded all-together too tempting to turn down.

"Very well," he acquiesced more or less graciously. If Mippy noticed the little grumpiness as he turned on his heel abruptly and went to prepare for bed, well, his little observant eyes might see much but he would not say anything. At least where it counted—Mippy had been enough of a Malfoy house-elf to learn when to keep his mouth firmly shut judging by his Master's moods. (Of course, with Lucius every mood was a _shut-up-and-do-your-work-or-I'll-kick-you _mood.)

It was a full hour later and his stealth-mode Occlumency had dropped to its usual low-level guard out of necessity, and after he had changed, taken up his book, tried with great effort to concentrate on it rather than on curly brown hair, soft skin, bright eyes, and ever-questioning, ever-knowledge-seeking lips, that Mippy finally showed up with the tea that had been promised. "Mippy is so sorrys!" the elf yelped, plunking the tea tray unceremoniously down on the dresser. "Mippy is so lates, he is such a bad elf!"

"Mippy!" Severus quickly reached out, stopping the creature from wringing his hands and his feet right off. "You are _not _a bad house-elf, Mippy." He gave him a stern look. "Stop all this foolishness right this instant!"

The classroom bellow seemed to serve its purpose. Instantly, Mippy remembered that he was no longer a subservient Malfoy elf, and—rather ashamedly—left off wringing. _Ah, I suppose that it was too good to be true that any abused house-elf, no matter how young when moved to a new home and owner, could be completely free of those compulsions in times of dire stress. At least he knew enough not to bang his head against a wall or some such silliness. _Mippy had had one or two very minor relapses over the summer, but he hadn't had such a one in a while.

"Now," he went on calmly in the ringing silence, "tell me what happened, Mippy."

The house-elf shuffled his feet, looking down, ears flattened and hanging past his chin. "Mippy is sorrys for lateness. But Mippy is more sorrys for forgetting Master Snape is not old Master," he said earnestly. There came to his bulbous eyes a very well-known gleam then, one that Severus was really rather glad to see—a blend of mischievous bossiness and ready concern that was Mippy's general expression, one that dared anyone to tell him to put his head down and labor for wizards and witches in cowed obedience. _I am Mippy, and I deserve just as much respect as any human, and I will be treated as such, _said the look. "Mippy knows Master Snape is a good wizard, good man. Mippy is proud to be Mippy, and proud to be in service of Master Snape."

Awkwardly, Severus floundered for an instant over how to respond. "Yes, well…I…am very pleased to have such a house-elf and friend," he replied, hoping it would be the right thing to say. Thankfully it seemed so. Mippy brightened still further, and Severus hurriedly went on before he had house-elf bouncing off the walls of his bedroom with joy and excitement. "Why don't you tell me what you were doing just now?" he asked instead, gesturing for Mippy to find a seat.

The house-elf efficiently created or called a tall backless stool for himself to sit on—it appeared leg by leg, the top appearing last, and a single bound had Mippy neatly seated, although he had almost overbalanced and fallen off backwards. Unruffled, he regained his balance and folded his legs in a crossed position. "Mippy has been talkings with many elves," he announced grandly. When Severus did not immediately respond with comprehension or awe, Mippy rolled his eyes and one ear twitched. "Elves is describings much, much Master wishes to know of helping young wizards and witches flee or fly home to big castle," he clarified.

Severus sat straight up, senses on high alert. "You have found a way to help my Slytherins?" he questioned intently. "How?"

"Elves have worked on duty-system and magic bonds," Mippy informed him importantly, although he couldn't help from breaking out into a big beaming proud grin. "Mippy is beings involved in it with old, old elves. We is workings outs which elf can help which wizardlys. Is complicated system but if elves and people follow it, then elves will not be breaking their magic with elf nor master nor mistress," Mippy declared delightedly.

Severus could not blame Mippy for his excitement as he bounced up and down on his stool with no regard for his safety or the effects of gravity. It was truly a great accomplishment of phenomenal proportions and meticulous organization, to form a working network of elves who could essentially ferry students trapped in their homes by concerned Pureblood parents to Hogwarts, or, conversely, help students who wished to have no part in the war at all out of the country altogether and to a neutral safe haven to wait out Beltane.

Summoning a parchment and quill, Severus hastily dipped the point of his feather in ink and set it to the paper. "Tell me everything about how it will work," he ordered Mippy. The elf was only too glad to oblige. Severus last thought before he became consumed with the attention-demanding work of understanding intricate elf bonds, promises, and loyalties, was that he would be speaking—even most likely seeing—Hermione again, and that he both looked forward to it and dreaded it.

**A.N.: I hope you enjoyed it. Alas, Severus refused to resolve his issues quickly. Funny how that is. Anyway, please let me know what you think!**

**Hypnos Potion, Black Dragon, and Lethe are all mentioned in this chapter. They are **_**made up **_**potions of my own invention, all black market drugs that involve some sort of depressant and Dreamless Sleep component. Lethe is the strongest/worst of the three. I took the name from the mythological Greek river Lethe located in Hades (hell). It is the river of forgetfulness. Hypnos is the Greek personification/god of sleep. And Black Dragon just sounded cool. :)**

**Right now in the Phillippines, Indonesia, and that area of the world, natural disasters—earthquakes, hurricanes, and flooding—have been wreaking destruction on people, their lives, property, everything. Many are homeless or stranded in the rising floods. We discuss and debate issues and injustices (especially to Severus) in Harry Potter and other fandoms with extreme fervor sometimes (or at least I do) but real live people out there need your action and support and aid right now. Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers and if you do wish to contribute, that's even more awesome. (If you're in the States, the Red Cross is accepting money donations I think. I don't know about other countries though). **

**Thanks for reading (and sorry if you for some reason really hated my non-fandom-related plug for support for the victims of the natural disasters in Asia). **


	76. Chapter 76

**Disclaimer: I do not possess in any way, shape, or form JKR. I am not a Horcrux, I am not a ghost, and I am not a memory. Therefore I do not own any of her intellectual and physical property.**

"_I have news on the Slytherin front," _he had informed her simply over the spellphone two days ago. Rather than force Severus to make the long, roundabout commute to Hogwarts once more, Hermione was now meeting him in disguise at Gaston's again. And she was resolved not to act out of the ordinary. _Casual. Just be casual. Normal. Breathe, Hermione! _She hastily inhaled and choked on the extreme dryness in her throat. An old man with a long white beard who looked vaguely like an inferior, skinnier version of Albus who had been shuffling by at that moment cast a derisive look at her. Hermione glared right back—or at least tried to. As a short, plump matronly woman she lacked most of her ability to shoot a disdainful stare in a superior fashion. _Dear gods, I'd look like Umbridge if I tried! _Shuddering at that thought, Hermione turned into Knockturn Alley.

Molly Weasley would have been aghast at just how familiar Hermione was with the shady area of town, if she had known. In fact, Hermione did know most of the dusty, secretive shops and places of business located on the winding, twisted slit of an alley, from Gaston's to Borgin and Burkes. _To my own defense, I know most of this only for my own safety. I'm not about to walk into an unsavory location without thoroughly scoping it out first for escape routes, hiding places, and possible danger zones. _And the area she frequented, in an offshoot of the alley where Gaston's was located, was fairly secure. The guard at the door to Gaston's didn't like anything happening on their steps, so to speak—it was bad for the business.

She was late—the professors' weekly meeting had dragged on _forever _but she didn't dare draw attention to herself by exiting early. The burly guard escorted her to the solid wooden door of the rented room. "Whom did Yeats compare his love to?" a gruff, unrecognizable voice demanded on the other side.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Maud Gonne? He compared her to…Helen of Troy, I believe, as one of the more common analogies," she answered cautiously. They'd dissected Yeats' personal life as it affected the quality of his works in one of their many conversations, when the topic had strayed to favorite authors and then poets. _Passable, though crude at times, _Severus had opined against Hermione's vehement protests of _lyrical and visionary poet of his age! _

The door swung open—the guard shambled off, grunting as he scratched his side absently. Thankfully, Hermione slipped into the dingy little room and was greeted by a short Asian man. "Hello, Severus," she smiled. _Don't act any differently than normal. Stay calm. Stay calm. _To give herself something to do, she released the spells on her appearance, sighing unconsciously with relief as she felt the familiar weight and tickle of her hair around her face. The clothes were rather baggy on her now, but it was better than the other way around. Severus himself allowed his disguise to drop as well, and she immediately entwined herself in him, trying her hardest not to be awkward or unnatural. "I've missed you, and now I don't have to feel adulterous for kissing you properly," she declared.

"Good evening, Hermione." Awkwardly, self-consciously, Severus let his arms rest lightly on Hermione's back and brushed back a wisp of exploding curl that was tickling her eye. Then he leaned down and kissed her. Instantly, the casual-clumsy connection flared and flashed searing heat down to Hermione's toes, and she lost any thought of acting normal.

**--Age Line—Please jump down four paragraphs to where the age line ends if you do not wish to read a more M-ish scene—**

"Severus," she gasped against his lips, raggedly. He was leaned over her possessively, and suddenly taking her breath away—as if it had been hers to begin with—he seized her waist and picked her up, swinging her with a huff of exertion to a seat on the sturdy table that adorned the room. "We shouldn't…" she broke off, her mind losing grasp on what she might have said as she felt the weight of his body on hers. She leaned back drunkenly, wantonly, onto the cold hard surface, and he covered her, still half-standing bent like death kissing a new lover, passionately, dangerously.

"I've thought of you," he murmured in a dark and liquid voice, kissing a trail of molten lava down her neck half-ticklish, half-intoxicating. His eyes were intent now like a wolf's, though he wouldn't thank her for the comparison. Still, they were like a feral wolf's intelligent, wary eyes that looked, and knew the secrets of humans and was yet above them in his own way, far from the madding crowd. And intensely focused, oh so sharp and night-filled like a wolf on the hunt! "You've preyed on my dreams and my waking hours," he whispered almost accusingly against the small, pearly curve of her ear now. "Do you know what I thought of doing when my Occlumency failed me against you, Hermione?"

Hermione shuddered at the frisson of his timbre, at the sudden coldness of his fingers as they pushed past loose, matronly, ugly clothing to run up, like spiders, against her ribcage. "What…" she sucked in a breath, trying to refocus her eyes, "what did you think of, Severus?"

"Why don't I show you," Severus hissed, and then their bodies were rippled with goosebumps from the chill of the unheated room even as waves and rapids of fire and need warmed within, so that the winter was a lost detail among the sensory overload that swamped and swayed Hermione to the unique movement of its unearthly tide.

**--Age Line Ends--**

Still flushed, Hermione caught her breath as Severus adjusted the disarray of his clothing and hair and decided two things. First, she was rather cold and ought to do the same. Second, Severus had altogether far too smug a look of satisfaction on his face. Clearing her throat, she heaved herself up, shivering a little at the still, gelid air. "It's a good thing the Dark Lord didn't perform Legilimency on you if that's what you've been thinking about since New Year's," she prodded smartly, tugging gently at the clothing he was sitting on. "He'd have gotten rather a shock at the raunchiness of your mind."

Severus leisurely shifted a hip so that she could grab her clothing from underneath him. "I'm sure he's seen much worse in the minds of the unprotected followers," he commented, smirk not wavering. "Although he might have been a big put off by the bit about fraternizing with the enemy."

Donning her robes quickly and rubbing up and down her arms vigorously, Hermione laughed. "I for one thoroughly enjoy the forbidden attraction," she teased, leaning against Severus' chest to warm up. He grimaced at how cold she was, but willingly moved to allow her access to his body heat in a position Hermione might have almost called a snuggle, if it hadn't been Severus and if they hadn't just engaged in relations in a dim, dismal little room in the middle of an unsavory place in Knockturn Alley. "I like the bad boys," she continued, baiting him with great pleasure.

As expected, Severus' smirk turned into a distinct sneer of high superiority and slight disgust. "I," he said in a refined, haughty manner, "am not a _boy. _Nor would I use such a common, colloquial term as _bad _to refer to anything but one of your Gryffindor baboons." Taking in her countenance, which was currently distorted as she convulsed with laughter at his high, offended tone, a wicked gleam entered Severus' black eyes. "Perhaps you harbor an unrequited, passionate love for Draco?" he queried almost solicitously. At her indignant squeak, he went on. "After all, he is the epitome of the troubled, dark youth with a tragic past and a…_good…_" he curled his lip, "heart."

"Great good Merlin, no, no, no!" Hermione shrieked, horrified at the thought. She shook her head violently to erase it from her mind. "I'd never!" she declared firmly. "He's too…_young. _And tragic. And I'd be nursing him all the time." She wrinkled her nose. "I like him as a friend but I'd probably kill him within a week. Besides," she added, "Skye would probably murder me first.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You do recall that 'young' Draco is the same age as you, or rather, just a little younger." _And I am much older. _The thought went unspoken but hovered like an un-favorite, awkward old-maid-aunt.

Robustly, Hermione declared, "I prefer mature adult men, not young boys just out of adolescence." Taking Severus' hand in hers and wincing a little as she realized how cold her hands were in comparison to his warm palm, she went on as naturally as she could. "Draco's like that annoying little brother who's been a thorn in your side all your life and only just became old enough to be friends with. He has a lot of issues with his past and his childhood he hasn't truly resolved—won't be able to resolve in such a short amount of time, really." Hermione shrugged. "Skye is able to provide that sharp slap and soothe of reality that Draco needs. I can't and I wouldn't be inclined to either. He's just far too melodramatic and—gods help me, I can't believe I'm saying this of a Slytherin—_idealistic—_for me to take." She felt Severus' hand tighten over hers minutely as if in some mute acceptance, and something painful in her relaxed just a fraction. "I wouldn't have anyone but you, Severus," she enunciated carefully and slowly, looking at her love straight in the eye.

After an instant that stretched for eternity, Severus sighed a tiny little bit. "Am I not bitter and melodramatic of my own dark past?" he asked, half-wryly. His lips twisted a little. "I recall many occasions of you 'nursing' me, which you so despise."

"That's different," Hermione stated flatly without hesitation. She paused to gather her thoughts, and noticed with some surprise that she had been gently massaging Severus' hand in hers, stroking her thumbs down his tense knuckles. His hands were dry and chapped with winter and brewing—he hadn't been taking care of himself, and had obviously been brewing long and often. _That won't do. _Hermione resolved to make up a simple cream for chapped skin. She'd already brewed and strained the special salve for those who worked in potions or other hand-intensive labor, and it had done wonders after she'd spent an entire afternoon and night brewing to replenish Poppy's stock (because it was beneath Slughorn to do any actual work, now that he had a slave—excuse me, _assistant, _to do it for him).

"It's different," she repeated again even more emphatically. "Because you _have _already struggled long and hard with yourself over the issues you hold. Everyone has issues from their past they must deal with. I'm not disparaging Draco for his, certainly not! But at this point, I would be a bad person to cope with long up and down battle of emotion in the search for self-identity within the scope of those issues. You've already been through that. You _know _your worth and your crucial role in this war. You have a purpose and it drives you just like mine drives me. You face any reoccurring insecurities and uncertainties head-on. You may be bitter and melodramatic at times—" here Hermione smiled ruefully. "I won't deny that, since I've seen you in those moods. What's different is that you don't _need me _to haul yourself out of the cycle of self-recrimination and destruction. You might have, once, but now you are entirely self-reliant and I don't feel as if I'm being both mother and lover. I certainly can help jab you out of the down-spiral when you get into it and I do, but it's not life-or-death if I'm not there to do it at the right moment." Hermione caught her breath, unsure that what she was trying to convey was coming out right. "I'm sorry," she apologized a little embarrassedly. "I don't know if I'm making sense or not, or if I'm rambling and completely incoherent."

Severus said nothing for a long moment, simply stared off to the side as if in deep thought. The first strong stirrings of panic began to bloom in her stomach. Then suddenly, he turned his gaze back on hers and she felt paralyzed, turned to lead or frozen to a wall of stone. _Please, please, please, _her mind chanted although it wasn't comprehensible enough to discern just what it was pleading for.

The man threaded his free hand delicately through Hermione's mess of tresses, lightly caressing her scalp as fingers brushed by. "Thank you," was all he said before he kissed her, a slow rising of sweetness like glint of a sun's ray mirroring off a lake into the eyes of some human or creature or any living being looking. And it was enough.

Because the mood had shifted so abruptly, there was no way to rescue the playfulness of earlier. Hermione did not attempt to. Instead, she briskly went straight to business, albeit business conducted wrapped up in each other, which was a pleasant state of affairs considering that she was still cold. Or rather—she chose to be cold, now. It was much more fun to warm up through body heat than by a quick warming charm. Since Severus did not seem to mind, Hermione used him as a personal warmer instead.

"So, what is it you had news on?" she enquired.

Severus shifted enough to extract a thin scroll. Hermione recognized it. "Those are the names I gave to you of the Slytherins who wished to escape their homes, either to come to Hogwarts and fight with us or to leave the country entirely and remain neutral."

"Yes, it is," Severus replied. "And by the end of tomorrow night, or so Mippy tells me, every single one of them should be where they want to be."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "How…when…" she stammered, eyes wide.

"House-elves are very efficient creatures when they want to be," Severus imparted dryly. "They have managed somehow to organize an entire network of even those who support the Dark Lord's regime to mobilize the children to get them to where they want to be. I suspect appealing to the personal house-elves of those children the fact that their master or mistress wished it, or that it would protect them better, was what did the trick. They somehow worked out how to go around oath-loyalties without ever breaking it—no, don't ask me how," he added hastily, seeing Hermione open her mouth again this time with a question on her lips. "You'll need to prepare rooms or somewhere for those new additions to Hogwarts, and I urge you to ensure that they are safe from any potential Dark Lord supporter or student whose family might be a sympathizer or under pressure."

Closing her mouth on the rest of her impatient queries on just how it had happened, Hermione nodded instead. "I'll let Minerva know when I get back. We'll set up something safe, I promise," she said. "When are they arriving?"

"Between the hours of sundown and sunrise tomorrow night," Severus reported. "I advised Mippy that it was best to do it all in one night so that there would be no tightening of security as suspicious disappearances started happening. You are definite all the children who wish to leave their homes are on that list?"

"As sure as Draco is," Hermione replied, mind quickly recalling all the names the blond had scribbled in his elegant hand. "He seemed fairly certain."

"Anyone left out of that list will be virtually guarded by dragons after tomorrow night. Any further attempts at rescue or escape would put both house-elf and child at too high a risk."

Hermione swallowed, feeling the weight of responsibility—of lives!—pressing down on her shoulders. _Is this how Severus feels every day? Every day that he taught, waiting for his Mark to burn? Everyday that he spends brewing and living with murderers and criminals? _The responsibility of teaching—of educating and cultivating young mind, which had previously loomed large and impossibly high in her mind, held no candle to _this, _gambling lives. "It'll have to do," she murmured unhappily. "If there were any left out, they'll simply have to shift for themselves."

The glance she received was swift and assessing. Hermione lowered her eyes, but Severus thankfully did not mention anything. Instead, he continued on with his report. "Those who wish to leave the country altogether have also had a system organized to ferry them out. The only problem is where to place them." He looked at her expectantly.

Hermione nodded once more. "I'll get in contact with Li right away," she said, making a mental note of it in her head. "It's a little on fast notice, but I'm sure he'll come up with something for you to use. Will it be safe to contact you by spellphone?"

"Perfectly," Severus answered with an abrupt jerk of his head yes. "The house elves do not need apparation coordinates the way we wizards and witches do. If you will contact me, I will send Mippy to you and he can get what he needs to tell the others where to go from you."

"That will be fine." Hermione sighed and moved away from Severus long enough to ease the growing numbness in her foot. "There's nothing new on my front. You already know that I've mastered my Vacuumency with the help of your wand crystal, and so far it truly seems to be a real mastery and not just a false one as you warned about." Hermione stretched her leg out, rotating her foot and wincing at the pins and needles sensation. Then she grinned up at Severus. "Would you like me to show you just how grateful I am for your gift?"

Severus' eyebrow shot up, and as he moved towards her purposefully, Hermione thought with deep satisfaction, _yes, he would indeed. _

**--break--**

Severus paced the floor of his living room, eyes occasionally darting like fireflies involuntarily to the chair that Hermione had frequented when she had come in the guise of another woman. Mippy had taken one look at him and supplied a pot of soothing tea before disappearing, wisely. Severus was not in the mood for any sort of company at the moment, not even one very annoying, bossy, Molly Weasleyish house-elf who was learning to play a mean game of chess and somehow had the same sense of humor as Severus.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Shhh. Thump. Thump. Thump. _His shoes made a rhythmic noise on the wood floor as they marched, turned on its heel, and stalked back the other direction. As he paced, his mind ran like a gerbil on a wheel over and over Hermione and their meeting earlier this evening. The uncontrolled, certainly undignified manner in which they'd…well. Her obvious and easily displayed _want _for him! It amazed him how lucky he was every time he looked at her and saw truth and honesty in her expression. Her rather garbled speech—and the one thing that had kept him up restlessly circling the room tonight—her _absolute trust in him. _

_"You don't need me," _she'd told him. _"You know your worth." _Did he really? Or was he simply grimly committed to the destruction of the Dark Lord and his terrorist regime on this earth? Did he truly not need Hermione? Or was he fooling both himself and Hermione to the depth of his own need? _Do I warrant this trust that I can pull my entire weight on my end, that I can be an equal partner, not a burden to support constantly? _

Questions, doubts, uncertainties. They hounded him like dogs of the Wild Hunt. And the answers he sought were not to be found—not in any form in which he could easily file. What was it that drove him to put the war's victory in the first priority of his life? And what did he expect of its eventual end now even as he thought, speeding close as the days slipped by? _Once, I knew I would die and I looked forward, in some macabre sense, to the peace and finality it would bring. Yet now while I know my chances of survival are statistically low, I cannot imagine going into death meekly—not while Hermione remains. _Which brought with it still more questions. Remained: what? Alive? Or more? Remained a lover, a friend, or…he dared not think of more, tried not to be too greedy. _Do I need you, Hermione, to survive, if you are the cause of my changed desire out of life? _If she left him tomorrow, would he need her? He would survive, as he always had, implacably propelling towards the most important goal above all. _But that says nothing of whether I need Hermione to keep from being reduced to an automaton with a single driving force, like Albus tried to prevent from happening in me even as he asked me to become one that victory might be nearer us. _

And all the questions, all the soul-scouring, led to truths Severus wasn't sure were truth—to one center theme he shied away from, always backing away before it could be fully acknowledged. It lay there, the uncommented on elephant in the room of his own mind: _did Hermione love him? And more—did he love her? _

Unwilling to read the two-part question fully, Severus continued to log kilometers in the confines of his quarters trapped in his own thoughts, alternately agonizing over his own inadequacy and irresolution and marveling over the simple trust and…something…Hermione had gifted him. He did not go to bed at all that night.

**--break--**

—_The Next Day—_

"Is young crying miss beings the last of them?"

Squeaks of acknowledgment and vigorous nodding until ears flapped. A tiny house-elf in obvious distress and screwing up her ragged pillowslip in her little hands abruptly burst into tears. Immediately, ten other elves swarmed her, rags of various intermittent worn shades appearing in abundance to dab at the fat tears. A chorus of house-elves alternately comforted, consoled, and scolded the young elf until she was even more upset. Finally, one of the eldest-looking of the elves, a grizzly matriarch in the respectable garb of a black and purple pillowcase embroidered with a tiny crest that looked to be Egyptian linen, stepped in briskly.

"Elves will desists makings such wail-y noises this instant," she ordered in her high tone. She made her way through the guiltily parting crowd to the young elf who was trying valiantly to obey the command and stop sniffling. "Narry must remembers that her young miss is safer now," the old house-elf instructed kindly but firmly. "When this wizards war is being over, there will be plentys of time to serve young miss again. Narry is servings Narry's miss best by taking her away."

"Y-yes, Ylba," the young elf stammered as she slowly regained control over her piteous emotions and dabbed her eyes dry. "Narry is understanding this."

"Good." All business now, the elegantly garbed house-elf turned imperiously to another elf who was at her elbow. "Minny, report," she ordered.

Minny, dressed in the customary decent uniform of the Hogwarts elves, straightened herself hastily. "Hogwarts elves is already being arranging new-old young misses and masters we is taking from their homes in safe-rooms," she shared. "Headmistress is very happy; she is less being a cat and more being human and speakings to old Headmaster asleep in his picture." Ylba the matriarch nodded approvingly and Minny went on with the general news from Hogwarts. "Headmistress has not asked elves yet, but we is thinking she or Mistress Spy's-heart will asks us soon to help in war."

"Good," Ylba repeated for the second time that night, large eyes glowing almost eerily amber—rather like a cat's—with satisfaction. Her long ears twitched. "Hogwarts elves is ready?"

"We is readys to fight," Minny confirmed eagerly.

"Then we is waiting for Headmistress to speak with elves." With that matter decided, Ylba turned to another elf a little further away, who was bouncing up and down on his toes with nervous excitement. "Mippy? What of Master Seeker?"

"My master is being anxious," Mippy burst out, finally able to talk. His nose waggled and his eyes were bright with enjoyment of the brief moment of spotlight. "He is thinkings very hard about not thinkings."

"Of Mistress Spy's-heart sure," Minny joked slyly, and knowing grins spread all around the elves. Humans! They were so oblivious and blind to the important things—love and marriage and babies. They made everything too complicated.

"He is not being Summoned for many days now, not for meets, not for bad-things, not for the brewing, not even for the thinkings-group," Mippy continued a little more anxiously. "He is very worried, is my Master. He is not saying much, much, but he is brewing and brewing much heals."

"He will be being much happy with these news you is giving him after tonight," Ylba observed carefully. Mippy nodded, a little appeased though the crease that had appeared between his large eyes remained.

"Mistress Black-heart is beings very restless. Mippy is thinkings she will go do bad-things soon. Master Rat is sittings in his own room starings at wand-cast pictures of those being dead—Doffy's old young master before Doffy is becoming wind and wave and sand, Kreacher's old young master, and master's friends. Mippy is thinkings he is sad, much sad and much fear too. Greb's Mistress Fair-skin is comings to my Master for much sleep brews." Mippy recited the rest of the information he had to report, and then bounced again on his toes several times before calming down, pleased at himself.

Ylba cast a jaundiced eye at the energetic Mippy but refrained from saying anything. Instead, she mulled over the news she had received. "Keep listening," she finally ordered. "We is not doing anythings to interfere. Wizards must act first—choose first. Let Master Seeker know of news. Minny, you is to come and tell me straight-ways when Headmistress or Mistress Spy's-heart speaks to elves. Every-elf else—remember, serve smartly and serve well the elves, your master or mistress, and yourself."

A second later, with no other ceremony, the over-fifty-some house-elves had vanished from the nondescript place they had gathered out in a quiet clearing in an unknown woods somewhere. The moon shone down on the settling grass where, other than several bent stalks, it was as if there had never been a living creature there at all.

**A.N.: Please review? :) Pretty please with Snape on top? (And make of that whatever you will!) I enjoy writing for its own sake but it's always nice to get feedback/encouragement/concrit or even some sort of shout out to tell me that my story isn't just being randomly clicked on by a three year old experimenting with Mommy's computer and somehow made it all the way to chapter 76… ;P **

**Honestly, let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you!**


	77. Chapter 77

**Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.**

"Skye…Skye, where are you?" Draco whispered loudly—he didn't dare speak louder, for fear that Madame Pince would come tearing round the corner to glare and throw him out of the library. He needed to find Skye, and she was located…somewhere in the maze of books, no doubt reveling once more at the weight and feel of a book in her hands once more. He'd caught her more than once running reverent hands over something entirely mundane such as a soft blanket or the page of a book or the wall. Each time he did, Draco thought he heard his own heart tear a little more for all the things Skye had missed out on for far too long. _Which only proves that I've become a Hufflepuff sop, _he thought with a shot of self-derisive humor. _Oh, how Fa—Lucius and Narcissa would carry on if they knew just how far I've 'descended'! _That led to another startling thought. Draco had never ever questioned his belonging to Slytherin House, not even when he'd chosen a different route than many of his peers and the parents who were proud graduates of Slytherin. Not even when he'd been disowned formally and coldly. Not even when he'd made a decision that revolutionized the remnants of his past and became part of the Corwin clan. _But now I wonder…what would the Sorting Hat have to say if I were to be Sorted now? _Perhaps he would still be a Slytherin. Certainly Draco didn't feel any particular connection to another House. _But perhaps it would take longer than half a second to deliberate over where I should go. _

Come to think of it, how was anyone or anything—even a Hat with a renowned human brain in it—supposed to be able to read and Sort a person in less than a second? _It just doesn't seem all that accuracy-concerned, looking back on the process. _But then again, the point was moot now that the Hat had 'retired' as it were and the first years were unsorted and unhoused. _And they seem to be doing fine. I see them traveling in a pack—I haven't heard of any major deep-seated rivalries and bitter enemies springing up like Potter and I in our first year. I think the Sorting Hat was wise in finally making our decision for us in eliminating Sorting. _Still, it gave Draco a pang to think that in seven years, there might no longer be a Slytherin House—no longer be any House, for that matter. _How would the students be organized? By year? That would only put the firsties at a disadvantage. Maybe by a random assignment into 'Houses' that would have no attributes associated with it. Would that work? Or would human nature simply be impelled to create biased distinctions based on the divisions whether or not they truly exist? _

"Boo."

Yelling in startlement, Draco's hand shot to fumble for his wand and whipping around—to find himself face-to-face with a grinning Skye who looked supremely amused. "Got you," she smirked.

Heart still beating three times its usual pace, Draco put on an impressive frown. "Madame Corwin, if you _ever _do that again…"

"You'll kiss me until I can't think to scare you again?" she suggested with a mischievous glint and twinkle. Growling, Draco caught her up in his arms possessively.

"Be careful what you wish for," he murmured by her ear, causing her to giggle. "You might just get more than you ask for."

"Oh?"

"Shall I prove it to you?"

"Ahem." Startled once again, Draco and Skye jumped apart. However, Draco instantly leaped forward again, scrambling to catch Skye as she stumbled and almost fell. She flashed him a brilliant, grateful smile as he released her slowly once she was steady. Trying not to cringe, Draco hastily moved away.

"Sorry, Madame Pince," he apologized, turning to the stern-faced and intimidating librarian. She peered at him for what felt like eternity and he tried not to look fazed. Beside him, Skye placed a protective—possessive?—hand on his arm, pulling him closer once more. The librarian's eyes flickered to Skye and back again, giving nothing away, and Draco found himself thinking that she would have made a wonderful Slytherin.

Finally, she spoke in her pinched voice. "I will not have horseplay, gallivanting, or unseemly behavior in my library, young man," she informed him meaningfully. She eyed them both and then added for good measure, "From either of you." She glared.

Skye cleared her throat. "We apologize, Madame Pince," she said politely. "It won't happen again."

"You see that it doesn't, young lady!"

"I can assure you that it will not, Madame," Draco spoke with a dignified air, moving his arm around Skye in support. "In fact, I believe that we are done here, aren't we Skye?"

Skye moved a little restlessly but answered readily enough, "Yes. I've found what I was looking for."

"In that case, we'll be out of your way, Madame," Draco stated, nodding with composure to the older woman as he gathered his things with one hand, keeping his other around Skye. She did not make an attempt to break free as he gently maneuvered them out of the library under the vulture-like gaze of the uptight keeper of books. Outside, she looked up at him seriously.

"That was unnecessary, Draco," she told him solemnly. "We _were _noisy. You didn't need to go haughty on her."

Draco relaxed a little out of the vicinity of the library and now he looked at her with a troubled expression. "I'm sorry, Skye. I know you don't like it when I go Pureblood Prat on you. It just…pops out, sometimes, you know."

"Usually in defense of something you perceive to be an insult to me," Skye retorted with equanimity. "I don't need to be defended, Draco. I can do my own fighting." She paused. "Maybe not physically anymore—I know I still have a lot of muscle endurance and strength to build up again after essentially lying in a bed for a year. Even magic can only do so much. But my wits haven't gone begging and I can speak for myself. You don't have to take offense so easily on my behalf. I'm flattered and I love you—" here she tucked her arm back securely into his, having pulled away earlier, smiling genuinely at him—"but I'm not a fragile doll."

"I know," Draco protested. Then he sighed. "It's just hard not to respond. And—" he hesitated.

When he didn't continue, Skye prompted him gently. "And?"

"…And…" he paused. "And…well, I think…that when you reentered your physical body, the link that held you to this existence by anchoring to me was dissolved, because I feel like I'm missing…something. Something essential and important that I didn't realize I had until it was gone. Almost like a constant comforting presence." He shrugged a little helplessly.

Skye's eyes widened in comprehension and then she stopped and turned to fully face him, taking both his hands in hers. "Draco, you lovable idiot, you don't think I don't miss that connection either?" she laughed. "You silly goose, I've struggled with the same disconnected, loose end that isn't there anymore too. Perhaps even more than you since I felt that connection more strongly when it existed." She squeezed his hands. "It just means that we have to do this the hard way now, the way everyone else makes a relationship work." She smiled. "We've been blessed that we had the difficult first months of our relationship aided by the magical bond between us that held us more in sync that we could ever have been if we didn't have it. Now we don't feel it anymore but that doesn't mean it isn't there. We just have to work extra hard like the rest of the world to actively create that bond and keep it constant. That means communication, understanding, trust, all those things that a successful relationship needs to work."

Draco blinked. He hadn't thought of it that way…_but it makes sense. _"You're right," he said aloud. He smirked at her. "Perhaps you'd like to…create a connection between us right now?"

She grinned, rising to the challenge admirably. "I'd love to," she replied, and they adjourned to the small private quarters they'd been assigned on their return from their honeymoon to renew their bond.

**--break--**

"Have you seen Draco or Skye? Someone told me they were here," Hermione asked Irma Pince, keeping her voice low so as not to distract the students who were studying (or perhaps sleeping, having given up on passing their next exam). The librarian looked up, greeting Hermione with a brief, rare smile that hastily disappeared as a boy walked by. His steps hastened—Hermione allowed herself to smirk, Severus-style. _I wouldn't be surprised if Severus took his lessons on intimidation from Irma. She is one formidable witch. _Certainly, she knew how to best deliver a cutting glare or reprimand to the rowdy student and she had no qualms about throwing rule-breakers out of her realm. _"Give the books a chance to speak," _she'd snapped once in Hermione's hearing at a particularly chatty young Gryffindor student some years ago. Hermione had turned purple trying not to laugh then—she hadn't known Irma at all except for the hawkish librarian with the catalogue of books permanently memorized. The young third year in question had blinked in confusion and spent the next half hour relatively quiet as she tried to figure out what the scary librarian had meant.

"Young Mister and Madame Corwin were here just about fifteen minutes ago, most likely heading for their rooms," she informed Hermione. Then she glanced around to ensure that there was no one else in their vicinity. "If you are searching for them I recommend waiting some time before disturbing them." She shot Hermione a loaded glance of suggestiveness. Hermione blinked and wrinkled her nose. "Uh…does that mean what I think it means?" she asked carefully.

Irma quirked her lips the tiniest millimeter. "They were rather…distracted and no doubt are rectifying that problem as we speak."

Hermione winced. "Irma, I do _not _wish to have that image of my friends…doing _that…_with each other!"

The thin woman plucked her reading glasses off her face, polishing them with a muttered spell before storing them somewhere in her robes. "Nonsense. Don't be squeamish about information. You've read about the act, even if you haven't actually experienced it yourself…but perhaps I should not be making assumptions." Her shriveled face looked at Hermione shrewdly, but before Hermione could feel more than a flash of panic and acute embarrassment, Irma went on as if she had not just mentioned Hermione's potential sexual history. "At any rate, I must say that the young Madame Corwin is quite perceptive for her age…rather like you, in fact. Either that or she's been spying on me as a spirit. Young Mister Corwin reacted exactly as I expected to a bit of prodding and insult like a typical male of the species, especially one still in his honeymooner's euphoria. Madame Corwin, on the other hand, I am fairly certain was sharp enough to side-step an argument."

Hermione smiled. "I truly—" she stopped herself, aghast. What she _had _been about to say was, _I truly don't see how you and Severus didn't get along when you were colleagues, you have the same nasty streak of humor. _And that would have been disaster, for first of all she would have never had an occasion to call Severus by his full name in any context and second of all the familiarity with which Severus' personality she would have displayed in that simply remark would have given away her closeness to him. _Not to mention he's a rather taboo subject and has been since he killed Albus. _

"Uh…I truly…agree with you," Hermione amended hastily, fumbling a little with her words as she threw in something innocuous. "Skye's fairly sharp, although I wouldn't put it past her to have been in the library at odd hours and perhaps seen you less than prepared for observers."

"As smart as she is, she still doesn't seem to have caught on to the fact that I enjoy putting the little brats into place and why I do it," Irma noted. "So she isn't quite on par with a certain girl I know who impressed me enough to open the Library of Dreams for her and then became a colleague, graduating a year early, and confronting me with my own scheme of keeping children properly respectful of me so that the books stay relatively well-treated."

Hermione laughed, trying not to show any of her earlier nervousness and her cover-up of her almost-blooper. "I'd almost forgotten about that," she mused. "I did rather confront you at the beginning of this year with my theory of why you acted like the horrible librarian I thought you were for the longest time, didn't I?"

"One too many essays to grade, no doubt," Irma said sympathetically although she looked smug at the same time. _Of course she does. She has no essays to grade, ever! _"Truly too, it is far more beneficial for students to do their own work and find their own way around a library the hard way so that they remember it for themselves, rather than relying on me for everything," Irma added, warming to her topic. Hermione, noting both that fact and the time, regretfully broke in before Irma could launch off on one of her favorite topics.

"I have to go—I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm due to oversee a detention Horace assigned two second year Hufflepuffs," she sighed.

Irma Pince pursed her lips together in withered disapproval, shaking her head. "You let that man take too much advantage of you," she said reprovingly. "Just tell him to take a long flight out of the window without a broom if he asks you to take on more of his own job. Being an assistant does _not _mean being his house elf."

Hermione rubbed her forehead with her wrist wearily. "I've been thinking about doing that."

"Do it," Irma stated decisively.

Hermione inhaled slowly. "I'll think about it." Flashing a rueful smile, Hermione departed, hoping that the students in detention would be sorry and regretful so she wouldn't have to put up with attitude.

**--break--**

While Hermione was patiently dealing with two rambunctious and recalcitrant students in detention, Severus was impatiently pacing as he waited to be admitted to Cassius Cain's ostentatious wing of his bloody castle of a house that had been with the Cain family since the time of the Romans. Along with him in the grand sitting room was Viktor Krum and Klara Laszlo. Klara gave him a hearty welcome, winking lavisciously at him. Krum merely grunted in his general direction, as unsociable as he'd been all year.

Half an hour later, when Thorfinn Rowle showed up, the timid house elf finally appeared to usher them into the private domains of the young arrogant scion of the house. The angelic-faced Cassius looked harried and less than put together for once as he strode into their meeting room. "My apologies, men—and women," he added hastily with a glance at Klara. "We had an…issue to deal with. It's resolved now, but I regret the wait. Please forgive my terrible manners."

They all murmured the expected acceptance of Cain's apologies, while Severus eyed him sharply. _That looks like a human bite mark on his wrist, sloppily healed. Bites, especially human bites, are notoriously difficult to heal without a professional Healer or trained Mediwitch or Mediwizard. Judging from the size of the mark…a woman bit him, or an extraordinarily small-jawed man. Or perhaps a child. _Just what had Cain been doing immediately prior? _And how much of an 'issue' was it that caused him to become flustered? _

Interesting. Extremely interesting.

"So, we are here to meet once again to discuss our progress towards the final product for our Dark Lord," Cain began, seating himself and waving the others to their seats at the dark, polished granite table. "Damascus Malfoy has been of great help in injecting a new slant and approach to our work, and I truly believe we are in the last stages of perfecting this ritual of power-sharing."

_Power-sharing? What an entirely benign term for it, _Severus thought with heavy irony. He caught the glances that Klara and Rowle passed between each other, fleeting as it was, and smirked in response. They found the idea of power-sharing just as humorous as he did, no doubt. The Dark Lord did not _share _power. This ritual was not meant for sharing, but for a brutal raping of power, magic and life force, from one person to give entirely to another. Oblivious, Cain continued on. "When we last met, we had reached a turning point in our research and begun the final stage of refining the ritual to work consistently. Today I'd like to touch base with everyone and see if we can't finally start combining our separate parts and begin the systematic testing of the entire ritual."

Klara blinked and then nodded. "I am game," she agreed, eyes brightening at the task presented to her. Krum merely gave a sharp, abrupt nod, eyes unreadable and dark. He was tense, although he seemed relaxed. Severus could see the deliberate deception of ease in each line of Krum's muscle—the boy was consciously loosening his body to appear at ease. No doubt his training as an athlete helped in that regard, but Severus was not fooled. At every meeting, every collaboration, Krum was stiff and strained. Why, Severus had still not discovered.

"Let's have at it," Rowle contributed his two knut's worth. He stretched out his beefy hands, linking them and turning them out to crack his knuckles. They popped with alarming volume, and Severus hid a shudder at the repulsive habit that Rowle indulged in.

"Proceed," Severus agreed shortly. Cain smiled gregariously.

"Then onward!" he cried gaily, sweeping up and dramatically flinging the door open to the next room connected to it. It opened into a familiar room where various parts of spells and theories had already been tested on crups, rats, and other animals. Cain seemed to have fully regained his aplomb, and he strolled with assured cockiness to fling open a cage door and Levitate a squealing mouse out. "Mice first?" he asked rather belatedly.

The others looked to Severus automatically. "No," he stated blandly. "Think, if you all have the brains the Dark Lord has purported you all to have! This ritual is one meant to leech power—_life force—_from one being and channel it in a controllable manner to the receiver. Mice are all very well to test various parts of potions or spells on, but they do not have adequate magical cores to constitute the right type of life force this ritual seeks to bind into service."

"Ve start vith crup, no?" Krum spoke up unexpectedly, sounding surly-toned but polite enough.

Severus nodded in acknowledgement. "Crups are adequate to begin with. Eventually when we discover the best way to put this ritual together and have adjusted for Arithmatic values, we should continue extensive testing on Doxies. Eventually it would be necessary to test on an actual human subject." He tried not to think of what that would mean as he informed the group in a lecturing tone far too familiar to him. And yet while the mode of communication felt frighteningly natural—so much so that it was only right that all of them unconsciously adjusted their posture to this as one of student to teacher—the subject matter was far from natural.

"Very well." Cain pouted a little, put out at being shown up, the spoiled brat. He returned the tiny brown mouse with a flick of his wand to live another day yet. Severus resolutely closed his ears to the startled yelp-growl of the unlucky crup that had been selected for their first attempt. _One does what one must do, _he reminded himself as they all began to consult on how best to enact the ritual for life force theft. Still, it was hard to shut out the large, meltingly brown gaze of the Silenced and bound canine as it whimpered without sound, intelligent enough to know Something Bad was happening. He'd wanted a dog as a child, and though he'd never gotten one—not in his miserable excuse for a childhood and not in his adulthood either—Severus had always considered animals to be far superior to the human species. _They have no delusions of power. If they kill, they do so in self-defense, protection of their young, or to eat and survive. War, treachery, deception, power…what are these to the non-human animal? And yet we call them dumb creatures. _

"It is probably best to put it in a sleep first," he interrupted.

"Good idea," Klara said hastily and Severus thought he saw a glimmer of regret and guilt in the pale, short woman as she drew her own wand. _Good. At least one still has a conscience. _The crup, under the efficient spell-weaving of a Charms mistress, blinked once, sleepily, before his eyes slid shut, hiding the liquid brown eyes, and his body relaxed.

As they got started with the agreed-upon first trial, Severus banished all sympathetic, non-Death Eater thoughts from his mind firmly, feeling the cold steel and stone encase his heart like a fortress. As the iron door to the forbidding fort clanged shut, the sudden memory of Hermione's soft brown eyes—as expressive and beautiful, if not more so, than the crup's—lay buried and hidden to be abandoned for another time and place.

**A.N.: Please, forgive me for the late update and relatively short chapter! I have had absolutely no time whatsoever since exactly nine days ago to do anything but study, write essays, take exams, and rehearse like mad for a concert. In fact, RL is looming rather large at the moment and demanding every second of my time. I apologize now and I apologize in advance as the next few weeks are going to be rather rough for me and by extension, rough for my story as I've got to eke out literally minutes here and there to write this. As such, since I rather do like getting good grades so that I don't flunk out, my updates will most likely be delayed and sketchy. I'll try my best but I do doubt that I will be able to make every single week's regular update. **

**Again, my sincerest apologies. And if I wasn't quite coherent at any point it was probably because I was utterly exhausted. Let me know if there are mistakes my poor burned out brain didn't catch.**


	78. Chapter 78

**Disclaimer: I wouldn't mind trading places with JKR so she can ace all my classes for me. Or Hermione. Alas, I am not either.**

"Mister Corwin, if you would follow me?" Draco pulled up short, turning around politely to Headmistress McGonagall's no-nonsense request. Belatedly, he realized that it was far past curfew and the time he should have been back in the dorms—or rather, his new quarters with Skye, right by the Hospital Wing so that Madame Pomfrey could continue to monitor Skye's return to full health and fitness after her year-long coma. Some of his apprehension might have shown on his face, for McGonagall unexpectedly unbent a little. "You are not in trouble, Mister Corwin," she assured him.

Relieved, Draco bowed slightly and paced gravely next to the older woman as she turned in the direction of her office. He had not entered this office often, even—especially—when it had been Albus Dumbledore's domain, and thus he felt no pang of nostalgia as he entered. He wondered, though, what Potter must feel each time he came in here. Did he see an entirely different room, most likely cluttered and messy and brightly colored with odd objects, and filled by the alpha-presence of the old wizard? _Only Potter knows, I suppose. _He politely turned down the offer of any sort of tea.

"It has come to my attention rather forcefully that something you requested has come to pass, Mister Corwin," McGonagall stated formally as she sat herself down at the organized and uncluttered desk. She waved him to sit as well, and Draco did so.

Draco furrowed his brow a little. "I…I'm afraid I don't quite recall this instance," he ventured carefully.

"I believe you spoke with Hermione about the plight of your former acquaintances," she noted.

"Oh!" Draco sat up straighter. "Wait—it worked? What happened?"

Professor McGonagall glanced at the closed door of her office thoughtfully. "The last of the students who wished to return to Hogwarts against the…bidding of their parents and family has just been shown to a separate dormitory that mysteriously appeared at the end of the hallway the Hospital Wing is located on, just a short distance from your quarters with Madame Corwin."

"Excuse me?" Draco blurted, shocked.

A hint of an amused smile tugged at the corner of McGonagall's lips as she repeated herself clearly. "All those whom you listed as wishing to returning to Hogwarts have been…appropriated and brought here after it was determined that they truly did wish to return and had the will to oppose even their families. The others whom you described as wishing to leave altogether have also been aided and should be well on their way to safety in a neutral country to wait out the war."

Slowly, Draco unglued his lips, feeling them catch dryly as he finally remembered how to breathe. "I am…blown away," he finally stammered, mind catching up to information and racing ahead with realization after realization: that his House members had the chance now to choose their own path, that many of them had chosen to disobey their parents, that some had even chosen to risk their own lives because they wanted a better future—whether for themselves or for the world in general. _Perhaps Slytherin House will no longer be a place known as breeding grounds for Dark witches and wizards. Perhaps…_

"…was wondering if you would speak to them now," McGonagall was saying as Draco tuned in once more. "We didn't bring anyone younger than a fifth year to Hogwarts—they were sent with the others to a neutral hiding place. Still, they are young and scared and they've just made a major step in defying their parents, their families, years of tradition and in some cases, they might never be on amicable terms with their families again. You have gone through the worst thing any Pureblood can conceive for themselves, complete disownment. You can reassure them a little, perhaps."

Draco nodded in comprehension, grey eyes sharpening as McGonagall gave him something solid to act on. Thinking hard, he asked, "Would it be beneficial to bring Skye along with me? Most have probably already heard of our unexpected wedding and my pledge to the Corwin lineage."

"It might be best," McGonagall allowed. "If you do not think it would be too much of a trouble or health setback to wake Madame Corwin up for this. I think it had better happen now, and especially for the girls among this group it might be beneficial to have a friendly female peer welcoming them." She briskly nodded as they rose and prepared to leave. "Yes, Madame Corwin would be a welcome presence indeed."

"She might even be more confided in than I, if the Slytherins decide to confide in anyone," Draco pointed out thoughtfully. "She is mainly a nonentity in the strife rampant in the issue of politics, House loyalty, and personal ideologies. I am a rather notorious character—both before I officially joined onto this cause and after," Draco admitted ruefully with a quirk of his lips. "Skye, on the other hand, has been invisible—thus, absent—for the past year and isn't heavily involved in anything hugely controversial other than marrying me."

"Very true, Mister Corwin," Professor McGonagall acknowledged as they walked companionably to the door of Draco's and Skye's living quarters. "I shall wait out here for you," she added as he murmured the passcode to the elaborate and grand glass doorknocker blown in the shape of a small, transparently-blue Swedish Shortsnout dragon. It flamed brilliant blue fire at him in disapproval at having been woken up, but the flames were enchanted and merely tickled. Apologizing a little embarrassedly under his breath to the glass dragon, Draco passed through into his new domain.

The living quarters were tiny compared to the entire wing he'd occupied in Malfoy Manor when he'd been the dutiful Pureblood son. Merely a living room that might fit six or seven people, a bathroom, and a bedroom. But they were cozy and filled with love and warmth the way it had been difficult to fill the entirety of the ancient manor with, and Draco was well-content with it—not to mention the most important thing it contained, which was Skye.

His new wife—_wife! _It felt odd and strangely sweet and thrilling on his tongue—was actually awake as he entered their darkened bedroom, blinking owlishly from where she sat, back against the headboard. "Oh, I had wondered where you went," she said, relieved, when she saw him. "What were you doing?"

Draco winced a little, and tried to evade the question. "Headmistress McGonagall is waiting for the both of us outside," he told her instead. "You remember the list of Slytherins who were having second thoughts about their parents' philosophy of keeping them at home? The one we gave Hermione?"

"Mmhmm." Skye, not without some reluctance, swung her legs out of bed, carefully standing up. Draco moved to help her, but she waved him away. "Don't worry, they're just a little overtired from this morning—we spent an extra thirty minutes working on my legs to start building up my endurance level and muscle again," she told him.

Eyeing her progress and the slight trembling of her knees and thighs in particular, Draco was inclined to help Skye over her vehement protests. But, knowing that it would be a harder hit on her pride and self-esteem than it would be on her physically, he abstained with some effort. "They're here—the ones who chose to come and fight, they're here at Hogwarts. McGonagall wants us to go greet them and reassure them a little," he told her instead, walking over to the closet to pull out a dressing robe for her. "You don't need to change. Just wear this over your nightgown."

"Well I at least have to put on my brassiere," she retorted.

Draco grinned lecherously at her. "I don't mind you not wearing it," he leered.

"Yes, well you might mind a little more if some puny little pipsqueak started looking because he couldn't help it," she shot back cleverly as she put on the garment in question. Draco hurried to slide behind Skye and take the ends for her, hooking it with a minimal amount of fumbling. "Thanks."

"They're allowed to look, but _I'm _the only one allowed to touch," he growled in her ear from behind before spinning her around to kiss her soundly. She responded but then slapped him on the shoulder, grinning maddeningly as she detached herself. "Perhaps you had better put on your _good _bathrobe and go out to meet Professor McGonagall."

Frustrated, Draco looked down at himself and swore colorfully. He was wearing the bathrobe that Skye had given to him as a gag gift, belted securely so that the pattern of baby animals—all of them, bunnies, puppies, kittens, and the occasional duckling wandering around, sleeping, playing, or brawling with each other—could be clearly seen on the background of butter yellow. _I wonder just exactly what McGonagall had to think about that, _he groaned mentally, hurriedly exchanging it for a more sensible navy blue satin. Skye laughed unrepentantly at him, long and loud, as they left their rooms.

McGonagall greeted them with her usual propriety when they exited, though now that Draco was properly paying attention he noticed her eyes flick oh-so-briefly to his robe and a ghost of a smirk pass over her face. Trying to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary and he had not just gone walking the halls of Hogwarts at three thirty in the morning and discussed business with the Headmistress in her office dressed in a bathrobe covered with baby animals, Draco bowed to the older woman, who greeted Skye with something of a smile. "My apologies for disturbing your rest, Madame Corwin," she told Skye as they set off down the hall. "I appreciate this very much. Many of them do not trust…the ordinary authority figure."

_I bet, _Draco snorted in his mind. _It's not like the authority at Hogwarts have helped them out much in the past. _Then he relented a little, remembering that despite their overbearing and idealistic snobbism, the Gryffindors and their supporting professors had still made somewhat of an effort to reform their ways. _I wonder how much of it is due to Granger's—Hermione's—influence? She's certainly become much less of a shining Gryffindor. She's…ambiguous. _Draco hadn't thought about it until now but the girl—_no, it's as if she's grown up far faster than the rest of us—she's truly an adult now, while the rest of us are still catching up—_the woman, then—how Hermione had slowly and unobtrusively become almost like a shadow in the background, unnoticed and essential. _Almost…almost like a nicer female version of Uncle Severus. _

Oh, and _that _brought back thoughts and feelings Draco most certainly did not want to delve into, including a stubborn denial to believe that his godfather had truly chosen to kill…to kill Dumbledore. And others. Had completed the task Draco had rejected with repugnance. The same man who had led Draco _to _Dumbledore and indirectly then to being the kind of person who could marry Skye, the best thing in his life. So, as he had for the past year, Draco shelved that thought in the furthest recesses of his mind—yet another useful skill from Snape—and focused instead directly on the here and now, namely, the Slytherins.

They were here, and McGonagall did not give them a second glance to ensure their readiness but instead opened the door smoothly, clearing her throat softly as she stepped inside first. As Draco entered, he felt Skye's small hand catch his for a brief instant, squeeze warmly, and let go. Then he was in, and there were far too many pairs of eyes on him, riveted—eyes that each and every one of them looked painful old in contrast with the faces they were set in. "I hope you've found your rooms to your liking," McGonagall spoke briskly with a sort of rough kindness, breaking the tense silence. When no one responded but merely stared warily at the three newcomers, McGonagall abruptly changed the subject.

"I am sorry that you have felt the need to leave your families in such a precarious time, and I cannot tell you how much we all appreciate your willingness to rejoin Hogwarts against your family's wishes. I conferred with the Sorting Hat earlier today. He educated me on several items." She looked sharply around the spacious and welcoming room, a common room in every sense like the Slytherin House one, but even cozier. It seemed to Draco as though she met every single child's eye, though there were at least sixteen. "I am well aware of the fact that perhaps several people—in _all _the Houses—may be unhappy with your return," Professor McGonagall said bluntly. "The Sorting Hat has made it clear to me that last year was the final year he felt it necessary to Sort students upon their arrival at Hogwarts, and in the future he would not Sort a single student until every single mind had become as open as a newborn infant's to each other regardless of family, blood, appearance, or any other issue. That leaves me with the problem of a coming influx of new students each succeeding year who will be unHoused. One class of students, the first years, have been difficult to arrange into the schedules. Today the Sorting Hat's final decision placed me in a quandary and I believe you might be the solution, if you would agree."

Draco struggled to keep his face impassive. _What is McGonagall getting at? _Around them, there were suspicious expressions. Finally, one particularly brave boy—_sixth year, I believe. Harper?—_spoke. "What are you proposing?" he inquired, half-sullen, half-intrigued.

"That you, along with the first years this year, become the first members of a new, integrated system," McGonagall replied promptly. "The first years have already modeled it partly by sitting at whichever table they choose for meals. As older students, I would most likely integrate you all into different classes at your level, some in the traditionally Gryffindor-Slytherin classes and some in the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw classes. You would eat interspersed wherever you wished at any of the four tables. The points system of rewards and punishments would be invalidated for you—instead, there would be a personal points system for each person, merits for work done well and demerits for breaking rules. Those would have personal, but not collective, punishments. Eventually as each successive year of remaining Housed students graduated and left, more and more equable changes would be implemented to create a Hogwarts without Houses."

There was an audible outbreak of whispers, while Draco stood stock-still, struck by the idea and not sure how he felt. _A Hogwarts without Houses…would it only make things less community-bound and self-serving—or would it actually work? _He wasn't sure, but it would certainly occupy his mind for a good while.

"We'll give it thought. Perhaps we could let you know tomorrow?" Harper—Warwick Harper?—seemed to have become the elected spokesperson for the returning Slytherins. He certainly had the makings of a fine Slytherin speaker. Calm, unruffled, unreadable—and knowledgeable about just what tone of voice to employ in which situation. Guarded politeness to the witch who currently held the highest power over them short of the families they had just implicitly renounced and the continually ineffectual Ministry. _But it may not remain a 'Slytherin' attribute for much longer. _Draco kept returning to that thought, worrying at it like a sore tooth. How would it work? Was it possible? Would Hogwarts' alumni protest vehemently? House pride was still strong and ongoing even years, _decades, _after graduating. It showed up in everything from a parent's expectations of their child to politics. Would it really be that easy to eliminate the deep-rooted rivalries and identities derived from the Houses?

"Of course—take the next few days to discuss it amongst yourselves. I'm certainly not expecting an answer straightaway," McGonagall affirmed quickly. "In fact, you are not expected to go back to classes for a week. It will give you…time…to reacquaint yourselves with the atmosphere and your peers."

Harper, and Draco was almost certain that his first name _was _Warwick, bowed slightly. "As you say," he responded.

"On that subject, I hope you will find it more beneficial and easier to speak with either...Draco or Skye about your thoughts, questions, or concerns. Their rooms are just down the hall and I'm assigning them officially as…peer advisers to you. Please take advantage of them." Suddenly, McGonagall was gone—Draco had never seen anyone leave this fast or abruptly in his life, and he licked his dry lips and tried to remember how to look unconcerned as all the pairs of eyes abruptly turned to him.

"I'm glad to see all you here," he finally began slowly. "Perhaps I am the only one who truly comprehends the level of courage and personal debate to return. You all know what happened to me."

Several Slytherins looked away ever so briefly—others displayed slips in their expression for a millisecond. "Yes," Draco affirmed, voice growing stronger and more convicted. "You know that my own family, the Malfoys, disowned me entirely from both blood and family. I don't have to explain to you like I have to others just what that means. Even Sirius Black wasn't disowned when he was Sorted into the House of Lions, when he became friends with James Potter, when he ran away from home. Slashed from his family tapestry certainly, but not formally and officially removed—it hasn't happened to anyone but Squibs in decades." He paused, and met their gazes. "It was worth it," he stated clearly and quietly.

"It was worth it. That which I gave up, I found multiplied. I don't know how much your parents have allowed you access to news—"

"Not much," Harper snorted disgustedly, crossing his arms. "But mine did let slip that Corwin had woken up out of her coma—" here he glanced uncertainly at Skye before his eyes returned to rest expectantly on Draco.

Skye, perhaps wisely, remained silent. Draco nodded. "Truth. The short story is that some time last year, Skye's spirit began to walk outside her body and for some reason she found herself bound to me. I was the only one who could see her. On Winter Solstice this year we finally managed to return her to her body and she awoke. Over the course of the…situation, we found ourselves in love." His tone of voice dared anyone to make a comment. "We were married on New Year's Day."

There was startled silence. It felt as though it had stretched on forever before a small fifth year girl piped up with a tentative, "Congratulations." The other Slytherins followed suit, each muttering a congrats which Draco accepted in the spirit it was given—uncertainty and a reverting to the doctrinal manners instilled in Pureblood children. He decided to drop the next bombshell. "I took on her name," he added casually.

_Harper looks like someone just swallowed a live hippogriff whole in front of him. _In fact, virtually every face was blank with shock and in some cases, extreme discomfort. _Basically the reaction I was expecting from such an audience. Slytherin Purebloods—in fact, any Pureblood not just in Slytherin—consider it akin to death to cleave to a new bloodline. It's virtually unheard of for a male to adopt the bloodline and loyalty of his wife. Almost completely inconceivable, especially in this day and age. _This time, the silence was not broken until finally it was Skye herself who spoke for the first time, sounding as serious as he had heard.

"We did not take it lightly nor in revenge," she said, voice musical in its graveness. "It was a gift freely offered by Draco and freely accepted with much respect and reverence on my part and the part of my family.

Draco later swore that it was Skye's inherent self and her appeal that won the Slytherins over—she always insisted that the Slytherins had simply seen the sense of what she was saying. In any case, after another long ringing pause, Warwick Harper once again spoke. "The Corwins are a respected, well-known, sober Pureblood family," he stated.

With that, it seemed as if the rest of the group were willing to at least listen to Draco and Skye, if not accept Draco's radical decision right away. Draco breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and then prepared himself for a long night of discussion, thanking the fates fervently that Skye was the most logical, reasonable, and instinctively likable person he knew and certainly well-equipped to take on—and convince—even a gaggle of skeptical Slytherins. He thought that they just might have their work cut out for them in reassuring this group that McGonagall and potentially all of Hogwarts wouldn't be out to get them.

**A.N.: Okay so if you were paying attention the past few chapters the sequence of events might have given you a pause for thought (or rather, confusion). I hope you'll forgive me for the very convoluted way it's gone. Basically chapters 76-78 are working within the same two days. Chapter 76 starts the early evening of the first day (Hermione's meeting with Severus at Gaston's) and ends late night of the following day (the house elves). Chapter 77 jumps back and goes through the afternoon/evening of the second day (Draco and Skye at the library) before the events of the house elves in chapter 76. Chapter 78 jumps to really late night, **_**after **_**the late night events of Mippy, Ylba and crew in chapter 76. **

**Secondly—I am SO excited, because last week (around the time I **_**should **_**have been posting had I had a complete chapter) I received an email telling me that one of my stories had been featured on the SSHG weekly quiz that's run on the livejournal community for the ship. I was off the walls with squee-ness at the honor. The quiz, unfortunately, is over and the winner's already been picked to choose the next week's quiz theme, but if you would like to check it out anyway (along with nine other great stories featured in the quiz) it's at http : // community dot livejournal dot com slash quiz underscore sshg slash (just change the dot, com, slash, and underscore into those symbols and take out the spaces). Click on the Crazy!Hermione quiz. My story is called "Cat's Cradle". Or if you just wanted an easier way to get to just the story, it's in my profile here. **


	79. Chapter 79

**Disclaimer: None of it belongs to yours truly. **

_Add the dried feverfew. _Severus carefully sifted the crumbly bits of dried herb into the cauldron, watching carefully. The instant the seething, ominously bubbling liquid inside the cauldron ceased and became a quiescent surface, he instantly stopped, making sure to place last handful of the flower back into its jar. As he reached with one hand for a new stirring rod—for once the potion had changed into this stage, it would react badly to a rod with the residue of the former stage it had been in—a sudden, searing pain seized his arm. Like a dream, through the dancing spots in his eyes, Severus watched the clean glass rod slip from his hand in slow motion, falling, falling until it landed without sound dead center of the cauldron, clanking and coming to rest leaning up against the side. Disrupted, the potion reacted as a sullen and unpredictable teenager might, and started smoking furiously. Some part of Severus' brain not preoccupied with the blinding _pain _that originated at his wrist and radiated in waves of excruciating, paralyzing fire throughout his entire body registered the potential problem and he dove, ducking under the sturdy table.

_BooM!!! _A soundless but contradictorily deafening explosion pressed against his eardrums, and the lab abruptly filled with a grey smog, thick and impenetrable. Somehow, both the spy and the decades-trained Potions Master in Severus managed to grapple him bodily towards where he thought the door was, and urged him not to breathe in case the smoke was poisonous or harmful. _Out, out, out, _chanted his body while his mind screamed with the continued torment in his arm that gripped his muscles and shook it like a cat with a caught rat.

His head bumped against something hard and for an instant, instead of smoke, Severus saw stars. Then his shoulder found a knob, and somehow he managed to force one arm—the good one—to open it, and he fell through to the other side.

_Umff. _For an instant, Severus couldn't breathe and blackness threatened to overwhelm him. Then suddenly another jabbing pain radiated up his arm and jolted him, oddly enough, back into solid clarity. Gritting his teeth, Severus rolled and somehow managed to kick the door shut, sealing it magically with the wand that—thanks to his long-ago receiving of a wand crystal—automatically responded to his hand in his need. His Dark Mark throbbed again and Severus winced. The Dark Lord was _very _impatient and most likely apoplexive with rage right now, if the pain was anything to go by. Severus hadn't felt this level of fury in a call in a very long time—in fact, not since the Dark Lord had first returned to a physical body and called his followers back with triumphant vengeance, ready to take back what was his and kill those who had in his absence betrayed him.

_Dark Lord. Summoning. Right. _Cursing liberally, Severus managed to stagger upright. Before he could _Accio _his robes and mask however, a little crack alerted him to Mippy's appearance. The little elf was clutching both necessary items to his chest, and he thrust them at Severus. "Thank you, Mippy." Severus gratefully took both articles of clothing, donning them hastily with an ease that came from far too much practice. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You is staying _safe," _Mippy ordered shrilly, placing his hands on his hips and staring up at Severus.

"I will try," Severus promised, blinking at the fervency in the house elf's tone. "I shall try." He hesitated, uncertain what to say—he had never really been in any sort of position before to say goodbye to someone who knew he was being Summoned, except for Albus and that had been entirely different—almost a business transaction or an unspoken understanding. His arm burned again warningly, and Severus decided that he needed no awkward scenes. Instead, he nodded an abrupt acknowledgment at Mippy and turned, Apparating at the Dark Mark's call.

_Malfoy Manor. _Indeed, it was Malfoy Manor—the elegant dining hall, where a crystal chandelier boosted in the ceilings and the Dark Lord sat fuming underneath it, red eyes sparkling malevolently. Perhaps half the Inner Circle was here, and Severus had arrived at just about the same time as Cain—Cassius Cain, who bore the funniest expression, most likely a cross between grimacing at the pain of the vicious call—he hadn't yet been Marked when the Dark Lord had first returned—and appearing gracious and smiling as usual.

One of the aspects of the Dark Mark—most of the pain disappeared when you had Apparated to your master's side, so it behooved you to get yourself there as fast as possible, as well as to avoid the additional pain of punishment should you be later than the Dark Lord deemed reasonable. Apparently Severus and Cain were not 'late,' for the Dark Lord barely acknowledged them as they made their habitual obeisance to him and found a seat at the table. Judging by the unmasked states and the seating arrangements, it would be an Inner Circle meeting. Otherwise, whether in large gatherings or meetings that would end in attacks, masks were mandatory. He felt a tiny frisson of relief. _At least there will be no innocent deaths tonight. _He nodded to the others as he sat and took of his own white mask—Lucius and Narcissa, obviously, were already in attendance and looking no worse for the wear—as perfectly carved out of ice as ever. Pettigrew was still surreptitiously rubbing his arm. Bellatrix was gazing at the Dark Lord with a mixture of adoration and puzzlement. Yaxley, further down, was fidgeting and opposite him, MacNair too was restless.

The only ones at this table who remained calm, in fact, were the Malfoys. _All _of them—for Damascus Malfoy sat on the Dark Lord's right hand, and if Lucius and Narcissa were carved of ice Damascus might have been born out of steel. Severus repressed a shudder of natural revulsion and apprehension and turned his eyes once more to the Dark Lord as several more Death Eaters appeared.

It did not look good. The Dark Lord was silent, body tensed with anger. He did not speak a single word as the rest of the Inner Circle trickled in over the next ten minutes and found their seats. Finally when their count was complete, he moved, clasping his pale hands together before him and entwining his crooked fingers. "I have just been informed of some newss that I was mosst unhappy to receive," he hissed deliberately calmly. "A number of Death Eaters have just informed me that their…offsspring…have disssappeared."

_The children! The Slytherin children! _Severus felt a wild desire to begin cackling with laughter right then and there in front of the Dark Lord's snakey face. With some effort, he remained sober.

"They tell me…that their little ssspawn vanished without a trace in the middle of the night, out of their own bedsss with not a clue as to where they went and whether it was willingly. At leasssst a dozen—no, _more!—_children of my followersssss, vanished into thin air." His tone changed ominously. "_Over a dozen, with nary a hint—little bratssss promisssed to me!" _he cried crazily, abruptly unlinking his hands to slam them down forcefully on the table. The shock rippled down.

When no one spoke, the Dark Lord laughed mirthlessly. "Purebloodss, intellectualsss, sssmart men all I have—for what cause? _Why did no one foresee thisss?" _

"My Lord, we who do not have children would have had no way, no inkling to tell—"

_"Crucio." _The man—it had been Yaxley, the idiot, who had protested—choked off rapidly, convulsing in his chair with the torture curse. "I will not tolerate backtalk!" bellowed the monster. Severus sat very, very still as did the rest of his peers. When their Master ceased, Yaxley was panting shallowly and had fallen off his chair. No one moved to help him up. He painfully clambered up to reseat himself in the stifling, oppressive, tense silence.

In the ensuing silence, Severus dared to speak up. "Master, who are the missing?" he asked.

There was a pause as everyone held their breath and the Dark Lord's possessed eyes seized hold of Severus. Then he turned his gaze away, and to Lucius. Lucius took it as his cue and rolled off a list of names—names Severus recognized, names he rejoiced fiercely in. There was the girl who had barely spoken a word in the entire time she'd spent at Hogwarts from whom he'd twice confiscated scrolls from when she'd been doodling instead of paying attention. There was the boy who could have rivaled the former Draco Malfoy in arrogance, except for some nights when he woke up screaming from the nightmares that had been his constant companion since he had been six and walked into the gruesome scene of his sister's suicide. There was the boy who enjoyed chewing the end of his quill as he wrote or thought, and the girl who was so perfectly ordinary that it was hard to call her to mind. Children, all—children he'd never admitted to worrying and caring over, his House, but each additional name was another name spared from the atrocities of the Dark Mark and servitude to a monster. _I cannot say they are spared from growing up too fast, or from the horrors of war, since I fear it is already too late. _Not to mention those who had expressed a wish to go to Hogwarts—implicitly throwing their support and physical presence at the scene of the final battle. They would no doubt be in the thick of things.

When Lucius fell silent once more, the Dark Lord spoke. "Narcissa, Lucius, you are in charge of the search for the missing children. Pick whomever you wish from among the lower ranks to aid you. _Everyone _is to be on the alert. Those of you who are parents—take heed. I did not let my followers who had so carelessly safeguarded their offspring off easily. This will NOT HAPPEN AGAIN! No sniveling, pathetic little group of rebels will defy me so easily and get away with it! Do you hear me, Dumbledore?! Do you hear me?" he screamed insanely at some undistinguishable point.

Damascus Malfoy finally moved, merely clearing his throat and fixing his cool, flat gaze on the Dark Lord. When the Dark Lord continued to rave incoherently, he flicked his eyes over to the seated circle. "You may leave," he dismissed in a quiet, smooth tenor. "The Dark Lord shall call on you as he wishes. You have been informed as is your due."

Ripples of shock even worse than the first shudder at the Dark Lord's insane raving over a dead man went through the ranks. _How high has Damascus Malfoy truly risen, and exactly how far down has the Dark Lord slid, for him to allow someone else to dismiss us? _And yet it looked as if it were exactly the case, for the Dark Lord paid them and Damascus Malfoy no attention at all, muttering furiously to himself now. Without surprise, it was Bellatrix that reacted first.

She stood contemptuously, eyes spitting anger. "How _dare _you dismiss us," she accused wildly. "You have no right—no right at all to speak for our Master!"

Damascus Malfoy smiled with a sort of distant humorless politeness. The kind that suggested he knew better but had better manners than to contradict Bellatrix. It, of course, only served to make the woman madder and she twisted to gaze at the Dark Lord instead. "Master," she begged. "Master!"

But the Dark Lord ignored her, and after a long, long tense moment Damascus Malfoy half-smiled again with a sort of distasteful elegance. "Perhaps if you came back later to log your grievances," he offered in a gentle voice. Bellatrix let out a scream of pure frustration that ended—to Severus' surprise—in a choked sob as she viciously spun on her heel and disappeared into thin air with a messy _crack! _Uneasily, the other Death Eaters looked at each other surreptitiously and took Bellatrix's cue, Disapparating from Malfoy Manor with due haste.

Severus arrived back at Prince Manor with a foul, churning taste still in his mouth. _I'd venture to say that the power balance has flipped, _he thought, barely hearing Mippy scold him for something or other as he absent-mindedly surrendered his Death Eater apparel. _The Dark Lord has never indulged in histrionics so far that he became incompetent and unable to command us. Yet…he has not Summoned me in a long time—nor any of the Death Eaters residing here. I would know, and he hasn't. Not in a while. Long enough for him to become somehow dependent on Damascus Malfoy? _The wild card, the unpredictable unknown factor. The dangerous one. Severus cursed, and cursed again before fetching his spellphone. It was time to make a call to set up a meeting.

**--break--**

A distance away, Lucius and Narcissa were taking their tea in cold silence, alone in the small parlor since the big dining hall was still playing host to their Master and their relative. Neither said a word nor looked at each other. And most especially, they did not allow themselves to let their pale eyes slide to an empty spot where a third person might have sat to discuss his day or his latest accomplishments.

In the large dining hall, Damascus Malfoy sat as softly as a tiger about to pounce. Waiting. Beside him, a man who looked half-snake gripped the armrests of his fancy antique wood chair tightly until even the wood shuddered under the pressure. They, too sat in silence as tense as the Malfoys in the small parlor had. It was only an indeterminate time later than the Dark Lord Voldemort spoke, his voice strained. "You had better be right," he snarled. "If you aren't, I'll lose every single follower when they realize that their master is becoming a sssenile mad man."

"Rest assured," Damascus returned calmly and sure of himself. "It is necessary for you. The spells that were keeping your half-life going would taint and ultimately throw off the results of the ritual to bind others to you and steal life force. You must be completely unsupported by other spells."

"If you are not right, I will die a crazy babbling idiot," the Dark Lord said. Then he suddenly laughed loudly. "But sssso will you, won't you Damascuss? Oh yess, so will you—I made sure of that. If I die, you die. If this doesn't work not only will I die, but you will as well."

"Which is precisely why I am certain that it will work," Damascus responded, unruffled. "I swear, my friend, that nothing will go wrong. You must just strive harder to not lose your temper and trigger the madness."

"They lost their children, Damascus—children that were practically _mine, _because their parentssss belonged to me. I could have used those offsssspring to bolster my ranksss, to seek out new and young minds and ideassss," hissed the Dark Lord. Damascus raised an eyebrow and reluctantly, Voldemort stopped and took a breath, deliberately allowing himself to relax. "I have no doubt it was Dumbledore'sss ragged band who orchestrated the entire kidnapping," he continued, calmer in tone despite the hard and frightening fury in his eyes. "It would be just like them, to 'resssscue the children'. Asss if Dumbledore hasn't usssed mere children asss pawnsss before this!"

"I am certain my relatives will not disappoint you," Damascus said neutrally.

The Dark Lord laughed again unpleasantly. "If they do not, there will be…unfortunate…consssequencesss. They have failed me too many timesss—their own sssonss' blasphemy and spurning of me is not a trivial issue," he observed. Then he smirked, sliding red-slitted eyes towards the pale, blond man sitting next to him. "I suggest you sstart finding a pretty young thing to breed with," he remarked. "The core of the Malfoy bloodline is perilousssly close to vanishing." He began to cackle eerily.

Damascus Malfoy reacted not at all, but merely stared off into the distance with cool collectedness, and if it hadn't been for the sinister glint in his flat eyes, one might have never guessed that he wasn't simply a statue in the room.

**--break--**

"Hermione!" Hermione slowed upon hearing her name, looking back to see the Headmistress gliding towards her regally.

"Hello Minerva," she greeted, shifting the heavy book she was toting to the other arm. "Did you need me?"

"Just to let you know that the book you requested has arrived," Minerva responded opaquely. Hermione short-circuited for a brief second, trying to figure out when she had requested a book. _Book—library—D'alle. Of course. _She inclined her head. "You'll find it in its usual spot on the shelf in the library," Minerva continued. "I hope the delay wasn't too much of an inconvenience to you."

Hermione shot Minerva a sidelong glance surveying the other witch, but she did not say anything. Instead, she smiled. "Thank you," she replied. "I'll head there after lunch, perhaps. I have no more classes to teach today."

Minerva nodded. "Very well." She paused. "I trust the previous reader as much as I trust in your abilities, Hermione," she said very quietly. "I did not make the decision lightly."

Hermione gave no answer, and Minerva did not seem to be expecting one for she turned away, joining the students who were only just trickling from their classes in little clumps of excited chatter, all heading towards the Great Hall for lunch.

**--break--**

She hadn't picked up—most likely because she was teaching a class. Severus replaced the spellphone, making a mental note to call again later—after dinner, when she would be most likely to be alone and nearby to hear it. It wasn't particularly an emergency situation so he wouldn't bother with the watch system. As he moved to sit down on his bed, he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. The room swam as if he were underwater, distorting and rippling oddly with shadows. Hurriedly, Severus sat, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile effort to steady himself. The dizziness only grew worse, however. A haze began to cloud his mind. Severus struggled to keep his head clear. _What…the potions accident…delayed?—_"Mippy," he called, trying to fight off the nauseous bile rising up in his throat.

An instant later, a tiny hand was shaking him urgently. "Master! Master!"

Severus peeled his eyes open, trying in vain to focus. Two large eyes and a moving mouth swam into view. It was saying something. What was it saying?

"…is being sick," Mippy was saying anxiously. "Master's heart is beating very fast and he is breathing hardly!"

Severus swallowed thickly and tried to speak through the increasing grey fog that was clouding both his vision and his mind. "Potions…the accident," he managed to mutter.

"But Mippy is not knowings how to fix you or any potions!" Mippy exclaimed in distress. He was now only a talking mouth—the rest of him had disappeared somewhere in the grey haze. The voice sounded panicked.

"…Get…Hermione," he forced out. _Hermione. Hermione. _It was all he could concentrate on now, that he needed Hermione…for something. That Hermione would somehow fix whatever needed to be fixed. _Get Hermione. _

"Master is waitings," he heard vaguely as he slipped from grey towards black unconsciousness. "Mippy is gettings her right now!"

**--break--**

"Master! Master!"

Severus opened his eyes dazedly. The first thing he noticed was that his house elf's large and bulging eyes were directly over his, and that Mippy was shaking him gently. Then he blinked, and realized that he was no longer dressed in the robes he'd been wearing. In fact, he was dressed in his nightclothes and lying flat on his back under the covers in his bed. Instinctively, Severus tried to sit up. However, Mippy instantly responded negatively, shaking his head vigorously. "No, Master is being good and lyings down still," Mippy exclaimed, pushing Severus back down. "You is still beings sick!"

"What…happened?" Severus croaked, and realized that he was extremely thirsty. "Can…water?"

An instant later, he was gratefully leaning up against the headboard of his bed and gulping down a glass of cool water, spilling some on himself in his haste. He felt momentarily embarrassed, then decided that he had bigger problems to worry about. _Such as what's going on. _"Mippy, why am I apparently sick and in bed with no recollection of becoming sick?" he asked the house elf, placing the glass on the dresser and choosing to ignore the way his hand trembled more than usual as it set down the cup. "Merlin!" He sat bolt upright, ignoring the reawakening ache tightening around his head. "How long has it been? The Dark Lord—"

"You is fines, Bad, Bad, _thrsalkdik—_Bad Snake-Man is not comings. You is being asleep for two days," Mippy explained. Severus blinked, then winced—_bad idea. _

"What did you say?"

"Bad Snake-Man is not callings or comings yet," Mippy repeated patiently. Severus waved it away impatiently with a weak hand.

"No, that word—thrs..thrsal…"

"_Thrsalkdik." _Mippy blushed, and Severus had the dubious honor of being the first to know that house-elves could turn as red as Weasleys. "Is bad word in our language, in house elf speech. I is not usually sayings such things. Minny is being very angry and scary at me when I say such things."

"I'm wearing my nightclothes," Severus observed aloud randomly.

"Master is beings hurts for two days without remembering each time he is wakings to ask questions," Mippy told him casually as if he had done it a dozen times. But then—perhaps he had. _Two days? It's been two days? What _happened? Severus pinned Mippy with a glare, and Mippy finally took the hint.

"When you is coming back from _th—_from Bad Man, you is feeling not good and is passing out," Mippy explained. "You is saying, is potion accident, to call Mistr—Miss Hermione. Mippy is going to Hogwarts and bringing her. She is coming as not-herself-face and fixing yous. She is giving yous a potion and watching you with much worry until you is waking up first time. She is tellings you what happened, and then sayings she has to leave and Mippy is to look after yous. Next time you is waking up you is not remembering again." Mippy recited all of this without any particular inflection or care, but if Severus had been feeling more like himself he might have caught the tiny little examining gleam in his house elf's eyes as he looked at his master's reaction.

"Hermione was here?" he exclaimed, an immediate part of him horrified and angry at the silly woman for risking herself unnecessarily. But another part of him thrilled that she had come, _for him, _and that part regretted wholeheartedly that he could not remember it. "Is she…is she all right?" he asked a little stiffly.

"She is fines, and will be much happier when you is telling her you is well yourself," Mippy assured him.

Severus stared at his hands, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd apparently been out for the majority of two days. Memory started trickling back little by little. The summoning, the accident, the meeting in which the Dark Lord had been—insane—his departure, and then—nothing. A vague sense of losing focus and then nothing until now. _It must have been the poppy extract in the potion, mixed with one of the other ingredients to react badly. I probably inhaled a little of the smoke, and the adrenaline of being summoned by the Dark Lord inhibited the reaction to it until after I returned. I must have asked for Hermione because she would know how to analyze the scene of the accident. _

He felt a stab of sharp guilt. He shouldn't have asked for her to risk herself _and _both their respective covers like that. _But I don't know how serious of a reaction I had, _his mind argued. _You're not of any use to the war if you're dead. _

_ And Hermione would be upset._

Yes, that too. Severus sighed. Hermione was most likely _still _upset. He should call her and reassure her that he was still alive and well. But sleep was tugging at his eyelids and he suddenly felt as though he'd flown for miles and swum an ocean all on one day. "Mippy…"

"Master is sleepings," Mippy's voice ordered efficiently. Severus sleepily scooted back down into the soft bed, vaguely wishing that Hermione was sharing it with him. _I need to call her…_

Softly, Mippy blew out the candle that had been illuminating the room, tucking his sound-asleep master securely into his blankets before vanishing to tell Mistress the good news that Master was on the way to recovery.

**A.N.: A million and one exams and essays later…finally, chapter 79! I'm so sorry. I don't foresee my chaotic circumstances changing in the near future either. RL sucks. **

**On the other hand, I did manage to eke out the time to go to the Harry Potter Exhibit that's in Boston Museum of Science! It was the most amazing experience. I saw Snape's actual teaching robes (very intimidating—and I'm pretty sure everyone around me might have been a little weirded out if I had succumbed to my urge to start unbuttoning the buttons on the robes…), an acromantula, a dementor (which was terrifying), sat in Hagrid's armchair which was **_**enormous, **_**and saw Hermione's Yule Ball dress which is even more gorgeous in the real than on screen. If you are anywhere near the area in the coming months, you ought to go. It's worth the money and it's just amazing! **

**Here's to hoping this chapter wasn't too bad—and as a side-note, today is my birthday and I'd appreciate any lovely reviews as a wonderful birthday present! **


	80. Chapter 80

**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

Minerva was watching with concern her former favorite student, assistant Potions professor, and crucial member of the Order of the Phoenix crumble apart before her eyes. Two days ago, Hermione had come to Minerva with wild and frantic—almost mad—eyes, to beg her to give her an emergency leave of absence for an uncertain amount of time. Severus was critically injured in an as-yet unknown fashion, and she needed to leave immediately to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it.

_"My dear, do you understand the enormous gamble you're taking—not just with yourself but with Severus and his position in the Order?" Minerva asked, scrutinizing the distraught woman in front of her. _

_ "Severus is _hurt, _possibly critically! Besides the fact that _he is my friend—_and yes, Minerva, my _lover, _he is also a key element in this war," Hermione had responded angrily, practically spitting. "Without him, without the information he gives us, we are fucked. And excuse me, but I have entirely no intention of sitting here with my hands folded prettily in my lap when I could be out there saving his life! If you weren't becoming as complacent about lives as Dumbledore, you'd be _asking _me to go too!"_

Minerva had not grudged the woman for the shot she'd taken of both Dumbledore and herself. _It's not entirely untrue. _Minerva herself had noticed that disturbing tendency in Albus to think in terms of chess pieces rather than people until she herself had reminded him. It had taken her aback, the accusation that she was becoming that callous, that easy with the human lives she directed simply by being the Headmistress of Hogwarts and a major player in the forces of the Order. _Am I truly becoming like that? _she wondered uneasily.

Now, a full day after Hermione had returned with bags under her eyes and tangled hair that looked as if it hadn't been brushed in days, the young woman sat limply in an armchair in her living room before the roaring fire, hands wrapped indifferently around a mug of tea. "Hermione," Minerva began.

Hermione blinked as if coming back to herself, and looked up. She tried to offer the ghost of a wry smile. "I'm sorry I'm such bad company," she apologized, her voice gravelly with lack of sleep. "Now's probably not the best time to visit me if you wanted scintillating conversation."

"I'm not looking for an academic debate, Hermione," Minerva told her gently, putting her own cup of tea down to survey the other woman with kindness. "I simply want my valued friend to be better."

"When I left, he was doing better—he was breathing easily and his heartbeat was strong," Hermione said almost like a chant. Almost as if the more times she said it, the more it was true.

Minerva impulsively reached out and captured one of Hermione's hands in hers. "I am concerned about Severus, but you are also my valued friend and I am worried for you as well," she spoke earnestly.

Hermione stared down at where her hand was being held by the older witch, and then up into Minerva's eyes. Then unexpectedly, it was as if a dam had broken inside her. Her face crumpled, and she began to weep hysterically. Minerva felt her own heart tear with sympathy as she carefully gathered the woman who had only been a child not so very long ago into her arms as Hermione's own mother might have, had she been there to comfort her daughter. "Shh, shh, it'll be all right soon enough," the Scottish witch crooned, stroking Hermione's back soothingly.

The weeping finally gave way to the odd sob, which gave way to quiet sniffles. Minerva let go, and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, handing it to Hermione. The other witch took it and wiped the tearstains away, blowing her nose. "I'm sorry," she finally muttered, looking up to meet Minerva's eyes. "It was just so horrible, to see him so still…he stopped breathing twice, the first night. I thought he was going to die. The fumes…the smoke from the explosion could have eventually just…put him to sleep forever. There was a _lot _of poppy extract he'd absorbed and it reacted badly with some of the other ingredients. I still don't know if he's okay, or if he's going to wake up properly ever again, or…" she swallowed. "I don't think I could bear it if he died," Hermione whispered, looking away to stare blindly at the glowing fire. "I love him. I love Severus."

Perhaps Minerva had been braced for it for a while—ever since she had discovered the shocking relationship between Severus and Hermione. She wasn't sure. As it was, the news that Hermione loved Severus—and Minerva did not doubt the veracity of Hermione's statement—did not shake her as much as she might have thought. Instead, she merely blinked once and then nodded abruptly in acknowledgment. "Does he know?" She asked, neutrally.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think so."

There was nothing Minerva could really think to respond to that, and she did not try. Together, the two witches sat and stared into the fire with the company of their own thoughts.

At first, the little _pop _sounded like no more than a log snapping in the fireplace. Then Hermione jumped up, whirling around with admirable deadliness, wand appearing between her fingers and pointed at a shadow behind them. "Is Mippy, Miss, is Mippy!" squeaked a voice. Hermione blinked and narrowed her eyes, and light flared to illuminate the room with brilliancy. And indeed, there stood a diminutive house elf, anxiously peering up at Hermione. There was a pause as elf, witch, and Minerva all held their breath—and then Hermione lowered her wand.

"What happened?" she asked immediately, voice fraught with dread. "What's wrong?"

The house elf suddenly beamed from ear to ear. "Master is wakings up fully," he informed Hermione gleefully, bouncing up and down on his toes. "He is being on the way to recoverys!"

Hermione looked as if she might faint with relief. Seeing imminent tears once again glisten, Minerva hastily intervened, getting up to hook a strong arm under Hermione's and leading her back to the chair to sit. Hermione, however, remained rigid with tension and Minerva herself felt hope galloping like wild horses in her heart as she turned towards the little house elf. "Elf…Mippy, is it? Please clarify your statement," she requested in a tone that was not exactly a request.

The house elf caught on straight away. "Master Severus is beings sleepings—is sleeping much while Mistress S—Mistress Hermione is taking care of him," he enunciated carefully, correcting himself in a manner that impressed Minerva. Most house elves never bothered to learn the proper human grammar, just the pidgin English they were taught when old enough to absorb the knowledge. Since their first language, Elfish, or so she had read long ago as a curious schoolgirl herself had drastically different syntax and morphology, they struggled with tenses and other oddities of the foreign language. Most never bothered to master it except for to understand what was demanded of them.

"He would wake up for a minute or two panicked and certain that the Dark Lord had discovered him and was trying to get information out of him," Hermione interjected grimly, twisting her fingers together until they turned white.

Mippy nodded at a rapid rate. "Yes, yes. He is not recognizing anyone. Not me, not Mistress Hermione, not Mistress Hermione's disguise. Many times he is asking what happened. We is having to calm him down and tell him of his accident. Each time he wakes up, he is forgetting again." Mippy looked momentarily strained as he remembered the multiple times he'd had to calm his master down, had watched in dismay as his master try to breathe without success as he panicked. Mippy had certainly _not _told his master of the strain of the two days he'd been mostly unconscious. "Mistress Hermione is finally leaving second day early, when Master Severus is breathing easier and sleeping soundly. He is sleeping all day and then is wakings up an hour ago and is…" he furrowed his brow. "_Lucid, _and recognizing Mippy and wanting Mistress Hermione," he uttered carefully.

Minerva silently applauded Severus for having held his high standards to even his house elf. Mippy was particularly intelligent and thoughtful—rather like a few of the Hogwarts elves she herself knew. The Hogwarts elves, used to good treatment and a certain amount of respect as well as being able to live together with a large group of each other, were generally more literate, clever, and independent than the typical family-bound elf. _Just where and when did Severus acquire a house elf, though? Hermione seems to have known about it—of course she would have, a handler has to know practically everything about her spy's life. _

"He recognized you? He was coherent and able to think and listen?" Hermione was once again up on her feet, still clutching her hands together tightly, eyes wide.

Mippy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, Mistress! He is well and breathing oh so well! Feeling lightheaded and sick, but mostly from pain-ache leftovers and from weakness of not eating solid food."

"You cast the spells? His lungs—are they really okay?"

"I is doing that when he is just startings to wake up. Lungs are healthy, brain is healthy. Master can say nasty things all he wants to people and will be fine," Mippy grinned exuberantly, a little mischief for the first time coming out to play in his expression. "He is asking for you, is worried you is missing him and worrying too much, but is falling asleep before he can call you."

Finally, Hermione relaxed, and a tired joy spread over her features, transforming her from a haggard, mad-haired scarecrow to a noble and touchingly beautiful woman radiating with gratefulness. Minerva stood, shot the elf a sharp glance that she _hoped _conveyed the message she intended, and then cordially bid Hermione farewell, admonishing her to go to sleep immediately.

Once safely outside Hermione's quarters, Minerva began striding back towards her own quarters, rather than her office. In her own living room, she closed the door securely and then called for Mippy.

"Headmistress wishes to see Mippy," murmured the suddenly appearing house elf deferentially. He seemed to have been expecting the call.

Minerva turned fully towards the house elf. "Has he admitted it?" she asked without preamble, getting right to the point. Her eyes crackled with righteous fury on the behalf of the girl she'd once considered her best and brightest student and now thought of as a trustworthy friend and colleague.

Mippy understood—he shook his head slowly. "N…no," he admitted lowly. "He is still thinkings very hard about not thinking about it." Then he gave way to frustration. "He is in love with Mistress!" Mippy exclaimed in annoyance. "He is! He is just not wanting to admit it!"

"If he doesn't admit to being in love with Hermione, _you _have no right to go about pinning her as your future mistress," Minerva snapped tartly. "She might not have noticed _now _with Severus' recovery distracting her, but you can very well bet that she _will _notice the next time you call her Mistress. She'll come to the right conclusion—she's a smart woman. Severus himself had the teaching of her. And then what? Her hopes are raised, or she feels under pressure, or both. Either way, it's bad for their relationship. He has to admit it, and he has to admit it to _her _before either of them get anywhere, so don't _you _go around proclaiming to the world that they're as good as married."

As she scolded, the house elf's ears drooped lower and lower, and he shuffled his feet. When she finished, he spoke in a tiny voice. "Headmistress is being rights," he whispered. "I is just so excited, Mippy cannots help it."

"Well you'll just have to 'help it' from now on, especially around either of them," Minerva responded with some heat.

The house elf bowed his shoulders. "Yes, Headmistress," he squeaked barely audibly.

He looked so pathetic, standing there—it was almost as bad as if he would have started banging his head on the floor or slamming his fingers in the door like another elf might have done. Minerva relented, sighing dramatically. "Oh, come now," she said in exasperation. "Hermione didn't notice this time, and nothing went wrong, and Severus appears to be on the road to being his nasty, sarcastic self once more. If you don't have to be back straight away, why don't you take a seat and tell me exactly what is going on between Severus and Hermione and how you've been meddling in their lives to match-make them so far. And while you're at it, you can tell me exactly why you think they belong to each other."

The speed at which Mippy cheered up was phenomenal. In no time at all, Mippy was gleefully beating Minerva at a game of chess while chattering away happily about the ways in which 'Master Severus and Mistress Spy-heart' were perfect for each other. Minerva noted the change from informal ownership 'Mistress' or 'Mistress Hermione' to the general 'Mistress Spy-heart', which was Hermione's elf-nomer having apparently graduated as children do from the childish _Missy. _She also noted that Mippy played in a style not unlike Severus, no doubt having observed the man often in action. And she allowed herself to get drawn into in this strange situation of playing chess with (and losing to) a house elf, and drawn also into the elf's charmingly easy babbling of the virtues of Hermione and Severus. And eventually, she too saw her two old friends in an entirely new light.

**--break--**

Collapsing, exhausted and stiff into her bed, Hermione just lay there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, her mind prodded her enough to fumble for the covers and get under them, drawing them up to her chin snugly. As warmth began to settle around her legs and torso, Hermione found her own mind unable to fall asleep. The overwhelming tension and uncertainty and deception and risk of the past few days whirred in her mind in a dizzying array of pictures. She wanted to cry, still, this time out of pure relief and releasing the stress, but she simply had not the energy to do so anymore. Instead, she simply stared with wide dark eyes at the dark ceiling above her, listening to the shifting sounds of the castle around her. Hogwarts in the back of her mind was content—it had been extremely content since the arrival of the refugee Slytherins four days ago. Four days ago? Had it really been only four days? It felt like eternity. It certainly had felt as if time had stopped when Mippy had accosted her hysterically in her quarters as she returned from her morning Potions class.

_Hermione dropped her gradebook down on the coffee table with a sigh, making a mental note to remind all her classes that even if she had been a little lax lately, it didn't mean that she was going to shy away from assigning detentions…with Filch, if it need be. A second later, a startled _"Stupefy!" _was shooting from both her lips and her wand as she leaped and twisted at the unexpected _pop _and yelling. The beginnings of a strangled cry cut off immediately—and Hermione blinked in surprise at Mippy's unconscious body sprawled on the floor. _What is Severus' house elf doing here at Hogwarts, in my room? _she wondered uneasily._ _Foreboding started a nervous dance of tap in her gut. Hastily, Hermione _Ennervated _Mippy._

_ The little elf didn't even seem to be fazed by having been attacked—instead, he urgently jumped up and down, babbling something so fast Hermione could only catch bits and pieces. But the clips she caught turned her heart to ice._

_ "Wait! Slow down! Did you just say that Severus is in trouble?"_ _she asked sharply, resisting barely the urge to seize Mippy bodily and shake him into some sense. The sick feeling of dread was now an elephant stomping in her stomach. Thankfully, Mippy finally regained control over himself and stopped jumping and babbling, although his speech was still rapid-fire and his body jerked spastically with worry. _

_ "Please, you must be helpings Master Severus," Mippy pleaded. "He is being called by bad Snake-Man with much pain, much and much of it until his brewings is gone wrong and exploded everywhere but he is goings to Bad Man anyway and is coming back and feeling bad afterwards, and now he is not waking up!"_

_ Every vague nightmare that Hermione had had for the past few months probably came true right then and there, as she froze, visions flashing through her head of Severus lying limply flung back by some potions mishap, black deep eyes wide and empty instead of filled with sarcastic humor or intellectual fierceness. Hermione was paralyzed with soul-deep throbbing fear and grief for an instant—but only an instant. In the next, her clear mind trained for emergencies had taken over and put the rest of her panicking self in lock-down, and she was coolly questioning the elf as to every detail of the incident and the fallout._

Then had come the crippling choice of whether to do the 'right thing' according to the Order and the war as the top priority, or the real right decision by her own heart. And while her duties had nagged at her constantly, Hermione had found it not very hard after all to choose—for once—her heart over her head. And then she hadn't had time to think about the startling shift in her priorities at all.

"_He's been holed up for a while now," Dolohov told her, surreptitiously gazing at her breasts. Milena raised a silky, willow leaf eyebrow slowly and a smirk spread over her face._

"_That's what I'm here to fix," she purred, winking at Dolohov. _

_The ugly brute of a man swallowed a little but maintained his equilibrium fairly well considering the low-cut teal robes Milena was wearing and the way her mouth curled in amusement and flirtation. "Ah…well, if anyone can do it it'll be you," he offered awkwardly._

"_Why, thank you," Milena murmured, brushing her small, slim hand down Dolohov's arm for a brief—_very _brief—moment. Then just as abruptly, she turned towards the direction of Severus' quarters. "I shall have to teach him to be a gentleman and meet me outside the next time," she remarked as if to herself. "However—I shall let it go this once." Glancing back dismissively, Milena nodded once at Dolohov and glided off without another look back, purpose in every click of her black leather boots. Thankfully, Dolohov did not pursue her and the door to Severus' quarters slid open before she could knock. Mippy stood inside and the instant she closed the door behind her, Milena's demeanor changed drastically._

"_How is he?" Hermione demanded, prying off her boots and leather gloves with reckless impatience. _

"_Same," Mippy answered, wringing his hands and hurrying behind her as she strode towards the bedroom. "Still is not waking up. Mippy is not knowing that to do! He has called Ylba who is saying to make him warm and not moving him. She is seeing him and sayings, sayings that he is much poisoned in the lungs and to have much good air around him."_

_Hermione did not waste time questioning who Ylba was. Instead, she pushed her way into the bedroom, and her eyes immediately were drawn like magnets to the pale, bloodless figure lying unnaturally still in the dead center of the bed. Her breath caught in a sob and Hermione rushed to the bedside. "Severus," she whispered. _

_He was wrapped warmly in nightclothes and a dressing gown. Contrary to his motionless peace, the lines of his face were drawn harshly and on a second glance Hermione noted with a sinking heart that his breathing was labored and slow. Tentatively, barely breathing herself, Hermione reached out a hand far too well-manicured to be hers and felt Severus' forehead._

_It was clammy, but not hot. "No fever," she murmured in puzzlement, while the greater part of her just wanted to shake Severus bodily to wake him up. _

"_No," Mippy confirmed. "Is no fever, is no sickness. Is just…sleep." He screwed up his face in misery and distress. "Mippy is not knowing how to fix him. Is no house elf spell to help or heal when is not disease or cut," he said sadly._

"_You said that he got this way from a potions accident?" Hermione asked, eyes riveted to the painful rise and fall of Severus' chest. _

_Mippy nodded, ears flapping woefully. I is sealing up his lab," he informed her. Hermione reached for the heavy book of Healing Diagnoses she'd taken from Poppy's shelf. _

_Half an hour later, the dicto-quill finally dotted the last full stop and the scroll rose to display to her the full extent of Severus' symptoms—or all the ones she could think to check for, at any rate. _It has to have been something he breathed in, _her rational mind calculated as she ruthlessly exercised an iron-grip control over herself. _His lungs are the worst off—it's as if there's something clogging it and keeping them from performing their function. The only other problem is the unnatural sleep—perhaps something in his bloodstream? _Hermione's eyes returned to the top of the inked letters that told her in black and white that Severus' lungs were working at three times their normal rate to obtain less than a half of the usual airflow he usually needed. _Too long of this and his lungs will simply just wear out or just not be able to get enough air flow to keep him alive. _Vague memories of reading her parents' medical texts flooded her mind. They were fuzzy, but enough to tell her—as if she didn't already know—that her first order of business needed to be to give Severus' lungs a chance to get the air needed by the rest of his body. _

_It took her another frantic and grim hour to find the exact spell she needed, and she nearly collapsed with relief when she discovered it and realized that it existed. She was not that well-versed in Healing except for basic battlefield first aid. This spell was a complicated one set up by a group of Healers or Mediwitches and Mediwizards to forcibly link a patient's system to theirs—so in Severus' case, Hermione would be able to essentially force a dependency between them, allowing her to breathe for Severus. The only problem was that it was a demanding, taxing spell—so much so that it was standard procedure for there to be at least three or four Healers tied to the spell. _

Hermione in the now shivered, remembering the desperation she'd felt as she'd mouthed the words, wand tightly clutched in a white-knuckled hand. One instant she had been incanting, willing with all her might that it would _work, damnit, _and the next—

_Something hit her chest with the force of a barreling train or hippo, literally blinding her for a moment—her vision greyed and she choked, coughed, and struggled in vain to get air into her burning, crushed lungs. Somewhere in the dim haze of her mind she remembered that Severus still lay dependent on her, and it was enough of a motivating factor for her to force her ribs up and out with an effort that crackled and slammed painfully, filling her gasping lungs with a tiny breath of air._

_ Somewhere out of sight on the bed, Severus would surely have taken that same small breath, the first one he might have taken in perfect ease for hours. Hermione felt as though she'd been trampled on by a herd of horses and then had salt rubbed against her lungs. Each breath she took was a fight that rattled her ribs and scratched painfully at her throat, her trachea, all the way down and back up again. But somehow, she slowly found herself adjusting to the raw burn and the dizzying lightheadedness, and she stood up unsteadily. Mippy was staring at her in wonder and some shock, but Hermione had no strength left over to deal with an overwrought elf at the moment. Instead, she turned to Severus. _

_ Already, he looked slightly better—his color less ashen, his chest rising and falling without effort although at a rather uneven pace—her own pace. Hermione brushed her—Milena's—fingers clumsily against Severus' cheekbone and then stood resolutely. "Bring me…bring me to his…lab," she ordered Mippy, laboring to get each word out. "I need to…figure out what…exactly hap…happened before we ca…can find out wha…tuh…what's wrong and how t…to heal it."_

_Mippy was staring at her with blatant concern. "Is yous…okay?" he asked tentatively._

_ "I'm fine," she forced out, gritting her teeth as she struggled to breathe evenly against the scorching sear in her chest. "Just go." _

_ Wisely, the house elf did not question her again but instead grabbed hold of her arm, and the next instant they were standing in front of a nondescript door. "Is not being touched since accident," Mippy told her. "Bad may still be inside."_

_ Hermione silently agreed. "Would you…a Bubble-headed charm for me?" she asked with agonizing slowness. She didn't think she would be able to perform any complicated spells for a while. Mippy instantly complied and more, and in several minutes, armed to the teeth with several layers of the house elf version of protective charms—probably used on little children in traditional Pureblood families—Hermione watched as Mippy cautiously unsealed the door._

_ The inside of the lab was noticeably filled with wisps of grey smoke, as if someone had imported the smog over a large city line into the room. Glass lay shattered everywhere with incongruous little puddles of spilled ingredients dotting the floor. Everything else seemed to have remained untouched, though, and the cauldron in the middle of the room remained sturdily intact, though its rim was blackened with soot. Or what Hermione assumed was soot. _

_ Now, Hermione thanked Minerva fervently for having asked her to take her NEWTs early and come back to Hogwarts as an assistant Professor in training in Potions—if she hadn't, she would have never known how to start or what to do. However, she _had _read some books on unexpected disasters in brewing and while none of them prepared her for a task of this magnitude, they at least gave her some idea of where to start. _Look for clues to what Severus was brewing, first. _That would give her some idea of what ingredients he had been working with and thus, the possible reactions that could have gone wrong. Sighing grimly and pulling in another mouthful of (clean) air from her bubble, Hermione carefully picked her way over to the table where she assumed a potions formula might lie, and got to work._

The rest of her stay at Prince Manor blurred about then for Hermione into a confusing garbled mess of painstaking detective work to discover what had gone wrong, breathing, searching through dancing words to find a spell or potion that might reverse the specific damages wrought by the noxious smoke—harder than it sounded, for she'd had to account for the unpredictable interference the aura of the Dark Mark flaring up had had on the potion Severus had been brewing and thus, the smoke he'd breathed—breathing, watching Severus breathe…

Hermione clasped her hands fiercely over her eyes, but it did not erase the vision that was stuck to the insides of her eyelids. Severus white and silent and still, unmoving. _He's fine, _she told herself fiercely. _He's fine, and when he wakes up properly you'll get to talk to him and see for once and for all that he's completely recovered. You did everything fine, everything's fi…_

Giving up, Hermione sat up fiercely, her head swimming with the swiftness of her move, and swung her legs out of bed. Her wand jumped into her hand, prompted by the wand crystal's reaction to her state of turmoil, and in the next instant a small phial came flying through the air to strike her outstretched palm with an audible _thunk _of glass against skin. Hermione unscrewed the top and swigged it down in a gulp, and then lay back down in the darkness and waited for the Dreamless Sleep to do its work.

**A.N. Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Okay so I received a review that upset me a little and I'd like to respond here since the person did not leave me any contact to reply to. I won't name names, but if you're still reading this you'll probably know who you are. So to you: Yes, I AM pleased with myself for having gone to the Harry Potter Exhibit. And I'll tell you why. I respect JKR, I respect her work, and I respect her creative vision. Now I can't say I particularly enjoyed some of her choices, especially in regards to the seventh book, and the epilogue did make me want to puke a little in my mouth. But that does not detract at all from the fact that I respect JKR tremendously for having envisioned a complex magical world and brought it to life. Of course I don't agree with some canon—why else would I be writing an AU fic? Nevertheless, I had to have the canon to base my story off of, so I will give that canon, unfortunate ships and all, my due respect. **

**The Harry Potter Exhibit was an amazing experience of being immersed in a world I love, and just because I write a different fate from canon doesn't mean I can't enjoy canon and the way it has inspired so many great fanfics. That said, I do thank you for your compliment.**

**If you aren't the above reviewer, please ignore my response. I apologize sincerely for having put it in my AN, and I hope you liked the chapter. **


	81. Chapter 81

**Disclaimer: Works Cited: Rowlings, JK. **_**Harry Potter. **_**London: Bloomsbury, 1997. Print. (Or, How You Can Tell Sylphides Has Written Too Many Essays). **

Nervously, Severus stared at his spellphone. Before he had even greeted Mippy properly this morning, the little bustling elf had shoved it unceremoniously into his hands and given him a meaningful and directed _look. _The one that said, _call Hermione and let her know yourself that you're okay. Bastard. _Or perhaps—what was the word? _Thrsalkdik. _No doubt whatever the elfish profanity meant, it applied to Severus right now, because he didn't want to call Hermione.

Not that he didn't want to hear her voice. Merlin, but he would give a lot to see her—to feel her reassuring weight in his arms and her warm brown eyes trained on him thoughtfully, occasionally sparkling with fun or the heat of an intellectual debate or—his most recent discovery—the wicked _come hither _call, a potent aphrodisiac in its own right. _Ought to be patented, that look. _But that was all beside the point right now. Severus was dreading this call on several levels now, and all of them had to do with the fact that he—Severus Snape, master spy—had endangered himself, his mission, his handler, and the Order in one fell swoop. _Merlin. _Furthermore, not only had he risked them all, he'd placed Hermione in an untenable position.

_As my handler, she would be expected to wait—perhaps give Mippy instructions or even ask the Order to send in a lesser spy although that might have been rather foolhardy. As my lover—she did exactly what any sensible man or woman in love would have done. She came to look after me._

And that too brought up its own Pandora's box of troubles. _Love. Do I dare believe Hermione loves me? Cares for me yes, but love—love? _

And just as importantly—_do I _want _her to love me?_

Severus did not dare listen to the last question in that series of questions, the one that might have asked in a tiny voice, _do you love her? _

It simply wasn't fathomable. Besides, this was entirely the wrong place and time for these sorts of problems. Relationships simply would not do in wartime, not if they would interfere in their respective jobs. He and Hermione had once had an unspoken oath that this relationship, this—whatever it was—would not have any effect on their commitment to their duties to the Order, to bringing the Dark Lord down. Now Severus was unsure whether that promise had been broken, and if so, by whom—he for asking for her or she for coming? And the scariest thing of all was that Severus was unsure, painfully unsure for the first time in his life, that he truly wanted to give his life and soul to the war—unsure that he believed signing his life away to defeat and obliterate the Dark Lord was worth it. Unsure, because in his hidden dreams instead of triumph and probable death on Beltane, there was now a beyond—a beyond where Hermione's brown eyes regarded him with the same kind of sharing-of-a-great-secret connection, and they flew free—_what an obsequious cliché, Merlin save me! —_and encumbered by the demands of the world.

_Damn. _Viciously, Severus straightened, pulling himself up stiffly, and spoke Hermione's code to the spellphone, wincing just a little as he did so. "," he enunciated carefully, sneering disdainfully as he did so.

_"It's fun, and it's something to say when you don't know what to say," _she'd told him with a wide, wide grin of impish laughter when he'd questioned her in disbelief.

_"It's ridiculous and unnecessary," he'd retorted with an acid tongue. She had only smirked at him in what he was infuriated to recognize as his _own _expression—one Hermione had practically stolen part and parcel straight from him. _

Severus waited.

He was acutely aware of each ticking second that brought Hermione closer to answering, of the way the spellphone stuck to his cold, damp palm, each breath he forced himself to take evenly. When Hermione answered, his fingers clutched into fists involuntarily before he relaxed.

"Severus?"

He hesitated but when he answered it sounded calmer than he felt. "Hermione."

"Severus!" Her voice went up several pitches. "You're better? Mippy said…well, I just wanted to hear your voice. You're really okay?"

"I am fine, Hermione," he reassured her. "I am almost fully recovered." He stared unseeing at the wall, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I…that is to say…I would like to see you," he said with some difficulty.

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then:

"When?"

"Tonight, if possible."

"Are you able to get yourself to Gaston's? It probably isn't the wisest idea for Milena to show up twice in a week," Hermione's voice came, businesslike.

Severus agreed. "I will be fine," he said firmly, dispelling any of Hermione's uncertainties. "I will see you tonight."

"Is ten good?"

"Ten," he affirmed, and before he could make more of a fool of himself, hastily cut the connection. _Ten tonight. What was I thinking? I don't technically need to see her. _

_Yes you do, _whispered a tiny niggling voice. Grimly Severus climbed out of bed, mentally organizing the rest of his day, anything to keep his mind off of the brown-haired girl.

**--break--**

"Hermione!" Hearing her name called as she left the Great Hall after lunch, Hermione drew up short, smiling tensely at Minerva as the Headmistress of Hogwarts followed her out of the milling crowd of chattering students.

"Minerva," she acknowledged.

"Do you have a moment?" the Headmistress asked in her usual business-like tone. Hermione blinked, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary and she _was _a little tightly strung today. It was probably nothing. Acquiescing, the brown-haired woman fell in step with Minerva. Students thronged left and right of them but thinned out as they got further away from the entrance to the Great Hall, and Hermione relaxed a little, glad to be free of the unfortunate press of adolescents.

"Your office?" she asked quietly.

Minerva hesitated. "You're on your way to your quarters, and it won't take long…" she mentioned, although she looked reluctant to invite herself into Hermione's private space. That was one of the unofficial rules of the Hogwarts staff that Hermione had truly appreciated—unless it was an emergency or unless she had been specifically invited, the Headmistress of Hogwarts did not enter or intrude into the quarters of her employees. It made for a much more harmonious relationship between staff and Headmistress, or so Minerva had told Hermione. _"Albus tried to adhere to it too, but he simply couldn't help 'popping over for a bit.' He was always far too sociable and extroverted a wizard to be Headmaster," Minerva had reflected rather wistfully. "It is a bit isolated, since you are in a position of power over your staff. It is never the same. The difference is that I rather enjoy the solitude most times." _Hermione had tactfully refrained from paying any visible attention to the large hole in that statement—what did Minerva do in the few times she _didn't _enjoy solitude?

"Of course," Hermione exclaimed. Severus' extensive training to avoid making promises held her back from her next natural declaration, which would have been that Minerva was welcome at any time—because, of course, she wouldn't be, all the time. Hermione liked her privacy too. Instead, she said, "You are very welcome to my quarters, Minerva. You'll have to excuse the slight mess, though, as I was in the middle of lesson planning."

"Not a problem at all," Minerva assured her as Hermione whispered her current password—"aardvark," picked at random out of her memories of her primary school dictionary—and let them both in. In fact, it was not entirely too messy, thank Merlin. _It could use with a bit of straightening up, but the house elves keep everything clean and dust-free, so it's only the papers and evaluations that are scattered around. _

"Tea?"

"No thank you, Hermione," the other woman murmured, seating herself thoughtfully. Hermione noted the way Minerva collected herself as if readying for some sort of speech or confrontation and quickly sat as well, focusing all her attention, as scattered as it was by the approaching advent of night—_and Severus! What do I do? —_on the older lady. "I really came here for several things," Minerva started, slowly. "First of all, the book you wanted is back where it belongs, in the Library of Dreams."

Hermione sighed with relief. "Thank you, Minerva. I trust everything…went well?"

Minerva nodded. "I believe so." Frustratingly, she did not continue but instead moved on. _She believes what she is saying, though. Not a single telltale sign of uncertainty or lying—she is convinced that what she is saying is the truth. Now whether or not she is actually correct is a different matter altogether…_

"The second matter of business is that when you have some spare time this week I'd like you to take a look at the preliminary battle plans that the Order's strategy team have come up with."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You wish me to give my opinion on it? Even though you know I am absolutely pants at thinking that far in advance of the enemy? One, perhaps two steps I can do—the training I received before I was inducted into the Order was, uh, sufficient enough to keep me on my toes." Minerva snorted, almost involuntarily, and Hermione grinned too, thinking of all the times she must have caused Severus grief as his student and trainee. _And oh gods, I will forever cherish the look on his face when I presented him with that lacy excuse for an undergarment that the Room of Requirement decided was an adequate piece of blackmail against the 'Minister of Magic'. Of course, that was before I got to know Hestia and her…proclivities. _Hermione shuddered mentally and shied away from those unwelcome images. _Has it really been such a short time since then? I was so young and naïve…and I sound like a crotchety old woman croaking on and on about 'when I was your age' type gibberish. _

"Yes," Minerva answered decisively. "You give yourself far too little credit for your clarity of sight, Hermione, as…Severus…always did as well. I want your eyes going over the plans. I'd ask for his as well, but it is probably not a good idea."

"Too much dangerous information," Hermione agreed. "Wait until its closer to Beltane and the plans are more stable. Then we can tell him what he needs to know." _Sorry, Severus. As a spy, I know you'd want as much information as you can get. As your handler, I have to know what would put you in too much danger. You're the one who taught me that. That's one of the handler's jobs, because the spy is always necessarily biased. _

"And also…" Minerva paused. "Have your parents written to you yet?"

Hermione blinked. "Ah, no? Why? Is something wrong?" she asked anxiously.

"No, no," Minerva hastened to reassure her. "Nothing wrong at all. Just, well, it would have made my job easier if they'd told you first."

"Told me _what?" _Hermione's anxiousness if anything was growing at the suspense and Minerva's reluctant beating around the bush. "What, Minerva?'

"Your parents and the others in that particular safe house have been extraordinarily busy the past few months, devising plans of their own," Minerva said. "They want to fight in the battle on Beltane."

"_What?" _

Minerva sighed. "According to Li, they have created some hideously clever weapon and some elaborate plans of action that allow for all of them—Muggle or not—to participate in the fight. Li has told me that their manpower and their weapons are something quite impressive and not to be turned away easily."

"So you're going to put _my parents _in a fight that doesn't involve them, right in the middle of danger?! They'll be big red targets for Death Eaters! It'll be like taking candy from a child!"

"Tell me that your parents aren't already involved in the war," Minerva shot back sharply. The words hit deeply. Hermione flinched. "I apologize," Minerva said, looking a little flushed with regret. "I did not mean to hurt you."

"But it's true," Hermione concluded bitterly. She looked blindly out of the spelled window. "They're dead to their own old lives and friends and work and _everything _because I was different. Because I had magic when I wasn't supposed to. They're stuck in a safe house doing nothing."

"They're dead to the world because Voldemort was a scumbag with a deluded ego and enough of a charisma to gain followers," Minerva countered, pursing her lips in emphasis or disgust. "They're involved in this war because some stuffy idiots couldn't see how special their daughter—and every other Muggleborn—was to the community. They're involved in this war because their daughter did the right thing like they'd taught her, and stood up for what she believed in and who she was, and chose to fight despite all the pain its caused her. They're involved in this war because it's become their war too. They're in it to protect you, and all the other Muggleborn children, and the parents of those children. They're in it for their own ideals, which they instilled in you. Take it as a gift of love, Hermione. Not every parent cares this much for their child."

Hermione gaped soundlessly at Minerva. The woman smiled, albeit a little sadly. "I may have missed it in Severus, Hermione, but even then as a teacher I saw too many less-than-ideal stories among the many students I taught. If everyone had parents as caring and vital as your parents are, no doubt the world would be a better place."

"Yes, and with far fewer cavities and too much curiosity for their own good," Hermione joked weakly, trying to regain her equilibrium. Then she sobered. "Minerva—I just don't want them in danger."

"I can imagine they say the same of you," Minerva reminded her crisply. "If it will help, I am willing to arrange for you to have a Monday leave of absence and you can visit your parents over the weekend to discuss it with them. Li has vouched for their abilities as a team and described it to our strategy group, but another opinion wouldn't hurt."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully. "I think I will do that."

Minerva nodded, briskly moving on—Hermione suspected that the older woman was getting uncomfortable with the dangerous straying onto potential emotional ground. Minerva—as far from her predecessor as possible—tried to steer well away from volatile, emotional topics. _Probably a good idea, in a logical way—a general, as she's become, just about, can't afford emotional ties to the people she or he must position in the best place for surest chance of victory. _Hermione didn't like that—she had learned too well from Severus just what it did to the people that were manipulated, and even from being Harry's friend—but she knew it was necessary. _I'm just glad it's not me stuck with that kind of job. Ron, though…Ron's got the head for it. The strategy. The question is if he has the kind of constitution to go as far as is needed, in this war, or if his attachments will hold him back. _Shedding such dark thoughts, Hermione was just as happy to steer away from that marshy area of conversation as well. _Not my concern. Not yet anyway. Not ever, hopefully. _"Third order of business was simply this—I wasn't sure if you were aware, but Severus' birthday was last weekend," Minerva informed her.

"His…birthday?" Hermione managed so repeat stupidly. Her brain felt like it was stuck in a quagmire, moving to catch up with excruciating slowness.

"Yes, his birthday. It was on the ninth. He generally does not enjoy celebrating it, so I wasn't sure if he had told you, what will all that was going on as well."

"No, he didn't. Thank you, Minerva, for enlightening me. I'll have to wish him a happy birthday when I see him." Hermione was aware of her calm voice, responding with coolness to Minerva's information. Her eyes were sharp and clear and her smile, when she turned it on the Headmistress, was just a bit too toothy. "Yes, indeed, I'll wish him a happy birthday."

Minerva left shortly after, and Hermione brooded about Severus' neglecting to tell her something as important as his birthday for a while. Then the rational part of her mind jarred and woke—the side that had been seized on and trained the instant she joined the Order (_even earlier, with other-Draco, _whispered a tiny voice she'd shut away and walled up with her relatively-newfound ability to wield Vacuumency with more and more precision and intent—the entire block of memories of another world, another place where the battle had been grimmer, the world darker, but the companionships solid and more secure as well). _You're being such a Gryffindor, _it hissed in a remarkably arrogant, Draco-like tone. _Or, worse, you're acting like a _girl. _A silly girl. One who can't fathom anything more to life than organizing parties, remembering 'important' dates, and being an adequately convenient woman, always there. That may be very well in an arranged Pureblood marriage, but you're far from married, you're not Pureblooded, and you suit the role of it as much as Skye—which is to say, not at all. _Hermione wrinkled her nose at Draco's voice. It was getting harder and harder to tell which Draco was speaking now—that could have very well been either world's Draco. _Although other-Draco tends to be more like Severus in his sarcastic jabs, I think. This Draco has less compunction to do so, and he is far easier to read. But he also has fewer shadows in his eyes—Skye's doing, no doubt. Early intervention? _Whatever it was, although Hermione still missed other-Draco sometimes in the quiet moments when she allowed herself to remember the alternative few months she had spent away as more than a vague dream, she was glad the circumstances that had shaped that Draco had _not _occurred here. _Not so far, and Harry doesn't look like he's shaping up to be any sort of tyrant, thank Merlin. _Hermione bit her lip viciously, glad she had finally mastered Vacuumency. It would be a secret skill she'd take to her grave. _Unless someone else was stupid enough to use D'Alle's book to do the same—I can only hope Minerva knows what she's doing. _And, of course, another plus to this world from the far distant world of her memories—Severus was still alive and kicking and _hers. _

Yes, it was a good world to be in, despite all the unfortunate messes of war and a thousand other miseries going on. And now would be a good time to go retrieve that troublesome book from the Library of Dreams and hope that it held the potions formula she thought it did. Before she began to think too closely about Severus again, and start panicking over the upcoming meeting…Resolutely, Hermione got up and nearly trod on Crookshanks—Crookshanks? "What are you doing here, Crooks?" she asked aloud, examining the orange ball of fur with a jaundiced eye. "Minny _told _me so I know that you practically live in their quarters now, and the kitchen. I certainly haven't seen you in here in months."

Glowing eyes fixed on her malevolently, and her cat—or really, Hogwarts' cat now—deliberately picked up a paw and licked at it disinterestedly. Then he jumped up on a chair and bounded from there onto the table that was currently weighed down with papers. Hermione sighed as Crookshanks settled with an air of haughty aloofness on top of her gradebook. "Don't shred anything," she warned the creature. "I may miss having you around but that doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate you destroying my hard work just because you decide that you're angry at me." _Cool stare. _Hermione shook her head, bemused, and left the half-kneazle to his own devices. Crookshanks walked where he willed and did what he wanted, and apparently he now wished to take a nap on top of the slightly dismal-looking scores of the second year potions class.

In the library, Hermione slipped through the stacks of books with purpose, so intent on her mission that she almost missed her name being hissed as she moved between bookshelves.

"Hermione. _Psst. Hermione!" _

Her head jerked up and then she smiled warmly at Harry and Ron. "What are you doing in the library of your own free will?" she asked in a low, joking tone as she approached the small table they sat at.

Harry looked over a Ron. Ron stared back at Harry. Simultaneously, they got up and each took one of her arms. Hermione was ceremoniously ushered into one of the chairs and a parchment with half-legible scribbles and what looked like rough map-like sketches were shoved under her nose while Ron cast a _Muffliato_ with an ease that gladdened Hermione's heart. "Ron's been explaining to me just what he's trying to do with the strategy group, you know, planning for Beltane," Harry began, leaning over one of her shoulders to point out the doodles. "I have no head or patience for strategy and all these things he's been telling me about all the factors they have to include and the elements involved and all that, but I figured that I ought to at least have some sort of vague idea of what was going on and why since I'm apparently rather central to the plot."

Harry grinned ruefully as he said the last, and Hermione grinned back. _Merlin, Harry's come a long ways from the self-centered and angst-ridden teenage boy he was less than two years ago, _she thought. _Thank goodness too. It's about time. _"Just a little," she joked back. "Okay, so you've been going over the preliminary battle plans for Beltane?"

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Professor McGonagall is brilliant, really, I never knew before," he exclaimed, running a hand over his head as he loomed over Hermione's other shoulder. "She's a first-rate chess player too."

"How many times did she beat you for you to admit that, Ron?" Harry teased.

Ron smacked his friend on the arm. "Two out of three matches," he admitted. "It took me a while to realize that she was using the Thessaloniki gambit with a twist. I couldn't figure it out." He frowned a little. "She wouldn't tell me where she learned it. That sort of dirty playing that just squeaks by the rules somehow doesn't seem like something McGonagall would do, you know? And the Thessaloniki gambit itself is pretty rare among chess players..." the red-haired boy trailed off sheepishly. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"Yes," both Hermione and Harry said promptly.

Ron sighed expressively. "_Well, _since neither of you can fully appreciate the subtle science of chess playing, I _suppose _I can move on."

Unnoticed by either boy, Hermione's breath caught just a little in her chest and she felt her heart trip. _Way to paraphrase Severus' first year Potions speech, Ron, _she thought, faintly smiling even as the greater part of her immediately flew to ten o'clock and finally being able to see for herself that Severus had truly recovered.

"Yes, do," she responded when she'd gotten her emotions in control—it had only taken a split second. "I haven't seen the preliminary plans yet."

"All right." Affected despair gone, Ron's eyes brightened with boyish enthusiasm as he leaned over Hermione's left side. "We have quite a few elements we had to factor in first of all, and we started with the people who we are projecting will participate in the Beltane battle, on both sides. That's the latest number we have from our spies among the Death Eaters. Those numbers under it are the subdivisions that have been estimated to exist—the actual elite circle, the rank and file Death Eater, the sympathizers, moles, and sleeper agents, the supporters who are foreign or abroad. That right there is _our _current count for the battle. Students—you know, the DA—there. The OPFP there, the foreign and abroad supporters, the rank and file Order member, the high council." Ron pointed out each number as he defined it, finger moving rapidly over a parchment filled with digits scrawled in black ink. "We had to take into account the skills and weaknesses of each subgroup for both sides of the equation." Here, Ron pulled out a second parchment from the stack on the table. "As far as we know they're still planning to split their forces and hit us with a two-pronged attack, one at Hogwarts and one at the Ministry of Magic. Professor McGonagall says that they'll most likely pour more effort and Death Eaters into the Hogwarts attack because of You-Know—because of _Voldemort's _personal mission and vendetta."

Hermione hummed low in her throat, gazing at the parchments with a furrowed brow as she followed Ron's explanations. "So you arranged our 'troops' against theirs to our own best advantage?"

"For now, although its bound to change with new information coming in," Ron agreed. He tapped his finger at one inked sketch dotted with little numbers and 'x' marks. "Right here's the one for Hogwarts. We're deploying the majority of our people outside the castle, just inside the grounds, in layers, and the older DA members in secondary layers inside the castle in case any get past the first few rings of defense. I think we've decided on having a moveable defense—"

"Wait, explain that," Harry interrupted hastily.

"Moveable defense? Means that instead of everyone standing and defending their ground and limited area they're assigned to at all costs, it'll be a constantly shifting line. People weaving in and out, going to help someone else out if they're in trouble, that kind of thing. It does run the risk of leaving holes in our defense because its so much more chaotic and split-second, but the rest of the strategy team said it would help stem manpower losses if we could train people to do it right."

Hermione's face remained impassive, but her heart stilled for a second. _Ron, do you realize just exactly what you're saying? _

"Ron, if you keep referring to people _dying _as 'manpower losses' or any sort of…_number, _I am going to hex you," Harry said, voice unnaturally harsh and devoid of any of his usual joking, light tone. Hermione could literally feel the tension radiate off her friend, and the long-quiescent familial bond that bound her to Harry unexpectedly twinged a little. She held her breath.

Ron must have felt the bond too, and even if he hadn't Harry's words seemed to cut straight to his heart. He deflated abruptly, even as Hermione turned her head slightly to watch the byplay between her two favorite boys. "I…I'm sorry, Harry," Ron apologized, ears reddening. "I didn't…I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean it."

Harry took a carefully measured breath. "It's okay," he said simply although it sounded as if he had been going to say more. "Just…don't do it again. I know you're supposed to as a fancy strategist and all that, but this isn't a chess game and I'll be damned if I see anyone become a pawn for this."

There was an uncomfortable, awkward silence. Ron shifted his weight from foot to foot, Harry's green eyes stared off into the distance bleakly, and Hermione looked back at the impersonal maps and numbers on the parchments before her. A tiny circle around a number and a scribbled note beside it caught her eye on another piece of the vellum and she bent closer to take a look. _Mixed Muggle and Wizarding group, _it said. _As yet unknown weapons—mass destruction. Guerrilla?—verify. _The title of the parchment was Ministry Battle. Now Hermione felt sick. _Harry, I'm afraid, dreadfully afraid, that your conviction that no one should be a pawn is beautifully idealistic and unrealistic. If they're willing to send my parents into the battle, if they're willing to commit children—because that's what the DA is regardless of their skills—to potential death, then the time for complaining against being a pawn is long over. _Severus' face flashed to mind. _In fact, I doubt there was even a time there wasn't someone being horribly manipulated by whichever strategist was in charge at the time. _

"Well, we should be going to dinner," Harry finally declared into the quiet that had descended. "Wouldn't want to be late."

Ron gave a strained chuckle. "No, we wouldn't. My stomach might never forgive me," he joked, a little weakly although his ears were slowly regaining normal skin color and he looked less pale.

_Poor Ron. All the time spent strategizing and it becomes so easy to forget…that the people you arrange and organize for the best results are human, are friends and family and acquaintances. _"I have to get a book," Hermione said absently. "Have a good dinner, boys."

"See you," they chorused, Ron gathering up all the scattered parchments and Harry stacking the books on the table. When they left, Hermione made her way to the Library of Dreams in a pensive mood. Even D'Alle's book—and the discovery that she had been right there was, indeed, instructions to make a potion of 'Utmoste Healing from Utmoste Gifting'—did not shake her from her melancholy for a good long while. Indeed, not until she realized that it was time to leave to meet Severus did she stop thinking about her two best friends, and wishing somehow that she could keep them ignorant and happily naïve of how war robbed people of identities and assigned numbers instead.

**--break--**

Hermione sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. _You can do this, _she told herself much in the same manner she might have told her first year Potions class right before distributing a fifth year pop quiz to them. She believed it just as well as those first years in the theoretical situation would have. Not at all. For once, she was glad of the dingy and gloomy atmosphere of Gaston's, and the general 'mind-your-own-business-and-we'll-mind-ours' attitude. The habitual guard barely grunted as she presented herself. It was her turn to arrive first, so after handing the small bag of coins to the barkeeper, Hermione—in her guise as a bird-like, patched-up Gypsy woman—found herself chewing her bottom lip and kicking the leg of the table she sat at in the empty little room. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped herself immediately. _Mum would be aghast at me spoiling my shoes' wear. _Looking down at her sensible brown boots, suitable for the unfortunate weather outside, Hermione pulled a face at her feet. _Take that, boots. I don't care if you get spoiled. _To emphasize how she didn't care, she kicked extra hard at the table leg. At that very instant, a hollow knocking echoed around the room and Hermione jerked, missed the table with her foot, and hit the side of her knee instead. Cursing under her breath, she rubbed at the painful spot where no doubt a bruise was forming and steeled herself to limp towards the door.

"Name a Child of Hogwarts," she demanded. After a split second, a resonant male voice echoed back at her.

"Ladon the guardian."

Smirking a little at Severus' answer, Hermione allowed the door to swing open, and a tall, dark shadow gracefully slid into the room, closing the door behind her. At first, Hermione thought with alarm that Severus had forgotten to wear some sort of disguise. Then, as she looked, she realized that she was looking at a younger—much younger man, with slightly gentler features and a good-natured crinkle to his eyes that seemed permanent. Even as she watched, Severus frowned forbiddingly and the kind features of his face transformed into a harsher, craggier formula, skin tone becoming several shades paler, and her Severus was back looking at her without emotion.

Hermione remembered then to revert back to herself as well, and let the guise of the gypsy go. She noticed a definite flicker in Severus' black eyes when her hair suddenly frizzed out in all its annoying mess around her face, getting in her lighter eyes. Pushing the offending strands away, Hermione stared at Severus. Now that he was in front of her, she was at a loss for words.

"Severus…"

"Hermione…"

They both stopped, and Hermione laughed a little nervously. "Go ahead, I'm sorry."

"No, you," Severus demurred.

"Um…I just wanted…well…" Hermione huffed her irritation at her own awkwardness. "I missed you, Severus." Without warning she flung herself at him, clutching him tightly, luxuriating in the feel of his solid body against hers as his arms hesitantly came around her. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said, voice muffled by his body.

"Yes, well if you'd refrain from choking me to death," Severus retorted sharply but not unkindly. Hermione grinned at his acerbic tone. _Merlin, how I've missed his cutting wit! _Life was just dull without Severus' derisive humor cracking her up.

"Unfeeling idiot," she accused, poking him with a finger.

He unexpectedly leaned down and captured her mouth with his, silencing any further insults. His mouth was warm and tasted of sweet peppermint, and she felt her bones abruptly go liquid and heat in her suddenly reawakened body. "Gods," she groaned. "Severus…"

"What were you going to say?" he whispered right next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're a heartless bas—_ohh…" _she lost track of her thoughts at his touch, blindly pressing closer to him, though her eyes still narrowed at his smug look of satisfaction. "You're playing fast and loose," she finally managed to gasp, wishing she hadn't worn the extra layer of clothing since she was now overheating.

"I'm a Slytherin, my dear," Severus remarked with dark amusement, finally letting her go.

"Well you're not weaseling your way out of telling me why you never told me your birthday had just passed," Hermione said sweetly, with a hard glint in her eye. Severus froze in the act of pulling out a chair, and seemed to realize that he was in trouble.

"I, uh…forgot?" he tried, weakly.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. Severus grimaced at _his _expression on Hermione's face, but a cough quickly brought him back to attention. "You…_forgot," _Hermione said slowly, enunciating each syllable.

"It was a stressful time," Severus defended himself.

"And you didn't think that I would like to know when your birthday was so I could celebrate the birth of one of the important people in my life, and tell you how glad I am that Severus Snape was a part of this world and mine in particular?" Hermione demanded.

Severus winced. "Hermione, I…"

"I had to hear it from Minerva, who told me right after she informed me that my _parents _wanted to fight in the battle at Beltane, and who is by the way eerily fine with you and I now although she had misgivings before," Hermione continued, twisting the guilt knife deeper.

"I'm sorry, Hermione—wait, what? Your parents are going to fight on Beltane?" Severus exclaimed, momentarily distracted.

"They want to, and so far Li and the other Order members apparently think that it's a great idea," Hermione said grimly.

"But aren't they Muggles?" Severus asked hesitantly.

"Apparently they've come up with some system of defense," Hermione said shortly. "Trust me, I'll be having words with Li and with my parents soon."

"Good," Severus said with feeling. He actually liked and respected the Grangers from the brief time he had met them last year, not to mention it would devastate Hermione if anything happened to her parents.

"But back to the issue at hand—I found out about your birthday from Minerva right after she'd informed me about my parents," Hermione barreled on. "Can you imagine how I felt?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably. "I've apologized, Hermione. What else do you wish me to do?" he snapped.

Hermione glared imperiously at him for a long moment. Then she abandoned her spot to walk up to Severus, clasping his large hands in her smaller ones. "For your information, I was sad that it wasn't important enough information for you to share with me, and sad that I didn't have time to find you a present," she said quietly. "Nothing, at least, except for what's in my heart right now."

She swallowed, and hoped that Severus didn't mind or didn't notice that her hands were currently freezing cold and sweaty at the same time. "I…this probably isn't the best time or place for it—" she snorted, looking around at her gloomy surroundings—"scratch that, it's a horrible place and time for it. But it's all I have to give you for a birthday present right now and I'll never have the courage to tell you if I don't do it now, as an actual gift." She took a deep breath, hyperaware that Severus had frozen into a statue of a man, eyes fixed unerringly on her.

"Severus, I love you," she said into the all-encompassing silence, and then squeezed her eyes shut, hands that held Severus' trembling. _Oh please, oh please…_

The silence stretched on forever. Almost too scared to look, heart in her mouth, Hermione opened her eyelids a crack. At first, it looked as if Severus had turned from a mere living statue to a petrified slab of stone—not moving, not breathing, simply—frozen. Hermione felt frozen herself, unable to tear herself away, unable to take back what she'd actually just confessed, unable to…just unable.

And then he took a breath. And another. And Hermione found herself also needing to breathe, if the ache in her chest wasn't all attributed to fear rapidly turning into…unfathomable pain. She took a shallow breath, felt Severus come to life again as he sought her eyes uncertainly with his own. "Hermione," he said, in a voice entirely different from his usual smooth sarcasm—serious and hoarse. "Hermione, I…"

Hermione swallowed, although it was rather hard. She thought she might have suddenly developed a sore throat, for there was something that was blocking it and hurt to get past. "I understand," she said harshly, yanking her hands away. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't…didn't mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. Just for…forget it, please."

Severus shifted, one hand wavering a little out as if starting to reach for her before he stopped. "Hermione—"

"_Don't." _Hermione stopped, aware that her voice was much higher than usual and strained, and that Severus tried to say anything more she was in danger of either hexing him or having a breakdown. Neither option was feasible. "Just…don't, please, Severus," she repeated, blinking hard and turning her head away from him, from his shadowed, unreadable face with its prominent features that struck at her heart. "Please."

Severus was thankfully, blessedly silent and Hermione took in a deep breath. And felt a shimmering as her wand, that had somehow found its way to her hand some time ago, with all the power of the wand crystal, connected her with a jolting snap into the available false peace of Vacuumency, of a mental emptiness that required no emotion to function at full capacity. There was an audible shift in the world and suddenly Hermione could breathe again, could feel each of her senses heightened in clarity and the vagaries of her traitorous heart diminished. Opening her eyes, Hermione glanced over at Severus calmly. He was still standing uncertainly, and for once his body posture revealed plainly his discomfort. "We have some important things to cover on the agenda," Hermione noted equably. "Perhaps we could start?"

Severus' eyes widened fractionally before narrowing in comprehension. "Let go of it," he snapped, expression thunderous.

"That is none of your business," she remarked.

"It is if you're using it as a tactic of avoidance," he growled, moving purposefully towards her now. "Let it go! We're not finished with our conversation."

"Au contraire, I believe we were done," Hermione responded, still unruffled. There was a draft somewhere in the room—a crack in a wall perhaps? She would have to tell the guard before leaving, since it held potential liabilities and a lapse in absolute privacy promised by Gaston's.

"We are not. Hermione!" Severus caught her by her shoulders as she began to turn away, spun her around to face him. He hesitated. "You didn't listen to me," he said.

Suddenly weary, Hermione tucked her wand away, and let her inner peace dissolve. It gave way to a terrible hurt that she couldn't even begin to define. "What do you want, Severus?" she asked, drooping.

He gently reached out with a hand to cup her chin, lifting it to look at her directly. "Hermione, you must believe me when I say that you caught me entirely off-guard," he said earnestly, his trademark mockery conspicuously absent. "I have never…I am unaccustomed to hearing those words from anyone for me. Damnit, Hermione, you know exactly what life I have led. _Love _was not part of my vocabulary, except for an obsessive kind that ultimately led to destruction. You are a young, lovely, brilliant woman with so many prospects. Perhaps an affection for me I can almost barely understand, but I would never have presumed that you…that I…" Severus trailed off, frustrated, and raised both his hands. "You must consider my deficiencies, Hermione." He gestured expressively. "I care for you, deeply—far more deeply than I have ever let anyone else in. Including Albus," he added softly, almost as if to himself in wonder. Then he directed his focus back to the topic at hand. "I would not be…here, with you, if I did not. But I cannot tell you that I love you because I am afraid, Hermione, that I do not know if what I feel is love. I have no normal standards to compare it by, no objective measure to calculate it."

Hermione uttered an incredulous laugh. "_Measure?" _she asked in disbelief. "Severus, where did you get the idea that love is something to be…measured, or checked against a standard and classified? It doesn't work that way. You either feel, or you don't. Love…" she swallowed, "love is elusive—you can't ever actually define it or calculate anything about it. It just is. After all, how does anyone realize the first time they're in love except for they must experience it? They don't have any previous measures or normal standards, because up till then they haven't experienced it! Its something you just have to figure out on your own."

"But—"

Hermione barreled over whatever statement the mutinous-looking Severus had to say. "This is _my _first time being in love," she said fiercely, as if she were defending the validity of her feelings. "Oh, I've had the usual crushes, but none of them felt quite the same as whatever this is. Like always wanting to spend time with you, or watch you, or just lie next to you and listen to your heart. All the little cliché things that really aren't that cliché when you're the one experiencing it. Nothing in the world can really prepare you for it. _Love _is just a word, Severus, for a state—an emotion—that just isn't that easily summarized or labeled." Hermione sighed, and looked down at her feet. All she wanted to do was sleep, pull the covers over her head and pretend that this had never happened. _That I didn't make a fool of myself and continue to do so. _

"I cannot…be patient," Severus finally managed to tell her, evidently searching for the right words to say. "I am not an easy man to cope with."

Hermione smiled a little sadly. "That's one of the horribly annoying quirks I love about you," she said.

He shook his head slowly. "You are an amazing woman, Hermione," he said quietly." He took her hands in his, warming them—she realized that her hands were ice cold and sticky now from the dried sweat from earlier. She tried to pull away but Severus tightened his grasp a little, refusing to let her go, uncaring that her palms felt gross. "I will do my best," he promised her seriously. "I cannot promise that I will be a different person. But you must believe me when I tell you that I will try…because I do—care—a tremendous amount, for you. I still don't know if it qualifies as…_love…_but you make me want a future," he confessed. He stared blankly at their joined hands. "It was only recently I realized that I now hope for a future past the end of this war—and that you are a main factor."

Hermione stared at Severus uncomprehendingly. "You…you want a future. With me?" she asked, her voice timidly little.

"Yes, witch, don't make me repeat myself," Severus snapped sharply in a sudden burst of Snape-ishness. Hermione felt curiously encouraged by it.

"You didn't think—or look forward to—life after the final battle, but now you do because of me," she clarified, and something in her chest tightened painfully sweet and then loosened, along with the toad in her throat.

Looking quite irritated, Severus grunted in a general _yes-_sounding response. Hermione felt a grin start in the corners of her lips and an incredulous joy suffuse her body. "Well, in that case I think I'll settle for the 'I care for you' line—for now," she decided, feeling curiously lightheaded and giddy with elation. _He cares for me! _She rejoiced. Severus snorted at that and looked indignant at her implications, but his shoulders released some tension in their structure and there was relief in his black eyes as he gazed at her. And now that she wasn't acting the idiotic little schoolgirl with a crush anymore, Hermione found herself once again in proper possession of her faculties of observation—and planning. _I wouldn't be entirely surprised if Severus didn't feel something that scares him, _she thought boldly, mind flashing back to the Severus she had known as a teacher—or rather, as_ that awful, prejudiced Professor Snape_—and just what a picture he made now, expression relatively open and the way his body bent just a little so that he wouldn't tower uncomfortably over her and force her to crane her neck up too far. _The potion for motion sickness, the way he trusts me professionally to do my job well instead of having to do my job for me, the advice he gives me when I'm stressed out with incorrigible students and explosions in the classroom. The gentleness in his hands when he…_Hermione felt a surge of desire as she remembered the few, brief nights they had managed to eke out to spend together. _He cares for me now and is willing to admit it, which is far more than when we first began, when he didn't want my friendship, _Hermione mused hopefully. _Yes, indeed—and it was persistence that won him over, both to friendship and to…more. That has to be the key. Persistence. _And if was one thing, Hermione knew how to be a horribly stubborn nag. _Severus Snape, you're so doomed, _she resolved with an evil smirk that, if she could have seen it in a mirror, would have shocked even her fairly non-House-affiliated heart.

"You're an idiot and you owe me for unnecessary grief," Hermione informed him tartly, then yanked him down to her level and pressed her lips to his.

After the first startled _ooff, _Severus kissed her back with the passion Hermione had missed in the past weeks, setting everything from her cold hands to her toes on fire. "Do let me make it up to you," Severus murmured fluidly, and his voice followed the fire up and down the nerve endings of her body. _Oh yes. Welcome back, Severus Snape. And welcome back, Hermione Granger. Let's get this show on the road. You're going to be in love with me very soon if you're not now, Severus, _Hermione whooped mentally, deepening the kiss and eliciting a fierce reaction from her man.

"See that you do," Hermione ordered breathlessly, and oh, Severus did indeed.

**A.N.: Please, forgive me for the long absence! I have been languishing from the double curse of Real Life and writer's block. RL decided that I shouldn't have a single minute to myself until the end of my semester and writer's block decided that I ought to stop writing anything that wasn't essays, papers, and tests as dictated by RL. Good for my work, very very bad for both this story and my own sanity. **

**Thankfully I **_**think **_**both have been broken, although of RL I actually have another week of exams before I can promise anything reliable in the way of time to write and update. Hopefully after that though I'll be able to start sliding back into the regular update thing. **

**Please take it easy on this chapter, as I haven't really **_**written—**_**not fiction writing—in a bit, so it might seem a little off. **

**Ladon the guardian is a reference to one of the myths around Draco the constellation in which the constellation represents Ladon, who guards the golden apples of Hesperides, which Heracles had to steal for his eleventh labour. He did so by doing the same thing one does with Fluffy—music to soothe the savage beast and put it to sleep. **

**On a side note, another mythology had the goddess Minerva killing Draco the dragon and tossing him up into the sky in his defeat. Hmm…oh, the irony…(anyone want to adopt this as a possible inspiration for a plot bunny? It would make a pretty interesting oneshot, I think!) **


	82. Chapter 82

**Disclaimer: Hark the herald angels sing! I am not Jo Rowling! **

"Happy birthday, Severus," she murmured with sleepy satisfaction, barely audible as she rested her head on his chest—clad once more in conservative black. It was far too cold to remain…unclothed…longer than was actually necessary. Hermione too was redressed decently, and extremely glad that she was a fair hand at Transfiguration. The hastily created bed was a little small and rather hard and cold, testifying to its origins as the metal table that had been in the room, but it had remained a bed. _Thank goodness. _Severus would have been horribly intolerable and snide if the bed hadn't held—not to mention Hermione would never be able to have confidence in her Transfiguration abilities again.

"If I had known just what sort of gift you had in store for me, I would have told you a lot earlier," Severus responded, satisfaction thick in his tone as he gingerly moved some of her copious hair away from her eyes.

"I can't believe we just…_here," _Hermione whispered back, reason finally starting to flood back in. Triumph and shock warred.

"The atmosphere did leave a little to be desired," Severus commented with a very neutral expression. Hermione lifted her head up from his chest to glare at his veiled smirk. The one that announced, very clearly, that it was because she couldn't resist him.

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione tried to sit up only to be firmly pulled back down by Severus. "Let me go, I have to get something—and we need to actually talk business," Hermione said a little reluctantly. Severus sighed, but let her go, sitting up as well. "Here." Hermione thrust an innocuous-looking role of parchment in Severus' hands.

Unscrolling it, Severus cocked his head at the apparently blank page before him. _"Revealo," _he ordered. It slowly faded into existence, black trickling onto the parchment: _three rainbow fish scales. 18 drops oil of eucalyptus. Five dried Billywig stingers..._"a potions recipe," he commented in confusion. His confusion suddenly evaporated as he examined the list of ingredients and the instructions at greater detail. _Eucalyptus. Dragon's blood. The other ingredients…this is a healing potion. A powerful one, at that—and…_Severus looked up abruptly. "You found it," he stated flatly.

Hermione nodded. "It _was _in the book—D'Alle's book," she told him. "It looks like it will work." The recipe for the potion—the healing potion rendered strong by maiden's first willing blood—was in Severus' hands. Reverently, Severus studied the parchment with a furrowed brow, already envisioning the brewing. It looked intimidating at first glance, but to a fully qualified Potions Master with ties to the black market already, it appeared easier than he had expected. Some of the ingredients were rare—legally, at least. But the actual brewing process looked fairly simple, if longwinded.

"Severus. Severus!" Hermione was rather amused to see Severus completely forget her in his perusal of the parchment. Not that she blamed him. It was a fascinating potion to make, a unique challenge, no doubt. She'd feel the same way about a different subject. _Anything but potions, _her mind groused wearily, remembering that she had to evaluate a dozen phials of what was hopefully Swelling Solution from the second years. _I'm so sick of potions, potions, potions. _It was pity—the branch of magic really had been intriguing, before she had begun teaching. _I suppose it truly shows you how much of a love you have for a subject—teaching it does, I mean. _Hermione examined her lover, drinking in the sight of him—and his total absorption in the potions recipe she'd copied down. _Two decades, give or take, of teaching the same things to incorrigible students who don't care a whit for it, and he is still completely devoted to potions, _she mused. _With any luck I'll convince him that we can have that same kind of shelf life. _She grinned involuntarily at her use of Muggle-isms. _Once a Muggleborn, always a Muggleborn. I love magic, but the Muggle world is a place I never want to leave in my past. Even if I haven't seen it in…a long time. _

"This is simpler than I thought it would be," Severus suddenly remarked, proving that he hadn't completely forgotten her existence. He beckoned her over absently. "Look, its just the timing of the addition of the maiden's blood that's really the only tricky spot. The rest of it—the ingredients are hard but not impossible to find, and it's a fairly straightforward brewing process. Standard first year type of process."

Hermione joined Severus, looking down at the parchment. "I wasn't sure how available some of these ingredients would be, but it did seem like a fairly easy potion to make. Nothing like Polyjuice or Draught of Peace, or Wolfsbane."

Severus nodded, and tucked the parchment carefully away. "I'll make this soon and pass you the results," he promised.

"Thank you, Severus," she acknowledged.

He looked up at her, face schooling itself to blankness again. "I hope that the Order is readying itself," he said seriously. "The ritual the Dark Lord has ordered of us is already in its final testing stages. With some minor adjustments, it was successfully carried out on crups. There will be other trials on beasts closer in composition to us, but I foresee this to occur at a rapid pace."

Hermione tried not to think about what testing that sort of ritual on animals actually meant. Instead, she focused on the issue at hand. "Initial plans are being drawn up," she commented instead. "I'll let them know that they need to speed their process. Do you know of any changes in the plans you gave us earlier?"

Severus shook his head. "No. No, there appears to be no changes so far."

"Good." Hermione went down her mental checklist. "Oh, Draco and Skye are doing quite well," she noted. "They've taken the returned Slytherins under their wing—the older ones are still a bit suspicious, but they're all willing to play along for now." She smiled. "You should be proud of him, Severus. He's a world apart from that arrogant little prat I first met at Hogwarts first year."

"And none of his maturity is my doing. It's his alone, and perhaps his wife's as well," Severus told her firmly. "I can claim none of his changes in the past year." He paused, and laid a long, lean hand on her cheek, staring intently into her eyes. "I _am _proud of him, despite having no right to be," he admitted. "But I am even more proud of _you, _and just how you have maneuvered from child to woman in so brief a time—a successful woman living a double life many seasoned adults could not live. A lovely woman with a brilliant mind that I expect much of, in the years to come. And perhaps I may claim just a little piece of pride in having in some small way aided this transformation."

Hermione found herself unexpectedly welling up with tears, just a scattering—one lone drop spilling down the cheek Severus had cupped, to be wiped off with a callused thumb. Caught without the words to express the overflow of her heart, she did the only thing she could, and rose to meet his lips, kissing him with all the passion and fullness that her voice could not describe. _Love, _she thought. _I can't deny it, and you can but its so plainly evident to see I don't know how I didn't see it before. Love, the same kind between my parents that you can see when they're arguing about the best way to approach a compacted wisdom tooth or about the linguistic awareness of infants or the journey of Aeneas. Love, like the kind of exchanged glances between Harry and Ginny at the meal table—they don't even have to talk to understand what the other means, then. They can have full conversations just by their glances. Love—the way Severus softened around her, and his sarcastic wit became more humor than hurt, and his hardened, caustic, bastard-of-a-wizard self was completely abandoned. _

Hermione savoured the warmth of Severus' lips and wondered just how she, Hermione Granger, had gotten so lucky.

**--break--**

"Ugh, we're never going to get it," groaned one girl—Susan Bones—flopping down onto the floor where she stood. Luna looked around the room. Every single other face bore a similar look of weariness.

"I'm all tapped out," agreed Ginny, also seating herself on the floor. As if the Room had read the minds of the other girls, the rather bare room with a gleaming circle of copper inlaid into the wood floor disappeared and rippled into a comforting scene of soft couches, a crackling fire, and warm rugs everywhere. With barely more than an exclamation, the girls trudged wearily to the nearest sofa to them, collapsing into them.

Luna perched on a single, oversized, overstuffed armchair thoughtfully. Every girl here had accomplished the first step in Women's Magick already, much faster than even she'd anticipated. They could all see the beauty of the magic around them now, the nodes and ley-lines of power that trickled in an amazing spider's web of complex threads. What they now seemed to have trouble doing was going from just seeing, to actually requesting that power and having it listen. Some girls had managed it once or twice, sporadically—Ginny had, several times earlier on. Hannah had too. In fact, Hannah seemed the closest to breakthrough—perhaps eight times out of ten, she was successful. Still, no one else was understanding it and Luna didn't know why. _It felt like the most natural thing in the world for me, _she mused.

_Natural…is that what the matter is? Many things are natural for me that aren't for others. _Luna shook back her soft blonde hair and spoke into the tired, failed silence. "Does anyone know what its like to see something no one else, or very few other people, have ever seen before?" she asked out of the blue in her singsong voice.

There was an awkward pause. "Um…when I was little, I was convinced that I had an invisible friend who was a fairy. Her name was Jessamine, and only I could see her," offered Hannah Abbott a little shyly. Luna bounced to the balls of her feet.

"Remember that," she ordered. "All your conversations and adventures, and the absolute conviction in your heart. Didn't you feel special that out of _all _the little witches and wizards in the world, Jessamine chose _you _to play with?"

Hannah smiled a little less tentatively. "I did feel like I was a cut above the rest because no one else could see her," she admitted.

"That's how you should treat the magick," Luna breathed. "Like Jessamine. Special, and your very best friend and partner in crime. Like you and Jessamine-the-magick have something only between you two that no one else in the entire _world _understands or knows about."

Hannah Abbott blinked, and then without prompting slowly rose to her feet, staring a little off into space. Suddenly, she cupped her hands and—with a veritable burst of beauty and aura-light, a tiny flower bloomed, cradled in her two palms. It spread out its pale petals a little daisy growing where no flower ought to be growing, and Hannah laughed out loud with startled joy. "It worked!" she exclaimed. "It felt…it felt exactly like when I was little and Jessamine and I would climb trees or play hide and seek."

The others watched with mouths wide open and eyes riveted. Suddenly, Ginny jumped to her feet. "I didn't have an invisible fairy, but I did have older brothers who all went through an obsession with dragons," she announced. Furrowing her brows, the redheaded girl concentrated. A few seconds later, she spun to look at the fireplace. Everyone else did too—and there, created out of the flames, was a fiery picture of a dragon, complete with a flame emanating from its snout along with a curl of smoke.

"Perfect! Perfect!" Luna cried delightedly, running to peer at the fire-picture. "Wonderful! Anyone else?"

And to her joy, one by one every single girl—discouragement shed—stirred the breeze, made the rug sprout grass, created a mini-whirlpool of water out of spit, and directed the fire in the fireplace to move, change colors, and extinguish itself.

**--break--**

"Down! _Down, _damnit!" Emmeline Vance, crouched on the floor, tackled Daniel Granger from behind the knees. Caught off guard, he fell—just in time, as a spell-light shot by above their heads. Emmeline, with a split-second reaction, flipped and sat up, firing spells furiously at their robed and masked attacker, who replied with his own deadly volley of curses. On the floor, Emmeline Vance was at a disadvantage, but that was about to change. Behind the cover of the woman, Daniel flicked on his cigarette lighter and touched the flame to a small wick in a miniature bottle.

Watching the lights of the various spells carefully, Daniel squeezed Emmeline's left shoulder carefully. She did not acknowledge it, but he counted to five and suddenly the intensity of her spells increased to become a blur of furious light. _"We can only hold this kind of mad attack for a minute at best, and generally in the heat of battle it'll be less," she'd warned when they were first strategizing how best to work in Muggle-Wizard partners. _Bearing that in mind, Daniel wasted no time in casting the improvised Molotov cocktail at the black-robed man.

Time froze for an instant as the bottle moved, and then it hit the man in the stomach solidly. Daniel ducked and covered his head—counted to ten—and then cautiously removed his protective screen. Emmeline Vance, looking weary but unhurt for the most part, grinned tiredly at him. "Way to go," she exulted.

He peered around at the area of damage, noting how all the damage seemed to stop about two feet from where he and Emmeline stood. "Way to go yourself," he replied. "Looks like your shield is as sturdy as you promised."

"I try," she grinned. "Where to next?"

Before he could answer, the hallway—and the destruction—melted away. In its place, Daniel found himself standing in a plain room devoid of any furniture. Clustered in twos around the room were the other members of their house, some looking rather worse for the wear. Standing at the door, Natalie waved at them "Great job, everyone!" she enthused chirpily. "You've all improved vastly since the last simulation we tried!"

Daniel caught sight of his wife with _her _partner, Temperance Burbage. Both looked a little ragged but both females still wore identical expressions of vindictive satisfaction. "We _got _those bastards, all right," Jane crowed. "We got them _good. _Little shites thought they could sneak into the Minister's office._" _

Daniel grinned fondly. "That's my girl," he called to her proudly. "How many did you take out?"

"Four," Temperance answered, twirling her wand in her hand. "Jane is one fierce woman, Daniel."

"Don't I know it," Daniel remarked among laughter. "Don't I know it."

"Okay, lets reconvene and discuss what we did well and what can be improved," Natalie urged, and they all trooped outside the bare room.

The suggestions were all well-taken, good advice. Daniel found himself nodding along as their OPFP doled it out in good measure to all of them. "Bethany, Jasper, you still need to work on syncing properly as partners. Jasper, stop taking unnecessary risks, you're not there to show off—you're there to kill as many of the enemy as you can get without getting killed yourself! Bethany, you didn't cover yourself because you were too busy looking out for Jasper. We had this problem last time as well—yes, you're his partner and you're meant to look out for him, but he's not defenseless. You need to balance your attention better."

Bethany looked stubbornly away as Jasper fought to keep his temper. With the seasoned outlook of a man who has been married to a wonderful, headstrong woman for decades, Daniel felt his heart go out to the young couple, newlyweds still, really. The first year, after the honeymoon period was over, was difficult as one reassessed everything in the relationship, relearned how to work in harmony with the other without stepping on toes, share the balance of power…how much more difficult with magic and a war in the way, and them stuck in the same house day in day out?

_I'll have to have another talk with Jasper, _he thought as the young man pointedly ignored the sullen, righteous stare of his equally young wife. _And maybe Jane can have a chat with Bethany, remind her that every marriage only truly works if the power is shared with grace and shared in equal measure. _

"Conley, nice smooth work and casting but can you move a little more quietly? With all the noise you're making—if you're unlucky enough to wander into the part of the Ministry that reverses all spells, everyone will hear you coming a mile away."

Conley McDougal, the only unpartnered fighter of their group, flushed. "I'll try."

"There's a part of the Ministry that reverses magic?" That was Jane, his ever-inquisitive love.

Natalie nodded, her perpetual ponytail bouncing. "Oh yes, its quite fascinating. I've never been there myself but I've heard from others that it really is the most annoying feature of that particular set of hallways—the messenger paper planes never make it past them, and a great many witches have had their carefully applied Glamour spells undone. No one is quite sure which of the Ministers had it enchanted a long time ago, but there's a tradition of bringing each new Minister to the Hall of Undoing for the private part of the ceremony to induct the new witch or wizard taking the position, to verify that they are who they say they are."

"Amazing," Daniel murmured, entranced once more by the world of magic he'd only so lately been introduced to with the advent of his daughter's eleventh birthday. He exchanged a glance with Jane, and her eyes mirrored his own curiosity and wonder.

"Jane and Temperance—wonderful, you two are a formidable pair," Natalie continued, enthusiasm and admiration highlighting her commentary now. "Maybe just a little less total destruction if possible though?" Natalie smiled a little ruefully. "We really would like the Ministry building to still be standing when we're through." Daniel guffawed loudly, and even the young couple, Bethany and Jasper, looked reluctantly amused.

Finally, Natalie turned to him and Emmeline. "Super job the both of you as well," she grinned. "Your reflexes are frighteningly fast, Emmeline, and Daniel, your sense of timing and general partnership with Emmeline is very fluid. Daniel, you forgot and stood for too long, but I think that was just a one-time occurrence." She narrowed her eyes at him. "At least, it had better be a one-time occurrence. We can't afford a single mistake in the real thing."

Hastily, Daniel lifted his hands. "It'll never happen again," he promised.

Satisfied, Natalie turned to Emmeline. "You need to work on your left-wand casting, Emmeline. It's noticeably weaker, and Death Eaters _will _notice it and exploit it."

The woman pursed her lips and gave a brief, abrupt nod. Natalie bounced a little on her toes, and gave them all a little round of applause. "Overall, very well done. We're on track to becoming a deadly factor in this war," she said with extreme contentment.

"Are we officially one, a factor with the Order, that is?" queried Temperance.

Natalie nodded. "We are. After Li observed us in action, he agreed that we had something unique to contribute and that we could very well tip the scales of the final battle in our favor."

Murmurs of gratification and excitement ran through the small group. Daniel himself felt a thrill of savage pride, the same kind he'd felt in blowing up the Death Eater dummy they'd set activated in the simulation they'd just run. _Filling in cavities has nothing on this! _

"So we're definitely on the plan for the battle at the Ministry?" Emmeline asked.

"Yes, we're definitely going to be assigned to the Ministry. Our kind of guerrilla force works the best in the kind of defense-offense they're planning for that prong of the battle," Natalie confirmed. "There's no actual _grounds _or garden or anything surrounding the Ministry of Magic building—the Death Eaters will break through the wards or infiltrate them, we're not sure how, and its hard to know where and when and exactly how many there will be or if they will split up. The Minister will be a definite target, probably some high up officials who have been stridently against You-Know-Who, maybe some magical artifacts that _he _might have ordered be obtained. We're fairly fuzzy on those details. Easier to move in small groups—there'll be other small, trained teams patrolling the building. That way the bastards are less likely to slip through the cracks."

Daniel felt a familiar pang of worry. "What's going to happen at Hogwarts if that's not how they're planning it there?" he enquired, thinking of his daughter—Hermione would no doubt be in the midst of danger, with her penchant for taking charge and getting things done. Jane was worried too, he could see the tension in the way she stood.

"They're planning more of an actual physical battle line," Natalie clarified. "To get in, the Death Eaters _have _to come through the weak point in the castle, which is the grounds—the castle itself has been reinforced so strongly its practically impossible to penetrate or slip around. The grounds are harder to ward, just because its not an actual entity. They're going to arrange several rings of defenders around the castle and then groups of defenders like our guerrilla style but probably larger groups, in Hogwarts Castle itself in case any Death Eater slips through the lines."

Daniel caught Jane's eye. Hers reflected the same anxiety he felt. _Will Hermione be out on the front lines, risking her life against dozens of those Death Eaters? _They wouldn't even be in the same place fighting—they wouldn't know what happened to her until after the fact, after the entire battle, when the two prongs of the battle reconvened. As parents, their first duty was to protect their child—but how do you protect your child when she is an adult and needed in the battle as much as you are?

**A.N.: Okay, so I failed in getting this out for Christmas Day. But Merry Belated Christmas, and better late than even later, no? Hope everyone's enjoying themselves! I apologize if I am late in replying to reviews in the next couple of days. I will be traveling a bit and probably won't have access to the internet for that time. **


	83. Chapter 83

**Disclaimer: Happy New Year! 2010 marks a new decade, but unfortunately that new decade does not mean I have suddenly gained possession of Harry Potter or anything hereby related. So my New Year's resolution #1 is to remain unsued—everything belongs to JKR!**

Draco Lysander Corwin found himself in a position he'd never been before—mentor. Long ago, he'd been the acknowledged if unofficial leader of the pack. Younger students had stayed out of his way, whether from awe or fear Draco wasn't sure and didn't care to find out. Then when his circumstances had changed so drastically last year, when he had chosen a controversial path and been disowned for it, he had been no kind of role model any good Slytherin wanted to follow. Not publicly anyway. Then, younger students had stayed out of his way because he was either anathema to their friends and family, or he was dangerous to know.

Now, though—now, the small group of Slytherin children who had chosen against all odds to defy their families and return to Hogwarts were coming to _him _for advice and support. The younger ones first, and then slowly but surely the older students began to lose their initial distrust of him. One by one, he found them trickling into his quarters to be seated in the living room with a mug of hot cocoa.

Some of them talked. About what their families might be doing, or whether they had made the right choice, the day's classes, the upcoming Quidditch match. The DA meeting—for oh yes, Draco and Skye had very deliberately introduced them into that group and aside from an awkward adjustment period, everyone had surprisingly adapted with an ease that had not been present when Draco had first stepped into the room himself, not so very long ago (although it felt like eons ago.) Others were content to sit in silence, or listen to Draco and Skye banter with each other. All of the Slytherins got used to Skye, and more importantly, some—mostly the girls—began to seek Skye out purposefully, rather than Draco. Draco was glad, first because that meant that there was another person that his Slytherins might trust, and second because finally Skye was blossoming. She had been happy before, but now she was truly thriving because people _needed _her and sought her company. Her long coma had ensured that when she had finally miraculously awoken, all her friends had long since moved on or changed enough so that there was nothing in common anymore. Skye still harbored resentment that none of her friends had felt it important enough to visit her past the first month, and her old friends displayed a mingling of shame and anger that Skye's very existence moving breathing and talking made them feel that guilt. All in all, it had been better to leave it be and move on, but it meant that she had no real friends other than Draco, and Hermione, who was so busy Draco sometimes wondered if she sometimes met herself coming and going. Now, some of the Slytherin girls were starting to come to her for advice and just to talk, and the day that Draco came back from a class and found Skye and two other girls giggling as they flipped through a _Teen Witch _magazine, schoolbooks abandoned on the floor, that he knew that Skye would truly be okay.

Skye wasn't taking all the classes he was, as the Healers and Mediwitches on her case—and indeed, Madame Pomfrey as well—had deemed it far too stressful a courseload to jump straight into. Especially since she had roughly a year's worth of material to catch up on that she had missed while her body lay in a coma. She wasn't as far behind as she could have been—in fact, she was ahead of her year in several regards, having studied the same things Draco had when he was doing his homework. Still, the practical element—it was impossible to learn how to Transfigure a mouse into a beaver, after all, except by actually doing it. So, the professors of Hogwarts had put their heads together and come up with the solution of Independent Study.

_The same thing Hermione did, _Draco remembered, _although hers was only to add more work to her plate to accelerate her learning. _Skye's was much more reasonable, allowing her to skip many of the classes she might have struggled in, substituting independent hours put into mastering what she needed to catch up in while continuing with the knowledge she'd gained beyond what her year had been taught in an actual classroom. She met personally for tutoring in some subjects, therefore, while joining her year for some classes and even the older students for some classes.

That meant that she was usually back in their rooms before he was. Today, it appeared as if she'd succumbed to her weariness and decided to take a nap. Their bedroom was darkened, and soft breathing came from their bed. Draco pried off his shoes and took off his school tie, quietly sliding into the bed next to his wife. _His wife. _It still sang every time he thought or said it, that this wonderful girl had chosen to tie the rest of her future life to his voluntarily.

Despite his caution, Skye stirred and her eyelashes fluttered a little as he maneuvered himself into a comfortable position. "You're back," she murmured, still sleep-fogged.

"Hi, beautiful," he whispered back. "Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay." She brought a hand up to rub drowsiness from her long, dreamy eyes. "I really should get up. Was going to visit the girls after dinner anyway. Some of the DA girls were planning a big bonding thing. Sleep-up…er…sleepover, I think one of them called it. Slytherin girls offered to host it. Professor McGonagall approved it." Her smile was radiant as she offered that gem of information to Draco, who took it with delight. That the DA girls wanted to have a night of bonding meant that the DA was truly coming together, not just as a group to fight but a group to find friends in as well. That it wasn't limited to House by House informal 'break the curfew' nights but had become one big event was extremely promising. And perhaps the best of all, that the Slytherin girls in the DA had offered for Slytherin to host and that their offer had been accepted _and _sanctioned by the Headmistress meant so much on so many levels. _The Slytherin girls are confident enough in Slytherin House to trust inviting other Houses in without fear that it will end badly, and they are trusting the other Houses to have accepted them enough to do so. The other Houses _have _accepted Slytherin as a valid House, _finally. _One that won't stab them in the back while they sleep. The Headmistress, a Gryffindor herself, trusts both Slytherin House and the other Houses not to slaughter each other in the night. _Oh yes, indeed, this was good news on many levels.

"Well you don't need to get up just yet," Draco protested, hooking an arm around Skye's waist when she would have sat up. "You look like you could use a bit more sleep, and it isn't quite dinner time yet."

"I am tired," she admitted, pushing a dark strand of hair straggling down out of her eyes and lying back down. "I think I overexerted myself today with DADA. Professor Lupin was teaching me how to banish malevolent ghouls and ghosts today."

"Well why don't you just lie down for a bit more," Draco suggested. "We don't have to go to dinner at the Great Hall tonight. I'll tell Madame Pomfrey that you needed a bit of a rest. You know that the Headmistress has already specially arranged for this sort of thing in case you get exhausted, and you haven't taken advantage of it yet. The house elves will bring us dinner here and you can eat in bed. How many students can say that of their stay at Hogwarts, away from the Hospital Wing anyway?"

His gentle coaxing finally won Skye over. "Fine, fine, you win," she groaned. "I just feel like a useless invalid doing this."

"Not at all, just a pampered princess," he retorted, heaving himself up. Before she could do more than pull a face at him, he bent over and kissed her soundly, then clambered off the bed. "Besides, the Healers and Madame Pomfrey would have my guts for garters if I let you overexert and relapse," he added, shooting her a grin. "I'll be right back, love." He clambered off the bed and trotted off to let Madame Pomfrey know that the Corwins would not be going to dinner tonight, and the house elves know to bring food to their quarters.

**--break--**

"That should conclude the meeting," Minerva said, to the relieved silent breaths of all the teachers in the staff room. "Oh, wait—you all know about the girl's sleepover in Slytherin tonight, correct?"

Horace Slughorn looked up at that, and chuckled good-naturedly. _He's not such a bad person if he weren't so _lazy, Hermione thought for the umpteenth time with exasperation. With his fundamentally lazy work ethic and her hyperactive one, it was no wonder they did not get along! Still, he wasn't a _bad _person.

"They've been chattering nineteen to dozen about it—quite excited they were, the young things, when they came to ask me for permission," he remarked, beaming.

"They are quite excited about it, and I was glad to hear that the House rivalries have died down for the most part," Remus added thoughtfully. "The Gryffindor boys are rather jealous of the girls, at least. There's already been talk about pulling together some sort of mini-Quidditch tournament outside of the official ones and having some informal games."

Hermione nodded, agreeing with the Head of Gryffindor House. "It's not just the boys. Ginny stopped by to invite me to the sleepover and also to hint that more of these Hogwarts-wide events ought to be held, not just for the DA, although by now practically the entire upper years are part of the DA. She thought that everyone was quite jealous of them and that we ought to harness some of that jealousy to further unify Hogwarts."

Remus smiled. "Harry said as much to me." He shook his head. "Can you believe how much they've grown?"

"Indeed. I predicted as much," called Sybil Trelawny from the other end of the table, quavering high voice imperious and full of haughty pride. But the wink she bestowed on the table at large clued them all in to her humor, and Hermione was not the only one who chuckled. _Who would have thought just how much a sense of humor the old witch had? _True, she drank far too much and was just as much a fraud as Hermione had pinned her to be in the early days. Still, when she wasn't drunk or trying to pass herself off as more knowledgeable than she was—or both—Sybil was fairly good company.

"Are you joining the girls then?" Filius Flitwick enquired curiously. "Skye Corwin is, I know."

"No, I'm afraid not." Hermione shook her head a little ruefully. "Truth to tell, I think I'd have rather stuck out like a sore thumb among them."

A couple of the other professors blinked realization dawned in their eyes. "I'd forgotten—it's almost impossible to remember that you are the same age as most of those girls."

Hermione shrugged at Remus, who had been the speaker, and at the rest of the suddenly far too many people looking at her with mingled curiosity and pity. "It's not a big deal," she insisted. "I'm still friends with Harry and Ron and the rest, I'd just rather not make some of the girls who don't know me as well uncomfortable that I'd be there as a professor rather than a friend. Besides, Irma—" she nodded at the severe-looking woman sitting several seats over—"recommended a new book to me that I've only just started, and it's fascinating."

"Thank Merlin it's Friday," Pomona groaned feelingly. "I've been needing a night without grading or lesson prepping."

Various noises of assent followed in the wake of her comment as the topic shifted and teachers began to pry themselves out of their seats and leave in twos and threes, discussing the tortures their students had put them through during the past week and how they planned to spend the night unwinding. Friday nights were the common _relax-and-reboot _nights of professors, although of course not entirely. This _was _a boarding school, after all, and students were always up the mischief. Still, the promise of a bit of a sleep-in and no classes tomorrow was quite enough for the hard-pressed professors.

_I wonder what Severus is doing now? _Hermione wondered as she made her way, not to her quarters but to the library instead. She had not been lying when she'd said that Irma Pince had pointed out a new book for her perusal—it simply happened to be in the Library of Dreams. She entered in with a minimum of fuss, not even waking the one boy still in the outer section of the library fast asleep on a stack of at least five thick books on ancient runes, all of them probably weighing more than he. _Poor boy. Hmm, Hufflepuff—a fifth year, I think. _Hermione didn't envy him the backache and neck-ache that he would have when he woke from his nap. She had faced similar crippling pains far too often as a student. _Here we are. _She sighed with relief as she settled herself down, the old, dusty tome in her lap. She opened the book a little guiltily, knowing that she would be kicking herself later for having wasted good time she could have spent either lesson planning or—well—there really wasn't much she could do on her end anymore for the Order, not in terms of good solid research. The Order had people enough bending their minds to the various tasks of strategy planning, training as fighters, or developing new and nasty ways to surprise the enemy and give them a new weapon and an edge up against the Dark Lord. She could do nothing, really, but encourage Severus and continue to ferry information back and forth between him and the Order. _Waiting. The worst part of the job. _At times, Hermione _loathed _having anything to do with spying, even—or especially—handling. To be Severus' contact and handler meant he was her responsibility and yet, she had to let him do the heavy lifting and the vital work while she stayed in the shadows.

It was wearying, this sort of dragging waiting. Hermione was used to waiting now, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it, especially not when she didn't have another vital task she was involved in. Harry and Ginny had the DA learning mostly maneuvers and fighting techniques now, for the group had long-mastered the actual spells of combat. It looked as if the Slytherins, led by Skye and Draco, would be a powerful force to be reckoned with. Ron, Minerva, and some Order members were already deep in the task of planning two battles. She'd heard that the Weasley twins and the junior DA had teamed up to create an invention squad—they'd already churned out at least two top secret weapons that the DA would be introduced to soon. Hermione looked forward to seeing what they'd come up with. Good Merlin, even her _parents _and their entire safe house were training to become a specialized guerilla corps! What did that leave her, Hermione, to do? _I feel useless, that's what I feel. _She brooded, chewing on her lip and staring at the heavy book on her lap. _I dove into this war headfirst, hoping to make a difference, hoping to contribute something vital to bringing down the Dark Lord, and now I'm stuck teaching littles how not to blow themselves up while brewing and waiting in fear of the day Severus' cover is blown. _

She grimaced at that bit of ironic bitterness. _No doubt that's exactly how Severus felt, those in between years when everyone but Albus and he were convinced that the Dark Lord was defeated for good. If I'm not careful I'll go as sour on life as Severus was threatening to do, stuck in the dungeons. _That made up her mind—hastily, Hermione got up, returning the unread book to its shelf. Half an hour later, properly kitted and clothed, she prowled towards the Room of Requirement with purpose.

She'd gone for regular workouts, but tonight she planned to test herself to the limits as she hadn't in far too long. Her duel with Severus over the holidays had shown her what to work on, and by golly she would be the fittest and most prepared she'd ever been when Beltane rolled around! She may not have anything vital to _do, _but no one would be able to say she hadn't trained properly for this battle. _I would be very upset if I died because I had sulked the last few months instead of trained. _With that in mind, Hermione began to warm up for a long night in the Room of Requirement.

Even now, adjusted as she was to the wand crystal that resided within the carved stick, she gloried in the boost it gave her. She was just that much faster casting each spell, the spells a fraction more powerful, as if her wand now had a true mind of its own and knew how much energy to expend where and when to skimp. She blasted two dummies to bits and set a third on fire, but was neatly 'slain' by the fourth, and she cursed under her breath, getting up from the floor where she'd been skewered by a faux bone-melting curse. Even as she drew in a new breath, her wand—which had never left her hand, courtesy of the aforementioned wand crystal—whipped the red light of a _Stupefy _at the intruder walking in the door.

The stranger was caught off guard but not enough to be hit. Instead, the figure ducked hastily, and a shield appeared even as he called to Hermione. "Hermione! Easy there, it's me, Remus Lupin."

Hermione's brain finally caught up with her hair-trigger responses, and she blinked at the mild-faced man as he cautiously took a step or two further into the room. "Oh," she uttered. "Uh…hello, Remus. I'm sorry for…"

He waved off her stuttered apologies. "I should have known better than to disturb you in the middle of your training," he assured. "No harm done, and better that you have those sorts of instincts than not to have them and be caught off guard by…less friendly folk."

Hermione nodded grimly. "Still, you could have been a student and Minerva would have been most upset to hear that one of her teachers attacked a student." She sighed. "I've just been in a bit of a bad mood tonight, I'm afraid, and I should have remembered to ward the Room of Requirement before I began to practice."

"Wardings are queer around the Room of Requirement," Remus noted. "It might have still let people in."

"True." Hermione trotted over to a corner and wiped off the sweat on her face and neck with the dark blue towel that had, apparently, been hanging neatly on a towel rack in that darkened, shadowy corner of the room although she had seen no such thing when she'd first begun dueling practice. "What is it that you wanted, Remus?"

"To talk to you." The DADA professor leaned against the wall, his expression pleasant as it always was. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cross or visibly angry. _Too damn nice, _she thought not for the first time. _Good thing Tonks is around to keep him on his toes and to watch out for him, or with his good nature he'd be taken advantage of a thousand times over already. _"I actually wanted to bring up the question of training with you."

"Go ahead," Hermione encouraged, snagging the bottle of water also hanging on a strap off the towel rack and guzzling the welcome, cool liquid.

"Well, first of all as you've probably already fathomed there's not much left to do for us Order members not involved in the core groups," Remus began. Hermione keep her face neutral, although she winced inwardly. _I'd forgotten I wasn't the only one probably feeling useless now. _"I spoke with Minerva, who spoke with Li, a week ago," Remus told Hermione. "He came by to speak with me, and he'll probably come around to talk to you too—morale booster, that sort of thing." He grinned, and Hermione favored him with an ironic half-twist of her own lips. "Still, he did remind me of something that you seem to have come to realize on your own, which is that even without being part of any of the brain tanks or actively prepping groups, _we _can always improve our own fighting techniques, and no fighter worth his salt should ever be out of fighting trim even during the lull."

Hermione grunted in assent, but let Remus continue talking, her curiosity growing.

"So, I talked with some people and we've decided to form a bit of a training group, Order member adult level," Remus finally came to the point, meeting her gaze with his own gentle eyes. "We'd like you to join us. We all have something to teach each other, I think, and we're hoping to find someone with skills beyond ours even to boost our abilities."

_Huh. So that's what this is all about. _Hermione nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip a little. _That could be truly useful. _"Who's 'we'?" she asked.

"Me, Tonks, Danielle, Hestia, Minerva, Molly, and Arthur at least. Maybe some others, although we haven't approached anyone else yet. I'd love to have Harry, Ron, Draco, and Skye join us but unfortunately they really just aren't at the same level as we are yet," Remus said regretfully. "Molly is going to insist—er, suggest, that they have their own private training as well though, past teaching and running the DA since as leaders they ought to be ahead of the group. Plus—" he hesitated, as if uncertain how to mention it.

"Not to mention, Harry's going to be the center of this entire battle come Beltane and he needs special training to survive that," Hermione said bluntly, finishing Remus' thought for him. "And Ron will be most likely right next to him. If she can help it at all, so will Ginny." Hermione paused. "So will I. And next to Harry will be the most dangerous place to be, apart from being Harry. The Dark Lord may have spread out his focus to regaining immortality and other concerns, but his main goal going into this battle at Beltane is still to kill Harry once and for all."

Remus grimaced but did not contradict her. "Draco and Skye will both be especial targets of all the rest of the Death Eaters because they are now blood traitor number one and two. So—yes, they'll all need some good training outside of just what they're practicing with the DA if they want a healthy chance of…"

"Of surviving intact," Hermione concluded. "I think that's a very good idea. Who's going to have the training of them though?"

Remus shrugged. "That's up to Li, I suspect. Are you in, though?"

Hermione didn't give it a second thought. "More practice and more growth is always better," she declared. "I'm in. Where and when?"

"Every Sunday evening, starting this week," Remus said. He grinned. "That's when the babies are less likely to need reprimanding."

Hermione grinned back. "Because they're frantically cramming in homework they've neglected for Monday morning," she acknowledged. "Students. They'll never learn."

"You were never like that," Remus pointed out.

"I was a professor's nightmare," Hermione laughed. "I wrote double the length of the required length for any assignment and I always had the answer and wanted to give it, even when they wanted to see what the rest of the class knew."

"You were eager and always ready to learn," Remus argued, though he laughed as well as he tried to defend Hermione's younger self.

"Well I'm sure that everyone breathed a sigh of relief when I decided to tone down my 'eagerness,'" Hermione commented dryly. "Speaking of which, I am definitely eager to exchange these clothes for comfort and my bed, if you don't mind me so rudely leaving…"

"I was actually planning on leaving to see Dora soon," Remus said awkwardly, and blushed. "She's taking me to a bar where she swears they serve the best drinks on the Isles. Minerva's taking my duties for the night."

"Sounds fun," Hermione commented, lifting a wicked eyebrow high at the man. Then she took pity on him. "Enjoy yourself, and say hi to Tonks for me."

"I will," he promised, and they parted ways outside the Room of Requirement to go back to their respective rooms.

Jealousy shot through her as she left Remus, but she throttled it down. Just because he was able to go out for a night with his love without fear of discovery, didn't mean that she had the right to grudge him that. Who was the say he hadn't had a worse time than she? He'd had so many more years of loneliness before Tonks bulled her way into his life than she. _And so has Severus. I'm really the lucky one. I didn't have to wait decades to find someone I would go through fire and storm for, and have that sentiment returned. _

Oddly enough, there was someone waiting outside her quarters for her, someone she hadn't seen in quite a long time. _Speak of the devil…_

"Li," she greeted, hoping that she was adequately hiding just how displeased she was to find him here tonight. "Remus mentioned that you might drop by." _Just not this late on a Friday night when I'm dirty and tired and sorry for myself and all I want is a shower, a cup of hot cocoa, a good book, and my bed. _

"Not for too long, I think," Li said to her great relief, nodding his thanks as she murmured the password and allowed him entry into her quarters. He sank into the proffered chair. "It grows late, and it looks as if you have been training."

Hermione perched on her own chair, sending a jolt of magic to the fireplace to build it up higher. "I have," she confirmed.

"Well then. Remus will have said much of what I would tell you," Li said, looking more birdlike than ever as he laced his fingers together.

"And I told him yes, that I was planning on joining the training group," Hermione told him.

"I thought you might." Li smiled. "Nevertheless, that is not the main reason I am here tonight at an unwelcome hour."

Hermione flushed a little. _I must be very out of practice if Li can read my irritation. Severus would be disappointed in me. _

Li continued without acknowledging Hermione's embarrassment. "You are quite adequate at dueling on the level of an adult Order member now," he said ruminatively. "However, your former peers and friends, except perhaps with the sole exception of Harry Potter, are not. And what Mister Potter has is not skill or ability but raw instinct and mostly untrained talent. The Order has trained them, but they will need far more intensive tutoring to learn how to defend against unscrupulous attackers, and I am afraid that heightened security at the Ministry recently has diminished the time that any Ministry worker has to offer to even keep their own training up, let alone teach and supervise another group."

Hermione saw it coming, then, though she couldn't believe it. "Li…"

"I'd like you to take the lead in training them, Hermione," Li said casually, as if he'd told her he wanted her to write an essay on Dementors.

"I am nowhere near good enough to train people the same age as me," Hermione protested. "Harry consistently got better marks in Defense against the Dark Arts than me. In fact, he has more experience than me—he's had to face the Dark Lord every year since he turned eleven. I only really started getting into those battles later."

"You have been into the lion's den more than once in your quest as Severus' handler, and you have the mind and the understanding of an adult with an adult's responsibilities," Li pointed out gently. "You have the experience of another lifetime to add to your age and maturity above your friends." He reached over to clasp her hand briefly when she reacted with shock at his statement. "My dear, I was not so incapacitated after my own induction ordeal that I did not see that the young student who had entered the Merlin's circle that night was not the same one that emerged. I do not know, of course, what happened on your ordeal, but the pain and knowledge in your eyes are the sort of wisdom that is not gained in mere minutes or hours, even in a magical ordeal, but the sort that is slowly earned over weeks, months, years."

Hermione thought of the months she had spent never knowing if another of their close-knit group might be caught and killed or tortured going out for groceries or for information. Of the sight of Draco's head, blank-eyed and glassy, mounted on the black iron gates to Harry's mansion. Of Skye's scream when she'd seen him, seen Draco's head, the madness in her lifeless limbs even as Hermione and Luna, sobbing themselves, managed to Disapparate them all away from the alerted guards. Of staring into Harry's emotionless, amused face and the pain that wracked her body. She thought then of her own world, each night that she went to bed alone, hoping that Severus had survived another day with his secret. Of the lost, empty expression from Harry in the weeks after Albus' death and the worry on Ron's face as they took care of their best friend. Of the soul-deep anguish in Severus and the bitterness at having to do the unthinkable—having to kill his mentor and friend. Of the way Draco had hesitated and his body froze poised over the letter declaring him no son or relation to the Malfoys forever—declaring him an orphan. Of how the Slytherins who had returned by stealth to Hogwarts had, at first, kept to themselves and looked at everyone and everything with a wariness better suited to old soldiers and skittish animals, not children and adolescents.

"They might not listen to me," Hermione tried, but it was now a weak protest and Li sensed it.

"You have spent more than half this school year establishing your position as one with more power than they," he observed. "They have come to accept you as a professor first and their friend after, just as it should be while they are students at Hogwarts."

Hermione winced. It was not what she wanted to hear. Her heart ached for the days when she had just been one of them…when she had been their friend first. _But then you wouldn't have Severus the way you do now, _a tiny voice in her head reminded her. _He wouldn't have agreed to even be your friend if he hadn't first accepted that you were an adult first, rather than a child. _Still, it hurt. "Why me? Why not Remus?" she asked, in a final bid. "Or Minerva, or anyone more experienced who _isn't _working at the Ministry? The Order is full of experienced older people."

"Most of whom are not close to the personal battle that you face, and so are not as threatened or motivated as you are," Li said gravely. "As much as they know intellectually, most of the other Order members who _are _free are not nearly as suitable as you for imparting the most important part of the training to your friends, that of urgency, of survival, and of the understanding that comes from being personally involved with personal stakes in this war." Li spread out his hands. "As for Minerva, she is quite busy enough with the running of Hogwarts as well as the planning of the battles, as am I. Remus—" here Li hesitated. "With the curse of the Defense against the Dark Arts position in mind, we are already planning for a replacement for him before the year is out, and then there will be a task for him that only he can do," Li said carefully.

Hermione furrowed her brow, noticing how neutrally Li was wording everything. _A task only Remus can do…well, that means something that no one ought to know about, then. Perhaps gathering information among the werewolves, infiltrating Greyback's pack—something of that nature, something that I shouldn't know about. I wonder who is going to take his place? Are they going to try and stage this so that the curse is controlled and the switch is made with very little fuss and bother? _"So, I'm the last option."

"You are the best option," Li corrected firmly.

His slanted dark brown eyes fixed on her, Hermione could only sigh and agree finally. "Only if _you _bring this up with them," she said warningly. "It'll come better from someone with an authority they can't question."

"They won't question." Li's voice was definite and he looked very satisfied as he saw himself out, leaving Hermione to her peace—and of course he would. He had gotten exactly what he'd come here to obtain, after all. _No wonder he and Albus became such good friends. They are two peas in a pod. Or they would be, if Albus were still here. _

Banishing those heavy thoughts, and indeed, _all _heavy thoughts be they about Beltane or training or war or jealousy, Hermione stripped as she made her way to the bathroom, and allowed herself the indulgence of a luxurious bath so long that her fingers and toes wrinkled and she nearly fell asleep in the soothing heat of the gentle water. As it was, when she finally made her way to bed, Hermione was thankfully in no condition to think at all, and when she slept, it was deep and dreamless.

**A.N.: Happy Birthday to Severus Snape! He turns 50 this January 9****th**** I believe, and I did write a oneshot in honor of his birthday that is sort of in this Last Spy world (although its less of an actual story and more of a reflective piece). It's called "A Reason to Celebrate," and it should be posted on my profile.**


	84. Chapter 84

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

"Pass me the _Teen Witch," _someone called out over the chatter of a dozen conversations going on at once. Hannah Abbott looked up just in time to see Millicent lean forward on her bed to toss a glossy magazine at Ginny, clear across the room. Millicent immediately went back to her conversation, an earnest debate over whether or not the Laws of Inheritance needed to be abolished, archaic as they were. Snatches of the conversation told Hannah that the other dark-haired witch sitting on the end of Millicent's bed, one of the new Slytherin additions to the DA, clearly thought that they needed to be done away with.

"Are you telling me that you _agree _with that ridiculous proviso about women holding property only through her father, brother, or husband?" she demanded.

Millicent shook her head, obviously irritated and troubled. "No, no, I didn't mean that. But just _how _would you change it? The Laws of Inheritance serve to keep bloodshed, family feuding, and revenge-killing to close to nil. Without them, we'd be right where we were in the Dark Ages—close to dying out entirely, families tearing themselves apart with feuds over who got what. It would be anarchy and chaos. I'm just saying it's a necessary evil."

The other girl shrugged. "Well they could do with some major revisions at least. I'm third daughter, and I'm not getting squat when _my _parents meet Charon." There was a pause. Her face suddenly clouded, and all aspect of her former animation disappeared. Hannah felt like an intruder, watching as Millicent awkwardly patted the other girl's arm briefly, the same expression on her face. _I know, _that expression conveyed. _Me too. _

Hannah winced. _Of course. Both of them come from traditional Pureblood families in league with, or at least vaguely sympathetic to Voldemort and to his agenda of returning to a purer golden age of the Pureblood era. Both of them have defied their families to come back to Hogwarts. They don't even know if what happened to Draco will eventually happen to them too. Even then, the defiance is enough for them to be written right out of their inheritance even without a complete disownment like the Malfoys did to Draco under one of the clauses of those Laws. _Not for the first time, she quietly thanked the stars that she had been blessed to be born into a traditional Wizarding family _not _enamored with a return to some golden age of the Wizarding World nor taken in by the early promises of Voldemort. _They _hadn't been happy when she'd joined the DA, thus putting herself directly into danger, but they weren't going to spurn her for it either. It had just been an uncomfortable few weeks when she'd first broken the news to her mother that she wasn't planning on lying low, with letters coming just about daily to plead with her to change her mind…

"See, I told you! Krum really is leaving the team! I wasn't having you on. It's right there—he said it was for 'personal reasons,' and they think that maybe he met a woman. Personally I think he just got tired of the fame and wanted a bit of peace and quiet. Says he's going to an undisclosed location along with his parents to think about what he wants to do next."

A new voice interrupted Hannah's musings—she half-smiled as she turned her head towards the source. Ginny, of course, a triumphant finger jabbing downwards at the _Teen Witch _she'd borrowed from Millicent. She was sitting on the floor cross-legged, and there were three or four other girls surrounding her, peering at the open magazine. All of them were in various states of surprise and speculation.

"Leaves room for a Seeker, unless they juggle another member into that position. Probably the reserve Seeker, but there'll still be a position for the reserve spot then. Wish I were good enough to go try out," groaned one.

"Talent like Krum? Not bloody likely. Bulgaria's going to have a hard time replacing him with anyone," Pansy said decisively, examining the spread again. "I don't foresee them at the World Cup anytime again soon."

"Hannah. Hannah! Earth to Hannah!"

Blinking, Hannah quickly focused on what was directly in front of her. "Lav," she acknowledged. "Sorry, I was a little far away."

Lavender shook her head, long brown-blonde hair tumbling about her. With that, her sweet face, and her body—well, Hannah sometimes wished that she could be as naturally attractive as the Gryffindor. She'd wised up a little too, no longer clinging and shrill as she'd once been. All in all, it afforded her a constant flow of boys, though no one she actually seemed to settle with, at least as far as Hannah could see. "Well, I just wanted to know if you were ready to have your fortune told."

_Oh, right. She must be done with Susan then. _Lavender had offered to try and tell their fortunes with her new set of tarot cards she'd gotten for Christmas. _"The more I use them, the more they'll come to know and cooperate with me for more accurate results," _she'd told them. _"Can I practice on you, given that since I haven't really used them at all except for once or twice, they might be totally bad and untrue?"_

Smiling, Hannah turned to fully face Lavender, adjusting her seat on the floor with her back against the footboard of Millicent's bed. "Of course," she exclaimed. "I'm ready. What do I do?"

Lavender shuffled her cards briskly, concentrating hard. Then she placed them in a neat stack in front of Hannah. "Cut the deck and ask your question out loud," she ordered, tone businesslike.

Obediently, Hannah gauged the rough equivalent of a half of the deck. As she split it, she posed—rather self-consciously—"What does the future hold for me?" Done, she looked back up. "Now what?"

Instead of answering immediately, Lavender herself began to flip cards over. "Okay…let's see." Lavender pursed her lips thoughtfully at the first card, laid to the far left of Hannah. "That's the Seven of Cups. This represents your past, and it symbolizes an imagination run wild. It can be a good or bad thing, but it's not upside-down, so I think it's fairly innocuous. You've had some pretty big castles in the air in the past, maybe even in the recent past, enough to make you almost forget the difference between reality and dreams."

Before Hannah could think too deeply about any grandiose daydreams she might have dreamed up, Lavender turned over the next card. "Ace of Swords." Hannah blinked at the hand on the hard clutching a straight long glinting sword. It flexed, parried an invisible attack. "This card stands for your present. It is actually fairly straightforward, this card. It represents the start of a time of struggle, action, and tension, also of forging onwards in a forward direction. In conjunction with your past, I'd say the most significant thing is to have faith in yourself throughout the struggle, and you'll win yourself a new clarity over the confusion that your dwelling in dreams did." Lavender nodded, evidently pleased with herself for such a reading. Hannah turned that over in her mind. _It is fairly applicable, _she decided. _I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and I'm not sure why. No, I _do _know why. We're just children, young girls who ought to be concerned only about how we look and who's available to date. I'm not into silly frippery but just a little shallow teenage fun, that's normal. Fun. I just want to be able to worry about looking my best for the class I share with my crush without feeling guilty for not worrying about more important things like who's going to survive past Beltane. So excuse me for the castles in the air, but I'd _like _to enjoy being a silly girl for once. _

"And your future," Lavender cut through her thoughts. "Look, you have the Strength card! I love this card," the girl smiled, twirling a strand of hair absently around a finger. "It's your future card, and it represents courage and the triumph of inner will over physical strength. If you remain steadfast against your present struggle, then the outcome is most likely your victory of your will over your mistakes and temptation and impulse. It's the card of leadership and honor as well." Lavender grinned. "Looks like a bright future for you, Hannah."

Hannah gazed down at the quiescent lion, so much like the mascot of Gryffindor, who had in the course of the past minute, been thoroughly subdued by the maiden also in the card. "Thank you, Lav," she acknowledged.

"Was it helpful?" the other girl asked anxiously. "I mean, it's not always accurate yet and I'm not so good sometimes…"

"It was very much spot on, close to accurate as I can figure right now," Hannah reassured Lavender, not willing to reveal much more than that. It was personal, after all. Thankfully, at that point, a diversion came in the form of Luna Lovegood, who skipped over.

"Oh, tarot card readings," she exclaimed in her high airy tone, face a study in delight. "How good are you, Lav?"

"Not bad," Hannah cut in before Lavender could answer. "She seems pretty spot on for me, anyway."

Lavender blushed and demurred. Luna gazed down with interest and then without warning, plopped herself down on the floor next to Hannah. "Can you tell mine?" she asked.

"Sure!" Looking a little surprised and gratified, Lavender gathered up her deck and, ignoring the faces that a random Fool was pulling at her, shuffled them all again. Finally, she gave Luna the deck, and Luna proceeded to split it into two groups as well. Without prompting from Lavender, she flipped over the first card.

The Fool continued to pull faces before smiling brightly at Luna, who smiled joyfully back. "The Fool," Lavender said rather unnecessarily. "Your past, representing innocence, potential, creative forces, unconventionality, naïveté. Sometimes thoughtless, often seen as continually trusting."

"Thank you," Luna said gravely—not to Lav, but to the card of the Fool. The youth bowed, locks of hair flopping into his eyes, before skipping out of the picture entirely. Luna flipped the next card.

"The Hermit," Lavender told Luna, who hummed a little, a tune Hannah was not familiar with. "This is the card of your present, and it symbolizes a turn inwards for you, a sort of focusing on solitude and on soul-seeking. Part of the quest for self-mastery, an important step is introspection."

Again, Luna thanked the card, and Hannah heard Susan stifle a tiny giggle as the old man raised his lantern to Luna in a dignified salute before going back to his vigilant stance of contemplation. And Luna turned the third card over.

Lavender froze. Luna tilted her head, but her serene expression did not change. It took Hannah a moment, as she stared at the card, to recall her Divinations class where they'd learned the general meanings of each card but when she remembered them, she felt an uneasy turn in her stomach.

"The Hanged Man," Lavender said slowly. "Often related to self-sacrifice to obtain a desire later in your life, the surrender of control to a higher power, and a test of faith and endurance. Your future card." Lavender paused. There was an odd silence now in the room, as everyone suddenly was listening to her tell Luna's fortune. There was a heavy press to the air that Hannah felt against her skin and her mind, and she felt as though there was…_something…_listening. Something not human. With effort, she took a breath, lungs burning without air—she had forgotten to breathe. "It isn't a negative card," Lavender said into the peculiar quiet as if she were trying to convince herself. "It can symbolize renewal and a change in your life for the better, giving up something for a better return."

That was true. That, Hannah remembered. But that _listener…_Hannah's mind felt numb. In fact, she felt as if she were moving through a thick fog, until she heard Luna's silvery voice break through. "Thank you, Lavender, that was very helpful," she was saying with no trace of uneasiness or disturbance on her ethereal features. "Very fun. I think you have a gift you should practice more."

"Thanks," Lavender said. Luna patted Lavender's knee easily and skipped off to the other side of the room and merrily began a conversation with Ginny. Just like, the fog was banished and people began to chatter again, turning back to their little groups and discussions. Soon, laugher resumed and it was as if nothing had happened. The…_listener…_was gone. But Hannah still felt a lingering wariness that could not be banished. Mood somber now, feeling uneasy—as if a dark shadow had been cast over the entire room—Hannah let the others do the talking and remained quiet for most of the rest of the night.

**--break--**

Hermione breathed an unconscious sigh of relief as she stepped into the Floo, nodding to Minerva as she passed through her fireplace into the latest Order headquarters—one Hermione hadn't been to, a slightly musty-smelling old house that otherwise was fairly clean. It held no nasty secrets or curses like Grimmauld Place had a tendency to conceal, at least. And it boasted a large room that reminded Hermione of a ballet studio, bare and walled on all four sides with ceiling to floor mirrors. She could have been in Timbuktu for all Hermione cared. It had been far too long since she'd been outside of Hogwarts or Knockturn Alley. Or, she supposed, Severus' manor for what it was worth.

And she would be finally sharpening her sadly lagging dueling skills with other people, not Hogwarts-generated dummies! _Which I sorely need, no doubt of that. I'd prefer to live through this year, thank you very much. _The Floo finally spat out the last of the folk. "Hermione!"

_And a grand entrance they make, too. _"Hello, stranger," she said affectionately, more than glad to abandon her awkward conversation with Molly Weasley (who had been anxiously enquiring as to Hermione's health—_you look so pale and thin, my dear!_). Rambunctious and ridiculous as ever, Hestia brushed off a little soot from her shoulders and whirled Hermione in a spine-crushing hug that lifted her clear off the ground. "Hest…_can't…breathe…" _she panted, and a second later was plunked down again with Hestia's profuse apologies as the woman patted her back and Hermione struggled to re-inflate her lungs. "You're one of the few people who can still do that to me," she remarked a little grumpily to Hestia.

"It just means you have to work harder to bulk up some mass, my girl," retorted Hestia. "You've lost weight."

"I suspect that, coming from you, is _not _a compliment. I'll work on it," Hermione shot back. Next to Hestia, Danielle laughed, her dignified appearance giving way to the conversation Hermione and Hestia were having.

"You'll never gain enough weight to suit Hestia. She'd have as all as fat as the statues of laughing Buddha," Danielle said in amusement.

A few steps away, standing in a little group with Minerva, Tonks, and a familiar-looking woman, Molly called, "And who's to say that it isn't a good model for all of us? That funny man is always laughing or smiling in every statue Arthur sees fit to bring home, and laughter restores the soul my own mother used to say."

"Point," Danielle acknowledged. "Hello, Molly. How are the children?"

"Oh, growing up too fast," Molly sighed. "As always. Ron has written letters and letters home of nothing but the latest thing he's read in those books Hermione got him for Christmas—Arts of Battle or something like that—"

"The Art of War," Hermione corrected, unable to help herself.

"Yes, that. Ginny's letters are full of hers and Harry's plans for what to teach the DA next and what they've accomplished lately. They're sounding so sensible and serious, it scares me."

Tonks patted Molly consolingly. "My mum always said that you couldn't force a chick back into the egg, nor a child into a cradle after they'd already gotten too big for one. It's time, Molly. They're good kids."

"They're still so _young," _Molly bemoaned.

There wasn't really anything anyone could say to that. Hermione elected not to point out that youth or age had nothing to do with how the responsibilities fell, but preferred not to draw attention to herself while such a sensitive issue was being discussed. She'd only just, after months and months of hard work, earned herself the position of adult in the eyes of the other adults around her. She wasn't about to remind them of her relatively young age now. Thankfully, there was no need. When the conversation fell through, Minerva suggested that they move to the dueling room and begin.

They trooped to the mirrored room, and as if by common consent turned to Minerva for directions. Hermione noticed her little exasperated breath, the brief tensing in her angular shoulders. _She's tired of being in charge, of being the one people turn to for directions or guidance. Albus enjoyed it, the power and the influential role he played in everyone's lives, but no matter how much Minerva sometimes mimics him she is ultimately different because she doesn't truly enjoy it. It's a game she doesn't want to play. _Hermione might have pitied the woman more, but the war had had placed them all into positions they might have otherwise not wished for, and Minerva was only one more casualty.

"Why don't we first go around and just speak our specialties or expertise or training so we all know where everyone's coming from? Introduce yourselves, too—most of us know each other, but there may be one or two people who don't know everyone. I'm Minerva McGonagall, my strengths are strategy and small-skirmish dueling." Minerva turned expectantly to the next person.

"Remus Lupin. Fighting Dark creatures."

"Tonks…uh, yeah. Just call me Tonks." Tonks grinned, hair changing to an alarming shade of orange. "Large and small-skirmish dueling, and undercover work—which is easier for me since I'm a natural Metamorphagus," she added.

"Hestia Jones, large and small-skirmish dueling and traditional honor dueling," the pink-cheeked witch fluttered her fingers at the group.

Danielle was next. "I'm Danielle Corwin. I'm good with mainly defensive, or protective security fighting." She smiled wryly. "It's all part of the job." Hermione hid a smile of her own. As an Unspeakable, Danielle handled sensitive, often high-risk objects all the time. She had to be constantly prepared for any potential thieves or terrorists coming for some of the more high-profile, desirable items as well as the threat of the items themselves, which might blow up, or implode and create a deadly vacuum, or poison everything within its reach, or a number of deadly effects.

The familiar-looking witch was next, and when she spoke Hermione instantly remembered where she'd seen her before. "Honour, Honour Rabnott," she introduced herself. "Aerial assault and dual Muggle-magical fighting. And…" she hesitated, glanced ever-so-briefly at Minerva. Hermione was the only one to catch Minerva's tiny blink of assent. _What was that? _she wondered, suddenly on her guard. "Also, the Order's resident saboteur expert, for what it's worth," she told them.

Hermione stood very still. Everyone else, except for Tonks—and Minerva—showed blank and uncomprehending stares. Tonks was nodding enthusiastically. Minerva remained quiet, and Hermione wondered what kind of discussion she must have had beforehand with Honour…probably whether or not to reveal this. "A saboteur is someone who carefully wrecks the best-laid plans of mice and men," Honour specified, with a tiny ironic twist of her lips. "My job as an expert is two-fold—first, to protect _us _from any sabotage, either from Voldemort's forces or from any unknown third parties. Second, to instigate sabotage of our own in the ranks of the Death Eaters and their sympathizers. While there were still active attacks led by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, I was part of the team that planned how to counter them, whether we knew weeks in advance or if we had seconds to respond and head off the attempts of the Death Eaters. Right now I've been twiddling my thumbs a bit without any attacks at all on the part of the Death Eaters, so I'm grateful for an opportunity to sharpen some skills here."

_Are you, _Hermione thought rather cynically. _There's a reason you told us about your expertise now, and there's a reason you discussed this with Minerva beforehand. What that reason is I cannot begin to fathom except to hope…that it isn't something harmful. _She continued to observe Rabnott discreetly as the introductions continued.

"Arthur Weasley, magical weaponry—ah, other than wands, that is," Arthur added hastily. "I can handle self-defense as well, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a dueler otherwise."

"Molly Weasley," his wife continued, placing an affectionate hand on Arthur's shoulder for an instant. "Protective detail is what I suppose I'm best at, though my skills need brushing up. Field healing as well, in a pinch."

"And I guess I'm last—Hermione Granger," Hermione introduced herself as her turn came. "I suppose you could say my strengths lie in small and large skirmish dueling."

"And that's all of us." Minerva took up the reins again. "We all are perhaps of the same level more or less in skills. As you can see, some have skills in some areas, and weaknesses in others. As a group though, we balance each other's strengths and weaknesses out fairly well. The main reason we're here is to get used to fighting cooperatively with others, backing each other as well as making sure we don't get in someone else's way. In some ways, the children are actually ahead of us." Here, Minerva smiled ruefully, and Remus and Hermione, the two official faculty sponsors of the DA joined in. "They've been training in a large group since day one, and have gotten used to each other as both a unit they can trust and as part of their team, whom they have to protect and support and not hamper by mistake. _We, _of course, can trust each other but we aren't used to fighting together anymore. We can battle individually but together we are stronger."

"Hear, hear," Arthur cheered.

"I think perhaps we will start out easy," Minerva decided. "Warm up, everyone, and then take a partner and just…duel."

And that is exactly what Hermione found herself doing, minutes later after she'd stretched and carefully warmed up her muscles. With an odd number of folk, she found herself in a group of three with Molly and Rabnott. "Each one for herself," declared Rabnott. With that, Hermione found herself tested in a way she hadn't truly been since the frenzied fight on the first day of term in September. Even the duel with Severus over the holidays wasn't on this level—or rather, more accurately, it was on a different kind of testing of her skill, an all-out no-holds-barred duel between two people. This was, perhaps, what a real battle might be more like, fighting against multiple people and having to guard against attack from one while trying to attack another. Molly was surprisingly agile for a woman comfortably plump, and Hermione soon found that Rabnott—well, it was far too easy to forget about her, from a novice's perspective. She remained on the defensive, almost too easy for long enough that Hermione's suspicions were roused.

To a good cause, as it turned out. It was as Hermione was dodging a nasty-looking hex from Molly that looked far too much like one Hermione had already seen Ginny perform, to the victim's detriment. In the motion of ducking, Hermione was lucky—and still trained enough—to catch, in the corner of her eye, a flicker. And the instincts that Severus had beat into her took over. With no time to deflect or knowledge of what she might be trying to deflect, Hermione's body decided to flee instead, and turned the dodge into a dive and roll. The floor jarred her bones nastily, but she'd fallen right and there would be no breaks or sprains. _Ouch. _Hermione forced herself up immediately, relieved to find that her nosedive had taken her to the wall. The mirror gave her the slightest glimpse as she turned hastily to meet her attackers coming head-on, and she ducked just in time as Rabnott sent something sizzling into the mirror. _They must be warded with the best spells around, _Hermione managed to think before the fight pulled her back in again.

By the end of their first session, Hermione was dripping and exhausted, but _pleasantly _so, with the sensation of having accomplished far more in that hour than in all her self-training. She rather wished Severus were part of this group. She thought that together, she and Severus might have been able to take on most of them and win.

She wasn't surprised, though, when, in the general dispersal of the group back to their own lives, Honour Rabnott returned with the little troop to Hogwarts. Nor was she completely shocked when, with a sharp glance, Minerva wordlessly conveyed that she wished to speak with Hermione in private. Remus, not altogether unobservant, departed with a minimum of fuss. _Then again, Tonks came back to Hogwarts with us, and I'm certain they have better things to do than hang around the Headmistress' office. _Hermione felt a now-familiar shot of jealousy that, just by the very nature of who they were and what function they played in this war, she and Severus could not share that same easy casualness and openness in their own relationship.

"You must have guessed already that there was something more than what the rest were told," Rabnott said abruptly when only she and Minerva remained in the office. "From all accounts, you have had the best of training."

Warily, Hermione shifted in her seat, eyeing the lanky woman with dirty-blonde hair. Cautiously, she murmured, "If you are referring to my…special training with Snape, yes." She wondered how much this odd Rabnott woman actually knew. How much had Li told her? _Not everything, I hope. _

The other woman's eyes sharpened. "Yes," she nodded with a decisive snap. "What you didn't know is that I would have been the second choice for your mentor-trainer. You drew attention, Granger, from the very top."

Hermione remained silent, uncertain of where this was going. Behind her desk, Minerva cleared her throat. The sound seemed to bring Rabnott back to some sort of reality or realization—she flicked a glance over at the other woman before returning her intent eyes back to Hermione. "My apologies for my nosy nature," she said without any indication of regret. "I am off-topic. What this is about is to offer…perhaps…aid, to you, in your teaching of Potter and his group. Aid of a sort. Perhaps more suited to another possible function during the battle. You know ordinary battle-skirmishing, which is useful, but what I teach you will be even more specialized. Part of my expertise of saboteur is something even, some would say, wrong."

She stopped. Hermione had the sense that she was being tested now. It was not subtle. Rabnott was looking to see if Hermione was really as smart as she would have unfortunately no doubt already heard. _Hermione Granger, top of her class all her years at Hogwarts, one of Harry Potter's best friends, graduated a year early, first inductee to the Order of the Phoenix underage in living or dead memory, accelerated right through her training period…_mind fully engaged with the puzzle before her, Hermione closed her eyes briefly. Slowly, piece by abnormal piece fell into a pattern. Over it all, Severus' smooth voice, almost singing as he lectured her, so long ago it felt. The many myriad branches of the spy. The ordinary eavesdropper. The saboteur. The sleeper agent. The traitor. The informant. And…_ah. _She opened her eyes, and met Rabnott's querying gaze with a confident one of her own. "Assassin," she said quietly. "You are an assassin."

And the other woman smiled, slowly, one with no mirth in it but much satisfaction. "You and Li and Albus were right, by the gods," she declared forcefully to the Headmistress, who still had not said a word. There was a passing look of mingled pride and apology in Minerva's expression before she turned her face away, as Hermione watched. _The pride, for having proved my worth as The Brain once more, _Hermione mused. _And the regret? _Fast on the heels of the question was the answer. _Involving me in more dirty work, more work that could corrupt or tear apart the soul. The role of assassin is darker grey than most. And more of what innocence I might have had left will be completely destroyed, if I agree to this. _And the offer, Hermione had no doubt of—the offer to teach her the skills of assassin, and the opportunity to use those skills very probable if the Order had thought it important enough to approach her in the first place with this information.

As if reading her thoughts, Rabnott spoke again, this time much more like the casual woman Hermione remembered from her first meeting of her, in the ritual for the spellphones. "You're being offered the knowledge of how an assassin works, first to aid you in the teaching of how to protect the Chosen One." Rabnott smirked faintly. "We cannot teach just anyone and everyone. Not all, or even many, would be comfortable with the grey area this sort of job falls into. But you have proven your own trustworthiness to the Order, according to Li, and your friends trust you. You can form a core group of guards to Potter and teach them how to look out for the tricks of a possible assassin sent by the dark forces."

"And second?"

"Second." Rabnott finally broke her long eye contact with Hermione. "I do not know everything," she said. "No one in the Order knows everyone about everyone. Not even me. Not even Li, or Minerva, or any of the High Council. It makes it harder for all of our secrets to be spilled. I do not know in what exact capacity you serve the Order, but I have been told that it would be beneficial as an extra skill to assist another in…elimination, before the day of battle."

Hermione froze, willing her expression neutral and bland, consciously easing the tension that threatened to spring to her muscles and make a giant sign of her body saying _"I have something to hide!" _

There was only one person that Rabnott could mean.

_Severus. _

And assassination. Elimination. Of, presumably, Death Eaters before they actually met in battle. _And perhaps in battle as well. _Yes, Hermione could see that. _If we send a partnered pair as an assassination team, that means there's one for the kill and one for backup. It disheartens the enemy, destroys morale, and thins the ranks one by one. Two people can slip in and out of a house fairly easily. Two people can slip through the large fighting and take out the command Death Eaters at the crucial point. _

And she was beginning to see the shape of things. For the first time, Hermione turned to Minerva. "It's the best strategy, the best way to use us," she stated flatly.

With a shadowed face, Minerva slowly nodded.

"Ron doesn't know."

"No. Not that the assassination team would include you."

Hermione felt a little sigh of relief, inside where it did not show. "I see." She turned to Rabnott then, and leaned forward. "Then teach me," she said simply.

**A.N.: So I'm going to do a horrible thing. I'm going to admit that each chapter of this story has been getting progressively harder and harder for me to write, and it's been this way for a while now. (You probably noticed the unfortunate irregularity of updates). I am in no way abandoning this story, but I admit that its been tough going, and I fear that updates may be more sporadic than I or you would prefer. And if some chapters feel uninspired…well, that's sort of because they aren't. Inspired, that is. **

**I am still committed to Last Spy, I swear, and I am going to do everything humanly possible to write without too much delay between each update. **

**The tarot card readings, and indeed, the layout itself, is a shameless amalgamation of my own imagination and what I gleaned from various websites that showed up when I googled it. Please, don't take them for what I say for what they actually mean. And if anyone is a serious practicioner of telling fortunes, please, forgive me for my butchering of what I am certain is an art I have no knowledge of, really. **


	85. Chapter 85

**Disclaimer: Around this time of year (relatively Chinese New Year, although I'm a little late) adults give children red packets with money (or, if they're really cheap, just chocolate coins). I'm still waiting for my red packet from JKR with the copyright and ownership papers to Harry Potter tucked inside, but for now…it doesn't belong to me!**

Minerva felt awkward. She'd never been in quite this unique a situation before. The last time she'd felt any sensation of unreality similar to this, it had been the discovery of the then-Miss Granger's invite to the Order _while still underage. _It had been disconcerting. She'd argued against it, but Albus had been convinced and over half the Order had seen the need for that talent to be put to use right away.

Now, Minerva was once against off-kilter but this time of her own doing.

She was going to ask the house-elves to participate in the battle.

_"Dobby is pleased to fight for Harry Potter!" _the lone free elf had squealed when she'd broached the subject with him. But then his ears had drooped. _"Is only one elf, is I," _he'd said with sadness. _"Dobby is not knowings if other elves is wishing to fight in wizard's—and witch's—wars. House-elves is…" _here Dobby had muttered a word Minerva hadn't caught, a foreign guttural grunt of a sound, before shaking his head. _"Connected," _he'd finished. _"Is knowings things. Is feelings things. Is tied, but is loyal first to elves. Dobby is no longer knowings, nor feelings." _

At that point, Minerva had decided to murmur her condolences to whatever Dobby had tried to explain, and leave the house elf to the sudden fit of blues that had overcome him. _The Wizarding World knows so little of how house-elves as a society functions, _she mused. _Other than that they have families as well, which are normally inherited property to the master of the female house elf, since it's a matrilineal clan. We prefer to think of them as mindless slaves who love to serve, but in truth they really aren't mindless at all. _Her chess match and discussion with little Mippy was a good contradictory example, after all. So was Minny, the bustling little house-elf that ran the underpinnings of Hogwarts with the efficiency of a ship's captain and _still _had time to serve herself. When Minerva was still Deputy to Albus—oh, it couldn't have been too long ago—six years, maybe?—Albus had told her that he'd once told Minny she did far too much work and ought to simply let other elves do the actual service. In response, the elf had nearly cried. When Albus asked why, Minny had said that head elf should serve as much as other elves, to set the right example and so that discontent or jealousy had no chance to breed.

_And I'm stalling, now. _Minerva acknowledged that fact and with a sigh, summoned said house-elf to her office. Minny flitted in with barely little more than a subdued _crrk, _and clasped her hands behind her back. "Minny is at Headmistress services," she said formally.

"Ah…Minny." Minerva hesitated and then waved her hand at the chair opposite of her desk. "Please, sit."

Puzzlement flitted across the elf's features, and there was a long pause. Then Minny clambered up onto the chair apprehensively, her nervous anxiety obvious. She had all the transparency of a child, although she remained remarkably calmer than some of the other elves Minerva had come across before in this sort of situation. "I had an odd request of you—and of the house elves of Hogwarts," Minerva said, cutting straight to the matter. "We are currently facing a very uneven battle that will take place soon. Against Voldemort and his followers."

Minny nodded slowly, and blinked once. Minerva's expression did not change, but she looked directly at Minny. "I suspect you know more than I have actually told you, then."

Again, a slow nod. "Good, then I won't have to go over it again. You know what we're up against. This isn't an order, Minny. If you or any other elf wishes to evacuate the premises for their own safety then they should do so, with my blessings."

Minny was short—almost too short to do as she was doing now, peering over the top of the desk at Minerva, although she was sitting bolt upright and gingerly on the chair. "Minny…is thinking that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not stoppings at witches and wizardlys," she said quietly. "Bad Not-man is not stoppings at even littles, babies, if he is coming to Hogwarts. Minny has been hearing…things. Bad things." She shuddered. "No, Minny is thinkings elves of Hogwarts will fight for Hogwarts, else elves will be suffering too."

Minerva let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, silently. "So do I have your w- your hand, at least, and perhaps the other Hogwarts elves?"

Minny bowed her own head gravely, showing no signs of having noticed or paid attention to Minerva's near-slip. _It would have been horribly offensive to ask if I had a house elf's wand in support, when they neither need nor are allowed to touch or use one! _Then she had to stifle an unexpected desire to smile at the sight of graveness on a house elf. Minny was the picture of seriousness, which looked rather odd paired with her luminous large nose and round eyes and pointed chin. Her ears were laid back flat against her head and she was sitting with her hands crossed primly in her lap. "Minny would be honored muchlys to give her hand, and hands of all of-age elves of Hogwarts, in fight," she proclaimed. "Minny is very sures all will fight for the home."

**--break--**

_Headmistress is much funners than Headmaster, _Minny thought in the language of her race as she _popped_ away from the office, sparing a glance to where the old Headmaster slept soundly in his picture frame. It had been all Minny could do to maintain the fiction that they had agreed on a transaction and struck a deal. It gave the Headmistress security in her own position. Little did she know that the house elves of Hogwarts had been waiting impatiently for such an invite into the fray for some time now! In fact, Minny was on her way to tell Ylba the good news.

Minny was friends with the old elf matron—a fact she was both awed and proud to claim. While all elves had a special bond with the matriarch, there were of course far too many elves on the British Isles for all of them to be counted among the elite few whom Ylba called on more than any other. Minny had, over the years, proven her right to be the youngest among Ylba's counsel-circle. Minny thought though that perhaps this odd distinction might soon be eclipsed by her favorite relative, Mippy, whose truly intelligent thinking, quick action, and wonderful service of his very important master had brought him to the attention of Ylba. Though of course she wouldn't have told him so. Minny was still proud of Mippy. She'd known, when she'd first seen him as a little elf new-made, that he would be greater than any house elf save matriarch.

Still, it wouldn't do to damage him too early with too much praise or attention. There had been elves permanently damaged and unfit for having been given too much admiration or attention. Minny twitched her ears as she _popped _to Ylba's side, having been granted permission. Time for contemplation of Mippy and his service later—now she was bringing the news that Ylba and the elves had been waiting for.

**--break--**

_ClangGGggG!!! _The sound froze Hermione in place. She didn't have to look around to know that once again, she'd failed. "What am I doing wrong?" she asked in frustration, as Honour Rabnott, not a hair out of place, slipped out to meet Hermione, dressed in a varying colors of grey and brown—all dull colors that blended into the shadows of the darkness thrown by the stone walls of Hogwarts. Or rather, the section of Hogwarts that the Room of Requirement had chosen to mimic so that Hermione could learn the dirty art of assassination without endangering the students.

"You still are not thinking like an assassin." Honour stood easily, hands away the small, nondescript knife tucked into her belt. It didn't fool Hermione one bit, not after she'd seen the woman in action. The colorless woman could have had that knife buried in Hermione's throat in less time than Hermione, with her wand in her hand, could move to protect herself. Even Severus had not had that sort of skill that Honour utilized. _But he also never needed it, _Hermione thought. _His job has always been to draw the least suspicion to himself, to be dangerous enough to be left alone but not dangerous enough to be a significant threat to the Dark Lord. He's a master spy, not an assassin. _

A spy who would be—if she could just get the hang of what Honour was trying to teach her, damn it!—partnering her on unsavory missions to eliminate…inconvenient men and women. Those who might be the greatest danger to their chances of winning at Beltane. Those who might be the greatest danger to Severus. _If I could just bloody learn this…_

She didn't even know what to call 'this'. It was like spycraft, but at the same time so different. Less analytical—more instinctual. Hermione didn't like that. Spying was all about deliberation, about information, about being in the right place at the right time to exert a word here or some pressure there, or being absent at the right time. Spying she could understand. Assassination, for all its similarities to spycraft, was another kettle of fish. Assassination was about death—entirely and completely about death, silence, and brevity. _"It must be instinct," _Honour had told Hermione when she had begun instructing Hermione. _"Every movement must be habit, something you don't think twice about. Every action is natural, already programmed. It frees your senses from the burden of having to deal with getting your body from point to point, and it frees your emotions from…becoming a hindrance." _

"You fly like a Seeker instead of a Snitch. You must fly like the Snitch."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at Honour. "If you would refrain from the Quidditch analogies, we might be getting somewhere," she commented with the slightest hint of annoyance that she could not bite back.

"Pardon," Honour said calmly. "Another metaphor, then. You are acting like you would if you had a goal that might happen in a few minutes or a few days—very admirable for situations in which a spy is called to be adaptable. It is a quality to cultivate as a spy. But you are not training to be a spy anymore, Hermione. I am asking you not of adaptability, but of inflexibility. You must have a fixed goal in mind, to never waver from that task, to find the most expedient way to accomplish it. Whether you cause an uproar in your wake is of no consequence. Whether you wreck foundations and networks carefully laid by either side is of no matter. You have no allegiance. You have no loyalty. You have one job—to kill your target without fuss and to escape with your disguise intact." Honour motioned around her. "Just now, you were trying to ease your way to the room you knew your target to be in without being detected by various persons. Instead of heading the most expedient route you chose one which would allow you to remain the most inconspicuous, but that meant that your time ran out before you reached your target." Honour motioned at a door a little ways off.

Hermione absorbed this, and her resolve hardened again with the frustration she felt at herself and at Honour for expecting so much so quickly. "Again?" she asked.

"No, not today." Honour eyed her. "You are angry. You cannot afford to be angry." As she spoke, the dismal setting dissolved into an ordinary-looking bedroom. "Fight me," she said simply.

Hermione's wand flashed, but where Honour had been, she was now several feet away and her wand was already in motion. _Red light. Green light. _Colors and distortions of air flew as Hermione almost immediately lost her initial attack-advantage, but she was holding her own. A niggling warning bell rang in her head. This wasn't like Honour, not in the short time she'd gotten acquainted with the witch. _Not a duel. This isn't a duel—she's trying to prove something to me. _Even before Hermione's train of thought ended, she'd sent a Silencing Spell at the woman—just in time, as Honour opened her mouth to yell. A second later, Hermione had wrapped Honour in a full Muffling Spell as well, and she could not make a racket even knocking something over or hitting something. But the seconds after that ticked by as Hermione desperately sought an opening in the witch's defense and attack.

_ClanggGgg! _went the gong that told her she'd overspent her allotted time.

"Bloody hell!" Hermione swore, something she rarely did.

"Better," Honour acknowledged calmly as if Hermione had not just displayed a childish lapse of self-control, "but still slow. You remembered the spells for silence in time, but forgot that I, your target, own house elves, and they can be called for silently if they are your immediate property." Hermione bristled at the attitude Honour had towards house elves, but did not say anything. _I can only fight one battle at a time. _"You ran out of time because although it took me longer to summon the house elves by mind and in between the distraction of fending for myself, I still managed it before you could find an opening."

"So what was I supposed to do?" Hermione exclaimed. "You left no opening for me to take!"

"Create one for yourself to take, then," Honour said, undeterred. "Again. This time, be faster. You must be good enough to kill before your target even realizes he is in danger."

Hermione sighed deeply, and summoned all her little patience and fortitude and determination as the Room of Requirement, responding to Honour, shifted into another assassination-setting.

**--break--**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I cannot tell you what I am actually up to, but rest assured, I am sore, beaten, and my pride very much in tatters. I can already hear Mum. _You can stand some blows to your pride, Hermione. _No doubt, but it does not make for a pleasant experience. _

_I miss the both of you terribly. In your last letter you explained your need to participate actively in this horrible war. I should not, wish I did not, understand your reasoning. But oh, Mum, Dad, I wish you would not put yourselves deliberately in danger's way! Just as much as I'm your only daughter, you're my only set of parents, you know. Neither of you are allowed to die for a good long while. _

_The students are quite a handful these days. We've had a sunny couple of days, unusual for this time of year, and they are taking every advantage of the nice weather to stir mischief and mayhem in Hogwarts. Already, I've given out three detentions and taken twenty points from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Pomona had it worse—she had to call her entire House together for an emergency meeting to figure out who's prank had flooded the entire Hufflepuff boys' dormitory with soapsuds and bubbles that refused to go away. It turned out to be a collaboration of several Hufflepuff girls who had gotten tired of the boys swearing and acting crude around them. In the words of the student who seems to have been the leader of the collaboration—"We're only doing what their mothers would do if they were at home and heard them. We did consider washing out their mouths with soap or having scrubbing brushes follow them all day, but bubble baths are much more fun." Considering the fact that the bubble bath in the boys' dorm was rose-scented and enjoyed taking on various shapes, including an amusing replica of the kraken that refused to let two boys go, I will not argue. _

_Draco and Skye have both taken to mothering—er, and fathering too I guess-their little group of Slytherins like ducks to water. Under their oversight, the Slytherins—both the group that returned to Hogwarts against their parents' wishes and the group that came back after Christmas as usual—have even been joining in the fun and exploits. Three of them decided that it would be a perfectly lovely idea to prank Harry. It's probably a great thing that they now feel comfortable enough to play harmless tricks on The Harry Potter, but Harry didn't find the idea of singing everything he tried to say too appealing. It is a pity that he managed to catch them in the act of slipping the potion into his drink. It would have been amusing, as much as I am glad that I've taught Harry enough that he notices someone slipping something into his food or drink._

_Of course I entirely denied any knowledge of students using the potions classroom after hours to brew anything, but Harry has been giving me suspicious glances and Ginny very sly, humorous ones. Ron of course is oblivious to anything but the fact that Harry decided not to tell Ron that his pumpkin juice had something extra, and switched their cups when Ron wasn't looking. Ron does have a rather nice voice and Quidditch is almost tolerable when sung about instead of talked about! _

_In other news, we are getting a new DADA professor…_

**--break--**

Some of the teachers were heartily annoyed at the sudden series of pranks that had started around the same time as the spell of good weather, unexpected for this time of winter. Not Hermione. She would never admit it, but she enjoyed the harmless mischief very much, mostly because it afforded her amusement and laughter that she had not indulged in for far too long, the silly rolling on the floor kind. As January gave way to February and St. Valentine's approached, the jokes themselves changed. There were the usual crop of Weasley products to woo your witch or wizard in ridiculous ways—Serenade Sorbets, which allowed the consumer to sing 'boldly and confidently without fear of squeaking, forgetting the words, or going off-key!' as the packaging announced, charmed fireworks that wrote lovely bits of sentiment in the sky (_'Thou art a votary to fond desire', 'You are more beautiful than the stars', 'Be mine, valentine')_, and even Glow Glitter (_'ensure that your love glows more brightly than the rest of the lot—sprinkle Glow Glitter and watch him/her glow with the light of love for a guaranteed 48 hours!) _Hermione especially enjoyed the Glow Glitter. There was more than one girl at Hogwarts and not a few boys literally glittering on Valentine's day—their skins, at least. It was quite disruptive to turn around only to be blinded by the sun striking the surface of some classmate's epidermis and bouncing off in a million rays of light. Hermione had to send two students from three different classes to the Hospital Wing for minor injuries garnered by potions mistakes from being temporarily blinded, and was only glad that it was not more, since the class was located in the dungeons.

Remus came down with a sudden attack of—ironically—werewolf flu, a particularly nasty strain of the ordinary flu that was resistant to most potions and spells. He had to endure it the Muggle way, as the only known effective treatment for werewolf flu was a version of Pepper-Up that contained trace amounts of silver. _"I should have known that the DADA curse would strike again," _he'd groaned as he made his way to the Floo, supported by Tonks on one side and Hermione on the other. Still, he was slowly recovering now that he actually resting in bed, and Tonks had taken a leave of absence from the Ministry and her position as Auror to take Remus' place with a minimum of fuss and quite a lot of student intrigue.

Hermione continued to brush up her dueling skills with Minerva, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and the others. She continued to feel frustrated as she strove to learn the elusive art of the assassin. She tried not to feel jealous of Harry and Ginny and Skye and Draco and all the other nauseatingly adorable couples. She met with Severus only once, as their research team had finally stepped up the pace of their work. He looked weary to exhaustion and faintly disgusted at the multiple experiments he described as part of this phase of testing the ritual and potion together. He'd discussed it clinically, going over the stepwise progress from crups to kneazles to bowtruckles to pixies. The set of his shoulders, shadows in his eyes, and detached voice had warned her that it had not been a pleasant experience for him to endure and instigate. _And what will come next will be worse. _As spies—_not _as assassins or as light warriors or glorious heroes—Hermione and Severus would let what would happen next happen. He would participate, she would report to Li, and both of them would keep quiet about it to the rest of the Order. _The last experiments must be conducted with humans. With Wizarding folk. With witches, primarily, because the Purebloods are still so patriarchal that they cannot fathom a modified ritual that will swallow life force from males. That's Damascus Malfoy's influence too, Severus suspects. _

Hermione woke from nightmares sometimes of faceless girls crowding her, accusing her silently of not helping them when she knew what was going to happen. Because those girls had to come from somewhere, and however they were acquired—from a kidnapping here, raid here, and the occasional Death Eater's unacknowledged bastard daughter thrown in—they would be unwilling. And they would most likely die. _Or worse. _

It was that knowledge that kept Hermione throwing herself into learning assassin-craft, despite her multiple failures and the horrible unshakable _calmness _of her teacher. Because whether or not it was wrong to kill people in cold blood—quietly, unprovoked, while they were defenseless—it was in a way an atonement for doing nothing for the girls that were now vanishing here and there, taken from places where they would not be missed or commented on by the media or the Wizarding World. And it was revenge for those girls.

She hadn't told Severus about her new 'learning project' yet. Hadn't had time in that one, too-short meeting they'd had. But they would be meeting again the day after Valentine's Day. _I'll tell him then. _He would surely appreciate being able to actually _do _something other than gather information and pass it on and create despicable things for despicable men. _Soon. _Even the Glow Glitter was mostly a temporary moment of laughter, and it faded in the nervous anticipation as Hermione counted down the hours to when she would see Severus again. _Soon. _

**A.N.: Well…I didn't quite make it for Valentine's Day/Lunar New Year, but it's not too much later at least! Hope you enjoyed the rather scattered chapter, and I hope everyone enjoyed February 14****th**** if you celebrated it, or the Lunar New Year, or just another ordinary day. **

**I'm sure you know where the idea of Glow Glitter came from, as a very small parody—if you don't, you've been living under a rock for the past couple of years. Not to say I don't like Twilight, but it's very easy to make fun of…**

"**Thou art a votary to fond desire" is from Shakespeare's **_**The Two Gentlemen of Verona, **_**and is not actually very romantic (I'm assuming that Fred and George are gleefully sticking in all the fancy-sounding quotes about love they can find into their fireworks). The character Valentine is teasing his friend, who is lovesick, for being weak and lightheaded over foolishness. (Valentine then promptly falls in love with someone as well—never say that Shakespeare didn't understand the fine art of irony!)**


	86. Chapter 86

**Disclaimer: One day, one day…*insert evil laughter* I'll take over the entire world and take HP for myself! Muahahaha!!...wait, what are you doing with my arms? Is that a straightjacket? Nooo!!! I'm not crazy, I swear by the pinky on Merlin's left foot! Noooooo!!!!!!**

_He is trapped. They are pressing to all sides of him, and his robes pin him down like they would if he makes a wrong move, his mask like a coffin lid slammed shut over his face, still shuddering with the force of a power greater than humanity. Denial would cloak the throat and still the hand of another man, but he is himself and what he is he cannot divorce…it is not part of his nature now, hard-won since his unhappy schoolboy days, to look away from the facts. No matter how much they doom him, his soul, and the life of the man that Death demands. Has demanded for a long time. _

_ And what has the old man before him done to deserve this kind of death? Manipulation, calculating lives as numbers, multiple sins of the past, but so too is Severus guilty of all of the above, and more, perhaps. The countless, faceless men and women he has either directly or indirectly murdered are cold ghouls that murmur and press close to him. The first one—the very first one, during his initiation, the one with which he proved to everyone that he was not to be messed with, presses something into the hand that isn't holding his wand silent. They are two cold rounds in his hand, and Severus lifts his hand up to examine what he has been given._

_ Two golden coins wink back at him. Old coins, of the sort used so long ago to put in the eyes of dead people to pay the toll to Charon. Severus drops them with revulsion, but they roll and roll, making no noise on the bare floor of the Astronomy tower, roll past the frozen scene of Death Eaters, of Albus Dumbledore calmly standing before them all, past them all…and stop at a small, woman's bare foot. He follows the foot up to the face framed by familiar frizzy brown hair, sharp eyes peering at him with mingled concern and shock. _

_ Hermione makes the first noise that he's heard since he somehow found himself about to kill Albus. She chokes. It's something between his name and a hiss, but which it is more like he has no time to judge for suddenly there is a flash of light so green it hurts his heart, lighting up the face of his lover with a beautifully eerie glow, and her fine brown eyes are no longer brown but green like Lily's, green like her son's, and they hold no life. The green continues on and on, shining steadily brighter and brighter from the two coins emanating light by Hermione's foot, enveloping Albus, until both of them vanish in a radius of pulsing emerald and Severus tries to break the paralysis that holds him in place, manages to fight off the Silencing Spell that he must be under, just enough to voice a scream…_

and woke up to darkness. Panting, heart racing and mouth dry and hard with bitterness and fear, it took Severus several seconds to realize that it had just been a nightmare, that he was in his bed and that it was still dark outside—not morning yet. With the realization and return to reality came a veritable flood of relief that he allowed himself to be swept away in. His wand materialized in his hand, an instinct honed by time and the gift of a wand crystal of his own so long ago, and without a spoken command the room was lit, the candles and lamps burning and thrusting back the night. The warm, _yellow _glow and the immediate realness of his bedroom and everything in it did much to slow his thundering pulse and steady him, but Severus could still see the vivid green if he closed his eyes.

"I am Severus Snape, Potions Master," he said aloud. "Today was St. Valentine's Day. Tomorrow I will meet Hermione and take her out to dinner after we get the business squared away."

That was better. However inane his remarks were, the fact that he was speaking, the words, the act of talking aloud, grounded him more firmly. Lessened the dazzling color that had spilled from his nightmare to his waking. Unfortunately, it had the unpleasant side effect of reminding him that there was a nasty taste in his mouth and it was as dry as mummy-dust. He didn't like to wake his house elf up, but…

"Mippy?" he asked quietly to the empty room around him. It took a little longer than it might have during the day, but an echoing _pop _soon announced the arrival of his house elf. Mippy looked just as he always did—Severus saw no signs of having disrupted him from sound slumber, though who knew if that was part of house elf training, how not to look disheveled or just-woken?

Mippy took one look at Severus, who _was _rather disheveled, and wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. "Tea," he said briskly, disappearing and reappearing like lightning. When he reappeared, he had a mug of steaming tea in his hands, and he handed it to Severus, who took it with the utmost gratitude. _Chamomile_, his nose told him automatically as he sniffed before taking a sip.

"Is Master wishing to talk about it?" Mippy asked with great discretion for a house elf, perching on the end of Severus' bed.

Severus stared at his tea for several minutes, gathering his thoughts and letting the rising steam take away the gleaming green ends of his nightmare away. "Could you…could you just check that Hermione is safe right now?" he asked. _It was just a dream, but I need to make sure…I need to check…_

Showing the same sensitivity he had shown by not pressing too far earlier, Mippy did not question Severus' odd requests. "Of course, Master. You is drinking yous—your—tea. Mippy is right back."

_Pop. _Severus let the hot herbal-flavored water scald his tongue and kept his eyes on the spot where Mippy had been. Finishing it, he set the mug on his dresser and wondered absently if he ought to take a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep when he went back to bed. Or…what time was it, specifically? A quick check told him that it was just shy of 4:00 in the morning. _I don't necessarily need to go to bed, really, _he mused, though part of him was sneering at his cowardliness of not wanting to go back to sleep. It felt like forever until Mippy returned, though frequent Tempus charms told him it had taken less than half an hour. "She is sleepings, Master," Mippy reported before Severus could ask.

"And you _saw…_"

"With Mippy's own eyes, Mippy swears, by the matriarch," Mippy said, nodding emphatically. "Minny is not wishing to let Mippy, but Mippy persuadive her to let Mippy see for himself."

"Persuade, not persuadive," Severus corrected, his mind still on Mippy's reassurances. "She's really safe?"

"As houses," Mippy agreed. "Now,_ sleep_. You is able to see her tomorrow, and is being a long day tomorrow for you."

Bemused by Mippy's mother-bear instincts and with the last of the green nightmare banished by the knowledge that Hermione was safe and sound asleep at Hogwarts, Severus did indeed take a tiny dose of Dreamless Sleep and go to bed, leaving Mippy to take the empty mug and extinguish the lights.

**--break--**

"Are you sure this will be received well?"

"Positive."

"And what makes you so certain?" The woman's voice, coming out of the darkness, demanded petulantly.

There was a pause. Then the male voice sneered, "Are you _scared? _Do you want to go back to Mum and Dad like a frightened little rabbit?_" _

The response was immediate and threatening. "Call me a frightened rabbit one more time and you'll never know the joy of reproducing like one." There was a long, weighty silence.

Then the man spoke again, his tone even. "I will refrain. Now remove your wand, before I remove it for you."

"See that you don't ever call me _frightened _again," she growled. There was a rustle, and then the two almost invisible figures in the dark night seemed to merge into one and completely disappear with the barest sound of a whispering _crack. _

**--break--**

As focused as she was on getting through the day so she could finally see Severus and enjoy a night relatively free of the taint of war, Hermione did not at first notice the plain brown post owl that winged its way stately towards the Gryffindor table at breakfast. It wasn't until she felt the Great Hall subduing into a silence unnatural for mealtimes that she looked up and saw it just as it landed by Seamus Finnigan's arm, holding out the scroll tied to its leg towards him.

The scroll was black.

"Dear Merlin, not the Finnigans," someone whispered—Minerva.

There had been enough Ministry black scrolls—too many of them—for all of the Hogwarts students and staff, except for perhaps the first years, to mistake what it meant. Instinctively, the Gryffindors closed ranks, Harry and Ginny both getting out of their seats and surrounding a still-frozen Seamus. He shook his head mutely. It was Lavender, of all people, who finally reached out to untie the scroll. The owl flew off, task complete. When the girl offered it to Seamus, he refused to take it. After a moment's hesitation, she unrolled it herself, breaking the official seal. With the hardest eyes Hermione had ever seen on the flirtatious girl, she scanned the parchment and then laid it down, taking one of Seamus' hands in her own. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly, barely loud enough for anyone to catch. "It's your whole family, Seamus. I'm so sorry."

Hermione felt as though she'd been struck hard. _Oh sweet heavens, not his entire family…I thought the Death Eaters were laying off and consolidating for Beltane. I thought…why didn't Severus tell me? Why didn't he know? _She felt sick.

The first sign of warning was the jug of pumpkin juice. It abruptly exploded, showering the startled Gryffindors with juice. The next was deadlier—a plate. "Mister Finnigan—" Minerva moved with a swiftness that was surprising to many of her students unless they'd taken her class and seen her intercept a hapless student who'd transfigured themselves or each other into strange things. _Or, of course, watched her duel with a Death Eater. _To Hermione's pleasure, she found herself and Tonks, who had slipped into Remus' place as DADA instructor with nary a murmur or hint of trouble, reacting like the well-oiled machine their dueling practice group had been training towards.

"Get back!" Tonks bellowed. Hermione saved her breath for speed, launching herself across the distance to the Gryffindor table and summoning a shield with a thought. A shield not for herself, which barely took an effort now, but one to _contain _something. Or someone. Just behind her, Tonks tripped, but the container shield that came from her flew bright and steady to join Hermione's, and in the process of tripping the metamorphagus actually propelled forward past Hermione and reached Seamus first. Uncontrolled magic flared from the boy, struck the edges of the container around him, and hissed as it hit. A scream of rage and pain—the cry of a wounded animal—erupted from inside the shield, and Hermione's heart reacted to the cry by wrenching, even as her mind coldly positioned her cautiously at the point of the triangle that she, Tonks, and Minerva had made around Seamus.

Minerva had sent her energy towards constructing a protective shield for the other students as they'd cleared the space around Seamus. "He'll hurt himself if he doesn't stop," she said tersely.

"Unconscious—knock him unconscious if you can, and that'll stop the accidental magic," Tonks panted, hauling herself off her hands and knees where she'd fallen.

"Spells can't go in or out the container shield," Hermione reminded them. "We have to take it down without warning and someone needs to stun him fast enough before another explosion blows us up."

Tonks and Minerva exchanged glances. "You do it, Hermione," Minerva ordered. "You have the fastest spell-response between the three of us."

_I can't do it! _A part of Hermione mewled in protest. But she squashed it. "Right. Ready, Tonks?"

"Commence," Tonks agreed with the tiny shot of humor she somehow managed to maintain in even the hardest situations.

"Now!"

"_Stupefy!" _

It was over in less than a split second, as Hermione lashed out with the strongest _Stupefy _she could manage the instant the shields went down. Caught off guard, Seamus' accidental, instinctual magic did not have enough time to flare up to protect himself before the spell caught him square in the chest and he slumped over, unconscious. "Thank heavens!" Minerva exclaimed, racing towards the boy. "One of you, get Poppy. The other—the other children?"

Without a word, Hermione raced off to fetch Poppy, leaving Tonks to deal with organizing the milling, frightened rabble of students who had just witnessed the utter collapse of one of their schoolmates. As she ran, her mind kept returning to the questions—

_Why didn't Severus know? Is he safe? _

**--break--**

"I didn't know," Severus repeated. He looked as though he had not slept a wink all night, and Hermione instinctively laid a gentle hand on his arm. Not his hand, and not more than a light resting, palm to just-above-the-elbow, otherwise it would impede both of them if they were attacked. Not that it was apt to happen, not at Gaston's, but the training they had both received, Severus' in the school of hard knocks and Hermione at the hands of Severus and Honour, was too thorough for anything less. "It was not planned. Not by the Dark Lord."

"Renegades?"

"The Dark Lord couldn't make up his mind between being pleased at the actions and how they've resounded in the Wizarding World, and anger at being disobeyed," Severus said. Hermione wanted to scream at Severus for sounding altogether too calm and distant. But she couldn't. Not when she knew that it was his way of coping. _And yours too, or did you forget the whispers about how Professor Granger was a cold uncaring bitch with no heart because of how she _Stupefied _Seamus, and how she looked like it was all in a day's work and didn't talk about it in class? _

_I'm picking up far too many of Severus' habits, _Hermione thought wryly.

"Do you know…"

"No, not yet," Severus replied to her question. "The Dark Lord has ordered the culprits of the unauthorized attack on the Finnigans to come forward but so far no one has."

"Damn it," Hermione swore in frustration. "I hate this!" She got up, the chair scraping the bare floor noisily.

"The boy…Finnigan. How is he?"

"Badly." Hermione didn't look at Severus. "He's comatose. He won't say a word, just lies there and stares straight ahead. Like…" she trailed off. _Like Harry, when Albus died, _her mind finished. _Family. That's what Harry lost, that day, and Li called him back to himself then. I wonder if he would be able to do it again? _

"Possibly," Severus replied, and Hermione realized that she'd been speaking her thoughts out loud to him. "Li has many tricks up his sleeve. Much like Albus. It's no wonder they became friends."

With an effort, Hermione turned her thoughts from the turmoil they'd been all day. There would be time to grieve, but business needed to be taken care off first. "There's something else," she said carefully. He watched her, instantly on guard. "The Order has been training in special groups and as individuals for specific tasks." She paused. "I was selected to train for something that the Order felt necessary."

Severus examined her with assessing eyes. "You may as well say it," he said finally into the silence, impatiently. "However bad it is, I assume you have a point in bringing it up."

Hermione sighed. "I've been training...as an assassin."

Shock and then worse, fury, kindled in Severus' eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you thought it would be a good idea because some authority figure asked you to do it? 'Why Miss Granger we need someone to do the dirty work of killing people in their sleep or unawares, you're just the woman for the job.' 'I'm honored and delighted, sir!' Where did your Gryffindor sense of righteousness go, or does it only exist for what you want it to apply to?"

"No!" Hermione snapped back at him. "No, I _didn't _do it just because someone told me to, I did it because some top strategists and thinkers foresaw an easier path to victory by this, and because I was—I _am—_the best person for the job. I already have some training, I am familiar with the immediate situation and already involved, and I don't see the world in black and white anymore."

"You're a bloody fool. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, pledging to kill in cold blood. It's not a game, Granger," Severus said harshly.

_Brown eyes illuminated in eerie green, obliterating first Hermione's face and then the rest of her. _Severus recalled his nightmare suddenly and it reawakened his fear, and the fear fueled his anger.

"I understand full well just what I am doing, _Snape," _Hermione cried as her own temper took her. "I may be a bit out of practice and never formally trained by a professional, but I did murder my own best friend once upon another time, or have you forgotten _that night?" _

That stopped Severus cold, and took his mind away from his anger and fear. Ever since the end of last year, it had practically been a nonexistent blank in his mind, those missing months of Hermione's unscheduled transportation to a different universe. The horror of seeing Potter's grisly head clutched in her trembling hand. The dull pain and sudden maturation suddenly present in the girl's eyes when she had emerged from what had been minutes for him and months for her. _You forgot because it was convenient. You forgot because it was easier not to think about how a girl you treated as your student, pupil, and trainee became mature enough to step into the role of friend, coworker—_lover. _You forgot that she had to kill someone she loved too, just like you did…_

Hermione made an inarticulate cry. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" She walked towards him. "We can't do this," she said quietly. "We can't fight among ourselves too. You—you're practically the only thing in this whole sorry mess of my life that I can depend on. If we argue, if we're not…" she swallowed. "I don't think I could do…_anything…_without you," she whispered. "I love you, Severus."

He froze. _I love you, Severus. _It echoed deep in his gut, evoking an instable and primal reaction that he was fast becoming acquainted with. "I…" he paused.

_Did he love her? _Just when he'd thought he'd straightened it all out again so that he was satisfied and could breathe, when he'd organized himself to be logical, she had to go and turn everything upside down and inside out again. Damned woman! Her very presence made him illogical, a thing that he hated most. A long time ago, he'd heard some wisecrack drawl the cliché that 'you just know' when you're in love. How idiotic, he'd thought, that younger Severus. He still thought it now. _You don't just…'know.' It's a whole list of factors. The way she gets when she's intent on proving a point. Her intensity for debate, for real conversation about things that matter, like whether potions-making is an art or a science. The way her rare full smiles never fail to feel like sunshine. The way her bushy, annoying hair just begs to be tucked behind her ear. The way she touches a hand to my shoulder or brushes her fingers to mine so casually. The arch of her foot in heels. Her eyes. Her professionalism. Her willingness to declare what she felt, even when she didn't know that he loved…dear Merlin, Morganna, and Nimue. _Severus stopped breathing. _Even when she didn't know that he…loved her. _

Was it really what this feeling was? This overwhelming drowning sensation that was so much more than he'd ever experienced? The love he'd had for Lily Evans held a pale guttering candle to the light and warmth that Hermione evoked.

_Yes, _whispered a voice that was steadily growing louder in his ears, between the hammering in his eardrums. _Yes. _And then, _tell her. _

"Hermione." He caught her hands in his. She was still obviously shaken by the harsh words that had passed between them, and the day's events had taken a toll on her. She looked tired and frazzled, and her brown hair was even bigger than normal and seemed to take a life of it's own. "I don't want you to do this…what the Order has asked of you, because I don't want you to subject yourself to the guilt and the horror I know that you will feel every single time you carry out a successful hit," he said gently. "It doesn't get easier, not if you have a conscience that you refuse to lock away—and I know you won't lock yours away. But it is your decision. You are an adult, and as much as I am pained to say it, your decisions are yours, despite how I wish I could…shield you from the worst of it. From all of it. Even if you can handle it. Because I…" he was gripping her hands harder than he considered appropriate, probably crushing her fingers, but he couldn't seem to loosen his hold. "I l-love you, Hermione," he said in a rush.

Hermione's breath caught, and her eyes welled up. "You…you love me," she repeated in a daze. "You _love me?" _

"Yes, I do," Severus said firmly, and found himself suddenly filled with a strange fierce excitement and intensity of _rightness. _It was _right. _That knowledge bolstered his courage and boldness, and he cupped Hermione's small, weary face in one hand. "I love you, Hermione Granger," he declared, feeling a sense of victory and freedom steal over him as he said those fate-deciding words to the woman who had gone from brattish child to stubborn friend to lover who had somehow challenged and drawn him out from the walls he'd put up for so long. Then he kissed her.

He hadn't kissed her in far too long. She tasted like wild, lovely dreams, the kind you grasp after and miss when you wake up, but that slip away from you the moment you are conscious. She felt like what he imagined holding a rainbow or a star or something infinitely precious and coveted in his arms would feel like. She laughed with the same joy he felt against his lips, and he felt something damp against his cheek. Hermione was…crying, crying and laughing at the same time. "I love you," she whispered.

**--break-- **

"Is it wrong to be so happy when someone else is having the worst day of their life?" Hermione asked, lying in Severus' arms.

Severus shook his head, and Hermione felt the movement on the top of her head. "In this world, everyone must make their own happiness and grab it whenever they can," he said seriously. "Otherwise we would all go stark raving mad." He hesitated. "Besides, objectively speaking, there's always going to be someone having the best day of their lives the same day someone else is having the worst day of theirs. It's too big a world not to happen every day," Severus remarked in a more normal, Snape-like tone. Hermione elbowed him half-heartedly.

"Still, Seamus…"

"Will hopefully recover with the help of Li when you go back and contact the blasted man, will grieve his family, and will move on and find things in life he loves better for not having seen with the right kind of eyes before," Severus finished. "As horribly cliché as it is, time does dull and fade past wounds, though I would never venture to say that it fully heals anything."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right. I _hope _you're right."

"I'm always right," Severus said with a twist of superiority designed half to regain some of his abandoned dignity, and half to amuse Hermione. He wasn't very successful with the first, but the latter at least worked. Hermione giggled, a watery sort of laugh, and relaxed a little more into his arms. They were nestled in Hermione's bed at Hogwarts, having rather hastily departed—separately of course—and made their way there. After the rollercoaster of an evening, neither party had felt particularly inclined to go out for any sort of dinner. Hermione quietly thanked Minerva in her mind once more for allowing Severus access back to Hogwarts. Severus seemed more at ease in the school he'd dwelt in for two decades than any other setting, really, unless you could count any Potions lab.

"Gods above," he groaned as he realized something. "I'll never live it down!"

"What?"

"I professed love for you…the day after Valentine's." The real horror and disgust in Severus' voice did the trick—Hermione burst into genuine laughter which turned into full on hysteria as she couldn't stop laughing.

"Merlin…you…you really hate the day, don't you," she choked out finally, getting a hold of herself and craning her neck behind her to look at Severus' fine sneer.

"It's a day catering to teenagers, copious amounts of indecent behavior, and money-making," he said disdainfully.

"Well rest assured that at least you told me you loved me the day _after _Valentine's," Hermione said comfortingly, a teasing glint in her eye. She was rewarded by a dark glare, but since Severus made no effort to remove her from leaning partially on top of him, Hermione took no regard of it.

"While you're at it, do you have any more drastic news for me?" Severus grumbled, but Hermione sobered and sat up, turning around fully to face him. He sat propped up by the headboards, slouched in a manner completely unbefitting the forbidding professor he had been to her as a child, and his black hair was in a disarray and _not _hanging in his eyes. He took her breath away, and Hermione had to pause a moment to regain her scattered thoughts before she continued. Severus smirked a little as he caught her momentary lapse of concentration.

"Well…you see…"

Severus groaned openly. "Out with it, woman," he ordered imperiously.

"I told you that I'd been training as…as an assassin," Hermione reminded him tentatively. "I sort of left out that the Order's assigned me a partner."

"What? Who?" Severus' brows snapped together ominously. "Why did you neglect to mention this?"

"Because you were so angry already at the first part," Hermione sniped without any real heat. "And…er…it's you. That is, you're my partner."

There was a long silence. Then Severus carefully straightened up into a stricter posture and said with great dignity, "Next time, my _dear, _I would really prefer it if you told me important things when you first find out, instead of much later."

Hermione winced. "I'm sorry, Severus," she said repentantly. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was being…"

"Being Albus?"

Hermione cringed. "I guess." She squirmed under Severus' gaze, steady and penetrating. "I truly am sorry. I was a class A idiot and you didn't deserve being kept in the dark." She stopped, and forged on, determined to make it right even by embarrassing herself. "It's silly, but my main reason was because I wanted to…I don't know, be trained and ready and be able to impress you. Because you're so much better than me at so many things." Hermione shrugged, a little self-conscious and aware that her petty jealousy of Severus' extraordinary skills and intelligence was unattractive.

Severus continued to search her with his dark eyes, but finally after what felt like eternity, he reached out and pulled her back against his body in the comfortable position they'd been in earlier. "Don't do it again," he said simply.

**A.N. Once again, your author apologizes for her unnatural absence. She is currently struggling through copious amounts of stress and work that comes with college, especially the latter years of college. She has also been brutally violated by the Big Bad Writer's Block, and is still only starting to learn how to live like a normal writer again. Please forward any complaints of quality or content in this chapter to: Big Bad Writer's Block, PO Box 666, 666 Hellish Drive, Life. Thank you for your loyalty and attention, readers!**


	87. Chapter 87

**Disclaimer: I do not own a single blessed thing. Except in my dreams. Even then, in my nightmares they come and cart me off to prison for going against the will of The Real Author.**

In mid-February, Severus met with Hermione again and this time it was all business. He was the first to confirm that the unknown duo who had ruthlessly wiped out the entire Finnigan family but for Seamus had been none other than Viktor Krum and Evangeline Cain. The Dark Lord had been both punished them for their disobedience and rewarded them for their initiative and success. To prove the point that bad news came in threes, Severus also had two other pieces of knowledge that did not bode well for them at all. First, that the ritual for stealing life force was practically perfected—and that Damascus Malfoy had already conducted one such as a test, volunteering himself. There was now a blank-faced, unnamed girl with a distinctly foreign cast to her features that resided in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and the Dark Lord appeared to be elated.

"_Though why he would be, when Damascus is clearly rising as a threat to his power and is even more so with the life force of another at his fingertips, escapes me," _Severus remarked ironically but with real worry. Up till now, they had thought they would be dealing with one dark lord, but two of them—especially teamed up—was…not a pleasant thought.

And the last thing Severus imparted at their meeting, this one at Prince Manor with Hermione reprising Milena, was that the Finnigans' brutal deaths had had such an effect on the Wizarding populace that the Dark Lord had relented and allowed a small cadre on a rotation to target specific people for "eradication." _In other words, the time of relative uneasy ceasefire is over and we need to step up our vigilance and protection. _

Hermione and Severus did not speak of the last time they'd met. It was by unspoken agreement that there was a mutual understanding, a kind of hope, between them that would remain tucked away in a small corner for safekeeping until after Beltane. And after Beltane…well, another matter. But for now, both of them had duties and it was enough that they had said everything that was needed to be said. _If not for this bloody war…_but there was the war, and it had overshadowed almost her entire life in this curious archaic world she'd entered as an eleven year old, so Hermione dismissed that thought almost as soon as it had formed in her mind. Curiously enough, though she'd known that Severus most likely loved her—had convinced herself because there was no other option, not with the frightening depths of her own love for him—she'd obsessed over Severus on many levels before he'd told her he loved her. Once he had said "I love you" to her, it was as if her logical self had regained control with a breath of relief, and steered her back into a course of reason. _Duty comes first, _they'd asserted from the very first, she and Severus—before their relationship had even begun, really. _Only we haven't really been thinking about duty at all. Not when it was inconvenient. We didn't cock things up horribly, thank Merlin, but we weren't focused on our obligation to the war. We thought we were, but we weren't. _

Hermione welcomed back cold logic, though her heart rebelled more than once. The knowledge that Viktor, the same boy who had diffidently asked her if she wouldn't mind dealing with his pesky fame for a night to go to the Yule Ball with him—the same boy whom she had caught practicing (to no avail) pronouncing her name while waiting for her in the library—the same boy whose letters had expressed a secret yearning to live completely isolated and incognito in the middle of nowhere, who had assured her that "Mudblood" was just another name to be ignored—Viktor had killed Seamus' family. Had murdered them in cold blood. Until now, she'd been able to not think about the fact that Viktor was a Death Eater. Now, she could not, and it cost her many a sleepless night. Furthermore, with the advent of the Dark Lord's approval for restarting attacks on political opponents, Muggleborns, and Blood Traitors, there were more missives born by solemn Ministry owls, and Seamus Finnigan was not the only orphan by the beginning of March. Severus did not have to tell Hermione that Viktor had been involved with at least some of the escalating attacks. A little unHoused first year, whose father had been a newly rising brilliant politician, did not show up to breakfast one morning. Minerva only said that her next closest relative, an aunt in Ireland, had taken her and immigrated to America. A third year whose Muggleborn mother was a strident activist for sweeping change in the dated patriarchal laws still governing Wizarding Britain, whom Hermione herself admired, managed to escape an attack with an emergency Portkey. Their house and all their possessions, however, had been destroyed. And Marietta Edgecombe also disappeared halfway through the day and did not return. Word was that she had a private tutor at home now at the expense of her aunt, who was now her only living relative. Hermione had swallowed the sneer that threatened to rise in her throat at that bit of information. _Sneaky two-faced…_but she'd suffered too. She'd been a victim too. Hermione wished she could feel more guilty about the nasty hex Edgecombe had triggered by snitching, but could not. _War is war, and we've been in a war since before I got my letter for Hogwarts and learned that magic was real. _Thus the effects of war were evident to any who cared to analyze to their heart's content.

In the first week of March, Hermione won her first—tacit—approval from Honour Rabnott. She had actually caught Honour off-guard by creating a modification of the Bubblehead charm to make it a lethal killing weapon. For while a Bubblehead charm provided fresh clean oxygen untainted by any outside atmospheres, altering part of the Latin incantation created a deadly variation, filling the air within the sphere with carbon monoxide. Additional practice rendered Hermione able to cast it silently, on a sleeping body, and before the dummy-target knew it, he had slipped from sleep into death. The look on her tutor's face made the nights spent in the Library of Dreams researching until her neck cramped and her back ached well worth the effort.

The next week, Honour abruptly told her there was nothing else she could teach her, and handed Hermione a packet of targets to eliminate. And Hermione swallowed the pesky guilt and fear that rose in her throat and kept her in the bathroom hunched over the toilet for a good several hours, and contacted Severus. It was time.

**-break-**

The Mark burned like hate, and Severus carefully set his mug of tea on the counter before he dropped it. He put down the book he'd been trying to read, having given up on getting any sleep that night. It was almost ten in the morning, as he'd expected. It was about an hour past the time that Yaxley usually got to work, and no doubt someone had finally decided to check on the usually prompt, if not early, Ministry official. They would have tried Floo-calling, only to be met with the black emptiness that meant someone's Floo had been blocked or disconnected magically. That in itself was cause for concern, since no wizard _ever _blocked or disconnected his Floo unless he was in deep trouble or moving. The Ministry would have sent Aurors to check on the situation personally, only to be confronted with an ominously unwarded house. And when they entered, on their guard, they would find Yaxley—who had lived alone in a small house inherited from his father—dead, with all magical traces of any intruder long gone cold and cause of death unknown.

And, of course, his arm oh so carefully positioned wrist up to display the shocking proof of corruption and infiltration in the Ministry, that the unsuspected and competent official had been a _Death Eater…_oh yes, this would cause no end of consternation in the Ministry. And not just the Ministry, if the fiercely burning Mark was any indication. He nodded to Mippy, who had already without speaking brought him his robes and mask.

"Be careful," Mippy squeaked in admonishment. The house elf wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of his master in the vile costuming of a Death Eater but nevertheless did not hesitate to tug at a corner of the material to straighten it out. "Good luck, Master Severus."

"Thank you, Mippy," Severus acknowledged, and left his room in a swirl of black, heading for the Apparation room. He nodded to his similarly-clad compatriots as they too stumbled into the room, but said nothing to them as they all Apparated to the Dark Lord's side with various cracks rending the air.

Since it was not a previously scheduled meeting, there was no particular order to where the masked Death Eaters stood in a large circle in the nondescript clearing the Dark Lord had chosen to call his faithful to. Severus found an empty space between two other anonymous wizards, somewhere to the far left of where the Dark Lord stood. Damascus Malfoy, the only unmasked man other than the Dark Lord himself, stood just a little behind and off to the right of their master. Severus could read no other emotion or thought but a wicked amusement in the blond man's stance. The Dark Lord, on the other hand—plenty to be read there. His master was displeased to the point of boiling fury, and was holding back from seriously cursing or injuring someone by the barest of minimums.

"My servants," the Dark Lord said when the last of them had assembled. His cold red eyes surveyed the crowd. "I was brought disturbing news this morning. One of my faithful servants was found dead this morning. _Murdered _while he slept in his bed in his ancestral home."

Shock rippled through the crowd. _Hah. _Severus observed the men and women around him with a measuring eye even as he acted his own part, catching the same shock and uncertainty in his own body language. _That's put the cat among the pigeons. Ancestral home means that the Death Eater was certainly one of the Purebloods, and no doubt had many of the wards of paranoid ancestors surrounding his home. To be murdered in his own bed would be the work of a master wizard indeed. Or witch…_

"Furthermore, he was most certainly murdered by the Order," the Dark Lord continued. "The mark of his loyalty was exposed and he was discovered first by the Ministry fools my followers have not yet neutralized. Furthermore, when one of my faithful servants in the Ministry tried to control the situation, there was a trap waiting for him at the scene! He was exposed and sent summarily to Azkaban." _One of our little traps caught a birdie, then, _Severus thought with satisfaction behind his Occlumency walls.

"When he was caught, he managed to send a message to me through another of your brethren, and thus warn me of this new danger to our ranks. The Ministry is filled with idiots, and the only other resistance capable of pulling this outrage off is the _Order of the Phoenix! _Faithful servants of darkness, the vilest offence has been done to our brothers, and done in the name of sweetness-and-light—such is the _glorious Right and Light _that the Order purport to uphold! The murders of upstanding fine Purebloods in the name of Goodness! Well my followers? Do you intend to let silence and forgetfulness be our answer? Or will we rise up and pay back the death of one of ours and the capture of another with a dozen of theirs? What say you, my faithful?"

Voldemort had been a charismatic leader in his young days, during the first rising. Now, the ghoulish spirit that he had become seemed to have recaptured a spark of what he had been, for the rousing speech most certainly stirred the emotions of the ranks. Even Severus felt his heart beat faster, though the mad light in his own black eyes was feigned. The current through the Death Eaters was running like electric, the mood, bloody. This crowd was well on its way to demanding some sort of blood-sport to satisfy their worked up emotions. And _now _the Dark Lord showed the intelligence that had nearly won him the first war.

"We will take them soon, the blood traitors and the murderers," he proclaimed. "We will attack both the fools at the Ministry and the headquarters of the Order, and we will _crush _them and rule the world! My wand hand, Damascus Malfoy, has divined the best time to attack. We will be a ruthless force, unstoppable. But I cannot do this without you. I need you, heart and soul, and yes, all the best of you down to your children and grandchildren. Will you pledge that which is dearest to you in a cause that is greater than your individual selves and families, even greater than me, your leader? A cause that will be immortal in the face of many deaths to bring it about? Well, my faithful followers?"

The roar he got in his answer was enough to sweep Severus off his feet just by its volume—and sicken him to his stomach.

**-break-**

Luna gasped, her body jerking, and she flung herself away from the hands that were clutching at her shoulders. The roar of bloodthirsty men and women still resounded in her ears, drowning out all sounds and the vision of green grass turning to a churned red as a horde of masked men brought death and slaughter to the grounds of Hogwarts danced before her eyes. It took her a moment to realize that the noise she heard was the babble of girlish voices, concerned and calling her name.

"Luna! Luna, are you okay?"

"Someone get Madame Pomfrey, quick! Luna!"

"I don't know what happened—one minute she was here, the next she was just staring into space…"

"Everyone get back. Give her some air. Luna, dear. It's not real, whatever it is. Come on, snap out of it."

The last voice finally penetrated through the bloody fog that swamped Luna's senses, and she blinked, coming back to herself. She was in the Room of Requirement. She was in a corner of the room, and the girls she had been teaching women's magick were some distance away. It was Padma Patil who was talking to her, with a calming voice. She was three feet away, conspicuously unarmed and seated on the floor so as to be no higher than Luna herself, huddled on the ground as she was. Luna swallowed, feeling the dryness in her throat. "Padma?"

"Oh, good, you're back," Padma said, sounding relieved. "Luna dear, do you think you could take down your protections? You're in no danger here."

Take down…Luna got a closer look and realized why Padma was very carefully not moving. She was surrounded on all sides with a thick ring of briars. The same wall surrounded Luna like a protective barrier, a tangle of branches with thorns three inches long and wickedly sharp bristling from it.

"Oh." Luna furrowed her brow, dug deep into herself and felt the way the lines of glowing magic had fed into herself and in her instinctive fear created a wall of briars to protect her. _Please? _She asked the magick, and a moment later the briars began to shrink back into the floor, disappearing rapidly. Padma sighed with obvious thankfulness as the last of the brambles retracted themselves from her vicinity and released her from their dangerous prison. "I'm sorry—"

"No worries. I wasn't even scratched—you must have known even when you were deep in your vision that I wasn't an enemy. Otherwise I'd have been dead meat." She smiled to take away the sting of the truth. "The other girls made it out of the room and I told them to go get Madame Pomfrey. It _was _a vision that had you, wasn't it?"

Luna nodded. Padma pursed her lips. "My grandmother was something of a seer in India," she confided. "She told true fortunes. Parvati never met her because she went to visit our cousins in America when I went to visit our relatives in India. That was five years ago, when Mum decided we both needed to grow as separate people and sent us to different places. She said she'd only had one true vision that had seized her with that power, when she was a young woman. It was when she knew she would marry twice, the first for her family and the second for love."

Luna began to relax and felt the power of the amulet that the White Witch had gifted her begin to seep back again. She didn't want to think about the strength of the vision, if it had been able to overpower the amulet to such a degree. If she _hadn't _had it, she might have well found herself physically in her own vision. Such a thing had occurred before in history with especially powerful seers. Cassandra had had such visions several times.

As Padma's soothing chatter grounded the other girl and brought her back to reality, she walled off the gruesome vision she'd seen into another place in her head, a place that was far away from her conscious mind. She might pay for it in nightmares, but it would not haunt her waking hours, at least. And she allowed Madame Pomfrey to fuss over her and give her a Calming draught when she arrived with the other girls. It was better than recalling the death that had come to her beloved school.

**-break-**

Hermione watched with narrowed eyes at the fight going on before her. It was a test of sorts. She'd recruited Honour and Remus for this, and they'd attacked the minute Harry, Ron, and Ginny walked into her quarters. They'd been coming her for what they thought was a simple discussion on what they'd been learning so far—instead, they had been attacked by black-clad, masked figures who seemed intent on killing them. Hermione herself was not in visible sight, but her quarters looked trashed, as though there had already been a struggle.

_They're a good team, _she thought not for the first time as she observed how Ron and Ginny worked in perfect tandem to shield Harry as they edged towards a more defensible position than the middle of the room where they could be attacked on all sides. One of the attackers got in a lucky hit then, and Ginny screamed in pain as fire ate its way up her wand arm. Hermione watched impassively. Madame Pomfrey was already prepared, and it was not a fatal wound. There would be worse injuries on a real battlefield. To Ron's credit, his hesitation was only brief. _I hammered his own strategies into his head enough for them to become close to instinct, at least. _He continued to inch Harry towards the wall for a better position instead of lunging for his sister. Harry, on the other hand—Hermione sighed. _He still doesn't _react _the way he needs to. _He'd faltered, began to move towards Ginny and his attention had been taken off his opponents. If Ron hadn't been on top of it, he'd have gone down then.

But it was only a few moments of distraction that was all their opponents needed to exploit the weakness they'd found.

The next that the three knew, they were waking up again. Madame Pomfrey was already fussing with Ginny's arm. "What—"

"Well, you failed," Hermione said, striding into the light where they could see her.

Understanding dawned in their eyes. "A test, then?" Ron asked unnecessarily.

"One that pinpointed all your weak spots," she informed them. "Ron, you did the best of the lot but you still got distracted by Ginny. Ginny, you forgot that spells can come from the _opposite _side of Harry that you're defending. Ron can't get everything. And Harry—you let yourself be distracted by Ginny. Ron can't defend you and himself if you aren't defending yourself too."

Pale faces, but no protests. Hermione felt something within her relax a little with relief. _Good. They don't hate me for doing this to them. They understand the need for it. _In fact—

"More practice," Ginny stated flatly. "Hermione, show us."

**-break-**

"More practice," Natalie decreed. She was smiling with every bit of cheer that never seemed to leave the OPFP, but there was nothing but steel in her bright eyes. Daniel Granger approved heartily of the hard, unbending will he found in the girl who was young enough to be his daughter, if he and Jane had begun earlier. Behind the façade of bubbly young woman was someone not unlike the force of nature his wife and, now, his daughter were. Not that he had doubted that young Natalie Wood would be incompetent, but she could very well have been an inexperienced greenie sent on a cushy job far away from the conflict.

Well, inexperienced she might be but ignorant she certainly wasn't. Whatever training the Order put their protection force personnel through, it had made certain that their members were well-prepared and well-honed for any sort of trouble. Daniel thought of the snippets of information Hermione's letters had offered—not to mention Draco's—and was not surprised.

"We're so close to being ready," Conley groaned, flopping to the ground. In the aftermath of their latest 'test', all of the safe house members were exhausted.

"So close isn't close enough," snapped Bethany. Bethany Sullivan now—she'd taken up Jasper's name with eagerness. Jane had confided in Daniel a few of the atrocities Bethany's family had, if not fully participated in, then at least skirted around. Daniel had been horrified, and a little more understanding of the continued argument between the young couple about Jasper's participation in the coming battle. Only a _little _more understanding, mind. It was Bethany's continued insistence that Jasper ought not to fight that was contributing the most of what kept their group from being close but not _ready. _

Jasper, looking doubly weary from dealing with his wife's antagonism and the just-finished exercise, opened his mouth but Jane, bless her, hurriedly interrupted before another argument could begin. "We're all tired and temperish," she said reasonably. "Why don't we all cool off, and just relax tonight instead of talking strategy? We've been consumed with nothing but the battle for the past few weeks, and I think we need a night off."

Temperance Burbage nodded. "I used to tell my sister the same thing. She would get particularly wrapped up in writing her book, and forget that she needed a life outside of teaching and writing." _Well! That's the fourth time this week she's mentioned her sister without looking like she was going to break down in tears. Time really does heal, _Daniel mused, exchanging a little glance with his wife.

"Same with the Wood clan about Quidditch," Natalie contributed cheerfully. "Get them started on it and they'd never stop. It took my mum an age to get my dad to take her out for a night dancing and not discussing the sport! It's a capital idea, Jane."

"So is dancing," Emmeline put in unexpectedly. "I haven't been out dancing in years." She grimaced. Of all of them, Emmeline had been in hiding the longest. "Why shouldn't we have our own party tonight?"

"Natalie could nip out for some special drinks," Jane said, eyes lighting up. "Daniel was a fair hand at mixing the alcohol in his day." She winked at him. Daniel grinned back, noticing that there was a plotting sort of look in his beloved's eye. Her next words proved him right. "It's Bethany's and my turn at making dinner, but we can surely whip something up special for tonight. Use some of that brilliant magic some of you folk wield and change our clothes for a night—rather like Cinderella—and we can have a fancy night to remember. Bethany, I have some ideas for how to dress you, you have such a lovely figure! And since my daughter's rather out of my reach right now, you're the closest thing I can experiment on."

_A little marriage-fixing in mind, my love? _Daniel caught his Jane's eye for a split second and she flashed him the barest hint of a smirk. _You little minx. By the end of tonight, if Jasper and Bethany aren't closer than they were before the wedding, I'll eat my boots. _

He felt his heart lighten a little for a brief space of time as they all scattered to shower and plan for the night, for once forgetting that such things as death and war and bad people existed in the world. But in the back of his mind, a shadow remained that only materialized more and more as he observed his wife fussing over Bethany. _Hermione, my little girl, are you getting your share of fun, in the midst of war as you are? Is there anyone out there at Hogwarts making sure you and the mysterious man you're surely in love with are getting along fine, that he's treating you right? Are you getting enough sleep, enough time to just be a young girl? _Daniel didn't want to accept the answer that was almost certainly the correct one—that his baby girl _wasn't _getting any of the above. She had always passed for so much more competent and able than her age, fooling all but her own parents—including herself—that she could carry far more responsibilities than she could or should. Draco's latest letter had mentioned that he rarely saw her now, and when he did she was always dealing with ten different tasks at once. Of course, Draco had his own set of burdens that Daniel thought was ridiculous to give to such a young man, even shared with the delightfully capable Skye. But he had his wife, and Daniel knew intimately the value of such a person who constantly supported and occasionally smacked him for being stupid. Was this man Hermione loved doing the same for her? He didn't know, and could only hope with all his heart that in the absence of father and mother, his daughter was being taken care of.

**A.N.: I am SO sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out. Between last chapter and this, I've written multiple end of the term essays, taken several major exams, flown halfway around the world, and hosted a friend and guest for two weeks. I've also realized just how out of touch I am with my own story—you, my readers, probably know more about the story than I do at this point. Therefore I am rereading my own story, which is no small feat since I've written far more than I ever expected to. I'm continuing writing while I do it, but if I remembered something wrong and something in a new chapter disagrees with something I wrote in the past, please accept this humble author's plea for forgiveness—some of this story I haven't read since I **_**wrote **_**it, perhaps a year or more ago. And please, please, tell me so I can hopefully fix it. **

**Also, now is the time—in the next couple of months—to tell me what side plots or such you would like to see resolved by the end of the story. I, as a very novice author in the beginning of this endeavor, did not **_**plan, **_**and thus I inserted more side plots and devices than I remember or can, probably, wrap up satisfactorily. So if there's something, maybe early on in the story that I began and never finished, please tell me now so I can try and work that into my plan for the last stretch of the story. **

**Thank you for your patience, dear readers. **


	88. Chapter 88

**Disclaimer: Need I say it?**

Draco observed the large room of practicing students, for once not engaged in his own duel—he and Skye had just finished their joint fight against Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. They'd won, but only by a little. Draco never wanted to invoke the ire of either witch. Both of them were viciously creative with their wand. None of the other groups of practicing students were done yet, so they were free for just a bit to watch. He liked what he saw. Everywhere he looked, people fought grimly, giving and taking no quarter and using every advantage they could get. They fought dirty, and their reflexes were honed to battle-edge. Recalling memories of Death Eaters, Draco was struck by the thought that they were just about _ready. _Students, children, all of them—including himself—but they were fighting with the same skills and determination of adults. In fact, only their size gave away their youth. Furthermore, there was even more evidence of maturity than mere skill and reflex. In each direction Draco looked, his Slytherins fought beside the rest of the DA, without a second thought or a distrustful glance. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs partnered the Slytherins without even a hint of distaste. He watched Pansy cover Colin Creevey at an unexpected volley from their opponents, and Hannah Abbott yank Millicent out of the way of a stray hex. That, more than anything, told Draco how opinions had truly shifted this year.

"They're working together like true partners," murmured someone next to him. Draco turned to meet Potter's green gaze. "House doesn't matter to them anymore. Look."

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement of Potter's similar thoughts. "Threat of death tends to have a unifying influence," he noted wryly.

Potter laughed quietly. "That is true," he agreed. Silence fell over the two. Draco was struck by how ridiculous this scenario would have been to him scarcely a year or two ago. If anyone had told him he would be in some sort of truce with Potter, standing and watching Gryffindors and Slytherins back each other, he would have died laughing—right after he hexed that person silly.

"They're almost ready," he said, watching a Ravenclaw—Su Li, was it?—coolly take out MacMillan with an impressive bit of wandwork.

"They won't last one-on-one with a real Death Eater still. We're just too young and too small," Potter said dubiously.

"That's why you're having them work in partner-pairs or groups of three now," Draco retorted. "They're not stupid. They know just as well as you that its death to face off a Death Eater just by themselves. They'll stick together. Two or three can take down any Death Eater. Even Bellatrix Lestrange can't defend against several well-trained duelers. There's strength in numbers."

Potter was still looking particularly grim. "Do I have the right to ask them to risk their lives like this, though? This isn't truly their fight, they ought to be worried over who to ask to the next ball, not about how to fight for their lives…"

"The hell it isn't their fight—_our _fight," Draco retorted. He noticed Weasley—the female one—listening, with a hard glint in her eye that seemed to agree with his sentiments. "It's their fight as much as it is yours, Potter," he continued remorselessly. "It became their fight when the Dar—when _Voldemort _chose to attack their families, their friends, and their school. It became the fight of most of my Slytherins when their families had to choose to either serve the evil bastard or be killed. It became their fight when Death Eaters chose to wage a war of terror on the Wizarding World. You're not the only one who's got a score to settle with the fucking monster, Potter. At least a third of the people in this room right now have lost one or more family members to Death Eaters, either in the first war two decades ago, or this one. You can't tell me that Finnegan doesn't deserve to fight the bastards who killed his entire family, or that Bones is too young to avenge the torture and death of her uncle in the first war. Or any of the Weasleys, for the deaths of their uncles on their mother's side, or Longbottom for his parents, any of the Slytherins for their estranged relationships with their families. Voldemort's going to be attacking _our _school, and after having attacked everything else important in our lives, no one here is going to let him get away with attacking our last anchor of sanity in the world." Draco suddenly noticed that the entire room was silent and still, listening to him. With complete, grim agreement on their faces. Embarassed, he shrugged. "That's how I see it anyway, Potter."

"And he's right too, Harry." Finnegan, mouth in a harsh line, spoke up. "We're not real children anymore. We haven't been since the war really started up again. At the very latest, at least since Dumbledore was murdered."

Murmurs of agreement. Hannah Abbott threw in her own two knuts. "We may not have seen the real battle and death that you have, Harry, but we're no strangers to it either. In one way or another, its been dogging us like a Grim since we got to Hogwarts or before. We were tossed into this vile situation by Voldemort and his Death Eaters and his crazy obsession with taking over the world, and its time we make them rue the day they forced this conflict on us."

Weasley—the male one, this time. "We may not have begun this war, but by Merlin we'll end it for them!" There were cries of assent and support, and Potter looked suspiciously bright-eyed.

"Thank you," he managed finally, looking around the room seriously. "_This _is why we'll win. Because we have people like you guys, willing to fight for something you love. For Hogwarts. For a chance at being able to dictate your own life, make your own options, without being forced into something or judged by something you can't control. They, Voldemort and his followers, think that the world should be a certain way. We may or may not agree with their ideas but they've decided that they get to tell everyone else what to believe. That's what we're fighting to fix—not for me, or for Dumbledore, or anyone else. We're fighting for our own futures, and the right to _choose _what to be and think. But Voldemort did something stupid. He made enemies of all of us here. And because he did, because you've all chosen for one reason or another to risk your lives to make the future better for everyone else, he ensured his own defeat—whether it happens in the battle we're training by my wand, or by someone else's another twenty years later. Because we're fighting for an idea that will never die, and its in the hearts of all of you, and if we all survive or only a couple of us live, it will be enough to spread the hope of what we're fighting for to more people, and ideas are the only truly immortal thing there is. And if I die—well, I couldn't ask for better people to fight beside and to carry the ideas we have on than you guys."

Not the most organized or clever of speeches. Draco had heard more persuasive, intelligently-worded speeches. But the feeling behind it was _genuine, _every word of it, and somehow even he found himself cheering alongside the entire DA, caught up in the fire of the cause.

As they dispersed back to their Houses minutes later, practice ended, Skye caught hold of his hand. "I'm so proud of you, Draco," she whispered in his ear.

"All I did was point Potter the right direction and stop him from being horribly self-piteous," he protested.

"All you did was remind him—and all of us—exactly why each one of us has the right to be here, training and fighting despite our age," Skye retorted. "And even just a year ago, you wouldn't have even done that for Potter."

"Well a year ago we weren't married," Draco replied, tightening his hold on Skye's gloriously solid hand. "You're the reason I'm any different, you know."

"I only helped the process along. You did the heavy lifting of changing," Skye said. Then she smiled. Wickedly. "Would you like to see just what kind of reward that speech in there to Potter might earn?" she murmured, right against his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. They had somehow made their way back to their rooms now, and Draco hurriedly spoke the password that allowed them inside to blessed privacy.

"You bet I would," he growled, fisting his hands in her dark hair and pulling it out of the sweaty knot she'd put it into. "Why don't you show me?"

**-break-**

Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly, and let them close for just a moment. Everyone else was in bed, and only the crackling of the fire interrupted his train of thought. Before him lay the nearly-finalized plans for the final battle—or rather, battles, both the one that would take place here and at the Ministry. There was a list of names on another sheet, names of Death Eaters that were in one way or another vulnerable. Tomorrow he would bring it to McGonagall and she would bring it to…whoever it was in the Order who handled such things. Ron added another hand to his temples, involuntarily grimacing at that. _Assassination…murder…_he thought uneasily. _Does it make us the same as _them? _It certainly is the most logical step to take to level the playing field, but…_it tasted sour on his tongue, the idea of killing someone, even a bloody Death Eater, in cold blood while he slept or went about his day.

It was so much simpler in chess. There were _rules _for each type of piece. Knights moved in L-shapes. Pawns couldn't move backwards. No matter how bloody or ruthless a game you played, how many pieces you sacrificed to capture the king, you couldn't cheat. In real life though, everything was different. Since he'd been invited to the strategy team of the Order, he'd been realizing that. Spies, saboteurs and sleeper agents, bad enough when you were taking a second and third look at those on your side in case you harbored a traitor like Snape. Making use of those on the other team added yet another shade of grey to the matter, when you had to make sure that you promised more than the other side to claim the ultimate loyalty. You couldn't ever be sure either that your double agent wasn't actually a triple agent. Add into the bloody mix the sickening knowledge that the Order of the Phoenix, the purported good side, employed _assassins _to take out the other side, and Ron was well on his way to more than the migraine he was suffering right now. _Things were so much easier when I was just Harry's best friend and sidekick, _he thought wistfully.

Then again, being oblivious to the truth didn't make the facts any less true. The light side was, apparently, not loath to use assassins and various dirty tactics to boost their chances at winning, and Ron himself had spent hours of sleepless nights debating with himself the logic and the ethics of the thing and come to the unsatisfactory conclusion that it was infinitely better to ensure victory in any way than to risk defeat and the destruction of the world as they knew it, if Voldemort had his way.

It didn't make the idea of murder any more palatable.

A soft sound made him jerk upright and hastily shove the papers under his Transfiguration textbook. His eyes rose to meet Ginny's. She was dressed in her old dressing-gown, hair tousled. "Ginny?"

"Hey Ron," she greeted softly, padding over to seat herself comfortably next to him. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Could ask you the same thing, little sis," he shot back, but answered her anyway. "Just…going over things. For people. Couldn't sleep anyway."

Ginny nodded, apparently interpreting his vague reply correctly. "I couldn't sleep either," she said.

Silence fell over the two youngest Weasleys. Ron absently wondered what the rest of his siblings and his parents were doing right now. Well—all of them were probably asleep.

"I miss Mum," Ginny said suddenly. Ron half-turned his head to look at his sister. She looked younger than she'd looked for a long time. He'd gotten used to the fierce general Ginny. It took him aback to remember that she was only sixteen.

"I miss them too," Ron agreed, with the big brother's intuition that rarely ever occurred to him that Ginny meant more than what she had said. In this case—_I miss Mum _meant _I miss when we were young and Mum could do anything and everything and always made things right. _It had been a long time since Ginny or Ron had believed that myth. Since their respective first years, in fact.

"She doesn't want you to fight still," Ron commented.

"I can't not fight," Ginny said passionately.

"I know." Ron paused. "Its just...I'm not sure, if someone had told me what was going to happen in the next seven years, if I'd have joined Harry in that train compartment, my first year at Hogwarts."

Ginny seemed to understand what Ron couldn't actually put into words. "Do you regret it now?"

"No," Ron said immediately. "No, I don't regret being Harry's friend. But I wish…that…" he struggled to find a way to say it. "I didn't ever expect that I'd be smack in the middle of a war and planning to stay next to the most dangerous element, you know? Or that you'd be doing the same. And the rest of our family being in it too, and me _planning _where they ought to be…" he shuddered.

Ginny pursed her lips. "But Ron, most of that wasn't because of your friendship with Harry," she pointed out. "Mum and Dad were already in the Order during the first war, and it would stand to reason that any of their children old enough to fight would join the Order when the second war started. _I'm _staying next to Harry because I love him, and that has nothing to do with your friendship with him—well maybe a little, since it gave me a solid reason to get to know him as someone other than one of his crazed fans." She half-grinned. "You have a head for strategy that's entirely apart from being Harry's friend, which puts you in the position to analyze our strengths and put the Order members and the DA, family included, in the best place to do some good in any battle. In fact, the only thing that your friendship with Harry's caused really is the fact that you insist on being next to Harry at all times, like me."

Ron sighed. "We're a pair of fools, aren't we?"

"Harry's worth it," Ginny said with sure confidence. Thinking about his best mate, Ron agreed although he didn't want to think about the way Ginny meant it. Ginny was his little sister, after all, and some things were just too much for him to handle. They sat in companionable silence after that, Ginny leaning her head on her brother's shoulder in a rare moment of sibling affection.

**-break-**

"I don't know how you do it," Tonks groaned, falling onto the sofa of the tiny apartment that Remus currently inhabited. The chair groaned dangerously, and Tonks hurriedly shifted her weight to the middle. Like everything else in the room, it was falling apart from age and too much use, and even _Reparo _and other household charms wouldn't hold it together properly. This particular sofa would only hold weight if it were distributed equidistant from the two creaking legs.

"Which class was it this time?" Remus asked, coming out of the tiny kitchen with two mugs of what Tonks hoped was tea hot enough to burn her lips, tongue, and throat. He handed it to her. It was. Thankfully, she gulped down the steaming liquid.

"Fourth year Slytherin-Gryffindor class. The little punks couldn't concentrate today. Kept talking to each other and laughing."

"What did you do?"

Tonks smirked. "Gave them all a pop quiz."

Remus chuckled. "You're evil, woman."

Tonks waggled her eyebrows at Remus suggestively. "You want to see just how evil I can be?"

Remus' answer was very, very affirmative.

Later, crammed next to each other in the tiny bed that Remus swore was sturdy enough, though small, Tonks returned to the subject they'd been distracted from. "I really don't know how you managed."

"Hmm?" It took a moment for Remus to catch on to what she was talking about. "Dora, you're doing just fine."

"How could you do it? Spend all your time teaching little children how to tell the difference between a malevolent ghost and a helpful one, or how to defeat a Boggart, when there's a war going on outside there?"

Remus brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Dora, you're teaching an important subject to children who are _going _to be inheriting, if not the war then the effects of it. Some of them are already in the heart of it, like Harry, like anyone involved in the DA. You're providing them with an education that will help them retain some ounce of normalcy in their lives where everything else is going crazy, _and _you're teaching them something that may help save their lives in the future."

"I know," Tonks sighed. "I know. I've told myself that many times. But…" she paused, searching for the right words. "Remus, I'm chafing. I'm dealing with children and hormonal teens and all I can think about the entire day is that I should be _out there, _fighting, doing something I'm fairly good at, to bring that monster and the filth he's collected down."

Remus kissed her, a chaste enough pressing of his lips on hers. "Dear heart, I think that what you're doing _now _is important. You're doing something I'm grateful for, in my place. And it'll only be a few months one way or another. After that, you'll go back to being a brilliant Auror, Moody's favorite protégé."

"And _you'll _go back to teaching the brats," Tonks sighed, adjusting her position and finally feeling sleepy.

As she drifted off to sleep, Remus stared broodingly off into the darkness. _If we survive, _he thought.

**A.N.: Okay, okay, I know. This chapter's short and doesn't include Hermione or Severus. Next chapter, I promise. Also, I've just started my summer job and haven't had time to nip over to the café I go to for free internet, thus the slight delay in this chapter. Thanks to everyone who has remained faithful even with my long disappearing acts and bipolar author notes!**


	89. Chapter 89

**Disclaimer: I hate Bach. I also hate the fact that I do not own HP & Co.**

**Warnings: Fluff. **

March did not live up to its reputation of madness in any particularly outstanding fashion for the majority of Wizarding Britain. _That fact in itself is rather a kind of madness, _Severus snorted to himself. _When a terrorist attack and two assassinations doesn't mark anything out of the norm anymore. _The terrorist attack referring to the Dark Lord's attack on another family, the assassinations referring to the two Death Eaters he and Hermione had successfully targeted and eliminated.

_Eliminated. Such a…scientific term for death. _Death was the hostile wand turned against you unexpectedly. Death was the rigidity a body gained in the hours after the temperature cooled the skin of a corpse. Death was the sleep that never released its victims. It was the noise of screaming parents and children murdered for their blood, and the silence of wordless charm filling a man's lungs with poisoned air.

_I don't like it either, but a dirty war like this always involves dirty jobs, _Hermione had said grimly after the second…job. There were new lines on her face, old wisdom in her steady gaze. And she had been the one to perform the charm, both times, while he guarded her back. She hadn't even asked him, as if one look at him had revealed how tenuous a line Severus was walking between his duty and his soul. _I find it hard to believe, _sneered the inner Tobias Snape that had been showing up of late. _I find it very hard to believe that a murderer like you—a freak who's murdered in cold blood multiple times before, and created dozens of potions to torture, maim, and kill hundreds more beyond your immediate reach, I find it hard to believe that you can't stomach a simple painless killing like this. _

But every time he even thought about reaching for his wand, lifting it to intentionally kill another defenseless person, whether they were guilty or innocent, there was Albus' face superimposed over them—tired, pained, accepting, in the last moments of his life. The nightmares were worsening and twice, he had reacted badly to the presence of someone trying to wake him up. If Mippy hadn't had some good instincts and strong house elf magic of his own, he'd have been severely hurt. _I'm set to a hair-trigger reaction. I nearly raised my wand to Bella yesterday for just walking into the library while I had my eyes closed for a moment. _He, who had always been fully in control of his actions, reactions, even _thoughts, _was slowly starting to lose grip. _It's been so long. So long looking back over my shoulder, walking in the shadows, memorizing everything in case it was a clue, putting down layers and layers of false trails, misinformation, misdirection…I am so _tired.

His Occlumency walls were thinning.

It had only happened once before. The night of Lily's murder, his shields, walls, _everything _that he had built into a steel fortress to guard his mind had dissolved like morning mist, leaving him not just entirely open to be read by anyone with rudimentary skills at Legilimency, but also a wreck. The memories and thoughts and layers of lies that he wove had been as jumbled as the contents of the Room of Hidden Things. Lily's death had somehow unraveled his Occlumency walls. But that had happened like a sudden storming of the walls. This…this was more like a long, wearying siege in which stone by stone, his defenses were being pulled down. Slowly.

Rubbing his face, Severus flicked his wand to check the time. It was 4:00 a.m., and dawn would be coming soon. Giving up on the elusive sleep, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. His feet had barely touched the floor when a pop signaled the arrival of Mippy.

The elf took one look at Severus and disappeared, reappearing a minute later with a steaming mug. _Tea. Thank Merlin and Morganna. _He gulped down most of the fresh-brewed tea before he gained enough social ability to speak. "Thank you, Mippy," he grunted.

"Master is very welcome," Mippy chirped. "Is Master needing anything else?"

"No thank you, Mippy," Severus responded. "Just breakfast, I suppose." He wasn't hungry but it wouldn't do to brew any type of potion without having first absorbed enough energy for proper focus and performance. That was the first thing he'd learned, as a young Potions apprentice. _Never brew on an empty stomach. Not even the simplest potion you could brew in your sleep. It'll catch up to you, and when it does, it won't be pretty. _

Today, however, was all he had to get through before he would see Hermione—and Hogwarts—again. He'd already spread it about that he needed to harvest nightweed, and since those grew sparsely and were invisible except in the dark, it would take several nights to harvest what he needed. What the Death Eaters and, more importantly, the Dark Lord, didn't need to know was that as a raven Severus could fly over the forest to find and gather in one night what it would have taken a week to harvest by foot.

_And that leaves me with all the more time to spend with Hermione…_at that, the painful thoughts that had kept him up after a nightmare had woken him during the night dissolved. If they did not completely depart, at least Severus could ignore them.

**-break-**

It was time. Severus apparated from his manor with haste, going to several random locations before allowing himself to transform into the raven and take to the sky. His last location was relatively close to Hogwarts and as the raven flew it would take him two, perhaps three hours to get to the school. Letting his bird instincts take over in directing his flight, Severus gave his thoughts over to what had been settling on his mind all day, distracting him. _Hermione. _

_Love is a risky business, _Severus had once heard in his youth. Perhaps it had even been uttered by Albus Dumbledore. It certainly was saccharine enough to have come from the old man. Severus intended to leave the saying with an entirely new set of different meanings by the time Beltane fell with all the heavy tone of finality as the thud of _la guillotine. _Love, for instance, was certainly a great risk to his life at the moment as he flew to meet Hermione. Each time they met, whether for business or—very rarely—for their own selfish desire, the risk of his being discovered as a traitor increased exponentially. It was all elementary Arithmancy to plot that out. Love was also most certainly a great risk to his health and sanity. It had quite wrecked him the first time around in the case of Lily. It had saved him the second time.

Love had also given him hope, dangerous hope that was the most risky business of all to Severus' mind. Hope was often unfounded, unjustified, and just as often as not unfulfilled. _And I cannot countenance the idea of failure—of anything less than the completion of all my highest hopes. _

_ Bah. Hermione has turned me soft in the head. I shall soon be sprouting love sonnets and buying flowers, if I am not careful. What a ghastly prospect. _

The sight of Hogwarts jolted him out of his preoccupation. The sun was just touching the western horizon, throwing out sparks of glory and creating a fuzzy halo of brown in a small woman's figure far down below him in the courtyard. She tipped her head far back to see him, wheeling above her. She did not wave her hands or call out to him, but somehow her eyes seem to draw him in, as much as a call to come home. He circled once more before descending, taking delight in the way the wind twisted under his wings and gently set him down on the woman's arm. She grinned, but her first action was to swish a polished wooden stick with her other hand, causing a feeling of cold breeze under his feathers. "Shall we adjourn to my quarters?" she murmured, not giving the raven a chance to voice any sort of answer as she began walking swiftly towards the huge building. They met multiple children on the short walk, all of them greeting Hermione, though none stopped to talk. It was a Friday evening, and nobody wanted to talk to a professor when they could be with friends.

Once safely inside Hermione's rooms, Severus jumped off her shoulder, his feet hitting the ground a lot faster as he silently transformed back into himself. Hermione let the Disillusion spell slip and her face truly lit up as she drank in the sight of her lover. "It's Friday, there are no deaths, disasters, or Matters of Great Importance Regarding Life or Death planned for the next forty-eight hours. Minerva knows not to disturb me unless Harry's face-to-face with the Snake Lord, and said Snake Lord thinks you're off gathering potions ingredients and isn't going to bother you for this weekend unless _he's _face-to-face with Harry. What do you propose we do with all this free time, Mister Snape?"

"Oh, I can think of several things with which to occupy our time," Severus smirked. He reached out and pulled her closer, inhaling her warm scent as his mouth descended. "I've missed you," he muttered as he allowed himself to thread his fingers through her hair.

She was the definition of warmth. It jolted through his bones, wrapped itself around the chilled marrow and…other parts. Her skin proved her own gladness at seeing him, radiating heat and pliant to his touch. If Severus had harbored any doubts that Hermione might have lost interest in him, her eager response blew them away like last year's cobwebs attacked by a Molly Weasley on a mission.

Before he could drown, Severus pulled away. "I have something for you," he murmured.

"You didn't need to—oh!" Hermione's voice cut herself off, as she stared speechless at the tiny, rounded bottle. It was made of crystal, and though Hermione didn't know it, had been stored very safely away for such a time as this, when a Potions Master finally created his magnum opus, the pride of his career. It had been a gift from the ancient man who had apprenticed him, a traditional gift from master to apprentice on the day they passed the tests necessary to become a Potions Master. Carved entirely from one solid crystal, said to have the power of concentrating and purifying any potion it held, it was the single most expensive piece of equipment he and any other Potions Master would ever possess, and rare as well. Severus had never found a potion he brewed, modified, or even invented to be worthy of the tiny bottle—until now.

The potion within _glowed. _With utmost care, he deposited it into Hermione's cupped palms, and it was as if she held a flash of liquid moonlight in her hands. "The healing potion," she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the miracle she cradled. It was not a question.

"Brewed with maiden's first blood, given out of love and freely," Severus confirmed, his own voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

"It's _beautiful, _Severus," Hermione said in awe. "Look what you've done. It's beautiful, and you made it."

But Severus was not looking at the potion, the strongest healing potion known to man, as strong as phoenix tears and infinitely more rare. He was looking at something rarer still. "No, Hermione," he said gently. "_You _made it. It is your heart that makes the potion what it is. I simply brewed it, gave it a vessel to inhabit."

Hermione looked up, and as dazzling as the starshine she held in her hands was, it paled in beauty to the tears that—just barely—glimmered in her eyes. "I have never received anything that compares, Severus," she murmured. "Thank you." She rose to her toes, and the kiss they shared was unbearably sweet. And because Severus could read the words behind the ones that she had spoken, he knew that Hermione had not meant the gift of the potion that might save lives, but something else that she counted more priceless. And the part of him that was the man he had been before Hermione disintegrated a little more as the man he was becoming _with _Hermione allowed himself to accept the love that this unbelievable woman offered.

**-break-**

It was after midnight when the lovers quietly left Hogwarts, their bond reaffirmed without words. Hermione had particularly enjoyed seeing the looser, freer Severus than she had ever truly witnessed. It was as if someone had given him permission to speak his thoughts and more, his feelings and heart. Not without some embarrassment, of course, but he had shared far more of his softer side than she had considered him emotionally capable of, and Hermione felt blessed to have been the recipient of such trust.

Of course, duty never left the premises, and reluctantly they'd redressed warmly for the cool night air. Severus, in raven form, waited impatiently for Hermione to get on her broom—borrowed from the school, of course. She had already taken the potion he'd made for her nausea, and she had finally convinced him that her beaded purse had limitless room and secure compartments for gathering plants. "Let's go," she said finally, nodding at the bird perched on the ground before her. The bird _quorked, _derisively—Hermione could almost hear Severus saying, _Took you long enough, _and launched itself into flight, exerting some energy until it could get the right wind current under his wings. She followed without hesitation, feeling only a moment's giddiness before she adjusted to being aloft.

They went high, higher than Hermione had ever been before on a broom. It was even colder up here, despite the fact that winter was over. The wind whistled sharply, and Hermione was glad that she had wrapped up warmly tonight. The raven led the way, and Hermione admired the efficient way he flew, conserving as much energy as was possible at night where there were virtually no wind currents that were formed by the warmer breezes during the day. The bird was sleek, if thinner than Hermione thought was healthy—either for raven or man. Severus needed to eat more. _Maybe I can talk to his house elf. Of course, I doubt Severus would ever forgive me if I sic Mippy on him. _She suppressed a girlish giggle at the thought of Mippy swarming Severus. The elf was incorrigible. Minny had, in the way of females the world over, vented her exasperation with her brother house-elf with only a little encouragement from Hermione. The stories she told and the times she'd met the diminutive creature seemed to paint him as an unbearably mischievous, bold little elf with a fine sense of manipulative skills. _Just the perfect house-elf for Severus, then. He certainly puts that manipulative manner to good use forcing Severus to take care of himself. _

"_Kraaa," _the raven called harshly. Hermione looked down at the spot where the bird circled, wished for the raven's eyesight. All she saw were dark treetops. No, not quite—there was a brief clearing, and Hermione thought that that would probably be where Severus had noted the blood nightweed.

She landed a little clumsier than she would have liked, with the bird's black eyes glittering in amusement at her as he gracefully perched on the ground. "Oh, hush," she grumbled, dropping the broomstick with disgust. "Not all of us have bird instincts."

The next instant, Severus was smirking at her. "Naturally," he said smoothly. "Though one would think that your unfortunate ties to your Quidditch-mad friends would afford you some skill, no matter how minute."

"It's not like you can gain grace through osmosis or by absorbing it," Hermione replied. "If you could, I'd have gotten the knack of sweeping down corridors with my robes billowing dramatically already."

Severus scowled. "Are you insinuating…_something, _Hermione?"

"And if I am?" she dared.

"I suppose I shall have to simply…give you another chance to absorb the skill of billowing adequately."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his tone, tried not to let the weakness in her knees show. "Why Severus, how generous of you," she purred. "And here I thought you never gave second chances."

He growled as he yanked her closer, traced her jaw line with a finger. "I have been known to make exceptions on occasion," he breathed, mouth against her ear. He chuckled richly at the shiver Hermione couldn't quite repress.

It was the beaded purse, digging into one hip and pressed between their bodies, that roused Hermione out of the charged moment. "Nightweed," she panted, trying not to give in to the urge of tipping her head up to give Severus better access to her neck. "Severus, we have to…"

"Damn," he muttered, and his frustration was keen as he reluctantly eased back from her. "You're right. Let's get the ruddy plants." Hermione sighed with regret as her body missed the heat, but she shook off the remnants of desire and focused on the task at hand.

"Have you ever harvested nightweed?" He asked as they armed themselves with the special curved knives of a potions harvester. "No? Watch and learn, then." Severus took three long strides to where a fallen and decaying trunk of an old tree lay. It was overgrown with moss and covered in dead leaves and other woodland detritus, but Severus had spotted what he was looking for as well hiding. He grasped it firmly by the stem and turned it so that Hermione could see what he held.

It was visible, though almost see-through, an unremarkable weedy-looking plant but for its utter colorlessness. The stem was thick and the leaves narrow and pointed. "The darker it gets, the better you see it," Severus informed Hermione as she studied it, fascinated. "In full dark, it would glow with a bright florescence. Since there is enough moonlight in this clearing, it is merely visible enough to just notice. In sunlight, it would be completely invisible. It's also called invisibility grass. Used in potions for both clear sight as well as those to obscure vision or cause temporary blindness. The sap is not poisonous unless you get it in your eyes. I suggest you do not touch your face at all without sterilizing your fingers beforehand. Be careful of the leaves as well. They're extremely sharp."

"Any particular best way to collect?" Hermione enquired.

"Strip the leaves. They're useless—use your knife and run it gently down the stem, like that." He demonstrated, and the leaves did indeed gently part from the stem. "Cut diagonally, about a centimeter from the ground. I generally like to Vanish the leaves, rather than risk stepping on them or touching one by mistake. One Potions Master some decades ago was careless with the leaves he'd stripped, and the story goes that he sat down for a rest and his apprentice had to take him to the hospital emergency room—he nearly died before they could close the wound and replace the blood he'd lost."

Hermione looked skeptical. Severus shrugged. "It is true that the leaves can cut flesh. Some chefs swear by it as the best tool for chopping mince finely."

"I'll be careful," Hermione reassured Severus.

They spent the rest of the night flying from clearing to clearing, gathering nightweed (and some other opportunistic harvesting as well—Severus was too much of a Potions Master to pass up the rarer plants he came across). They ran across no problems, thankfully—the Forbidden Forest was not always safe. By the time the sun was high enough to make it impossible to see the nightweed, both Hermione and Severus were exhausted and flying much slower than before. There were actually a few students just rising as they got back to Hogwarts, Hermione's beaded bag stuffed with plants. Not a great many—just the very few who had either been unable to sleep, or who wanted to get a jumpstart on their studying. _After my own heart, _Hermione thought fondly.

It was almost too much trouble to shower, but both of them were filthy from their night in the woods, and Hermione solved the problem of who got the shower first by simply sharing. Which might have been fun, if they hadn't been so weary that Hermione had to repeatedly poke herself—and then Severus—to stay awake long enough to wash, dry off, and change.

The last thing Hermione was aware of before sleep welcomed her was how full her bed seemed, and how odd—but right—it felt to have Severus lying next to her.

**A.N.: 'Nuff Hermione/Sev for you? **


	90. Chapter 90

**Disclaimer: I do not own a hair on any Harry Potter cast's head.**

"I see Slughorn has not changed," Severus remarked sarcastically, peering over Hermione's shoulder. It was a testament to his abilities, and Hermione's own distraction, that she very nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Or perhaps it was simply that his unique presence did not set off her instinctual warning alarm system.

Half-turning, Hermione met Severus' lips, enjoying the taste of mint toothpaste. "Mmm. Good morning. And no, Slughorn hasn't changed at all and I doubt he ever will." She motioned to the stack of sixth year Potions exams that she was grading. "At least he's eased up on the essays, both to the relief of his students and me."

Severus reached out and plucked one at random from the stack. "Ah, good man. One advantage of his natural laziness is his unwillingness to write a new exam. I recall this one."

"Do you, now?" Amused, Hermione leaned back against the solid mass of her man and set down her quill to flex her writing hand.

"I should hope so. I wrote it. Nine years ago. A professor's secret, if Minerva hasn't already shared, is recycling everything as long as it's up-to-date with the times."

"That would be why there are so many trick questions on it, then," Hermione snorted. "What are the eleven uses of dragon's blood and which ones are important to the study of potions?"

"If they don't know that there are twelve uses of dragon's blood and not eleven by halfway through their sixth year, they deserve to fail," Severus retorted with a fine sneer for anyone stupid enough to be taken in by the question he'd devised. "This is why you were not in bed when I woke?"

"I woke early, and thought that I should get the grading out of the way before you hauled yourself out of bed. Saves…time." Unspoken was the fact that it meant that no precious waking moment in which she had Severus to herself would be wasted.

"What will save time will be you having breakfast with me, and tonight after dinner you can give me half that formidable stack of parchment."

"Severus—you don't need to…"

"Let's see what the house elves can rustle up for us to eat, shall we?" He gave her no chance to argue further, and simply used his height advantage to haul her out of her chair. Laughing a little, Hermione gave up in the face of her lover's determination and followed him into the sitting/dining room.

"Minny," she called.

To her surprise, not one but two elves appeared, and just ahead of her, Severus raised one dark brow. "Visiting, Mippy?"

"Minny is sorry for Mippy," the female house elf said, giving the other elf a good glare.

"Hello, Master! Hello, Mistress Hermy!" Mippy said cheerfully without a trace of repentance. "Mippy is visiting too. This is much surprise!"

"Mippy." Severus all but growled it, and he aimed a stare at his house elf.

"Missed sister. Missed Mistress Hermy. I is—am—free for weekend, so I come to see," Mippy chortled. Hermione suppressed her own threatening gales of laughter at the mortified Minny, the irrepressible Mippy, and the dark gaze that Severus was leveling on Mippy.

"Admit it. You just wanted to pry."

"Okay," Mippy chirped without hesitation. "Wanted to see you be house elf to Mistress."

"Mippy!" Minny grabbed her brother's ear, twisted hard.

"_Yeowch!" _

"'pologize," she demanded. Mippy twisted hard in her firm grip, buggy eyes bulging even further out than normal and a grimace of pain on his features.

"Minnyyy!"

"'pologize!"

"_Owowow! _Sorry! I's sorry much!" Mippy yelped as Minny shook him hard by the ear before letting go, satisfied.

Severus surveyed the two. "Looks like I'm not the only one whipped here, am I," he taunted. Mippy pulled a face at his master. Severus nodded his respect for Minny. "Well, you've seen me, and you've seen Hermione. Now do be useful and help your sister get us some breakfast, would you?"

"Of course, straight away!" Minny exclaimed, and before Mippy could pipe in again, her arm shot out again to grasp her brother. They disappeared, leaving Hermione and Severus alone again.

Severus stared at the spot they'd been for a second, and then turned to Hermione, and the rueful look on his face was the last straw. Hermione crumpled with hilarity, laughing until her gut ached and tears leaked out. Severus shook his head once more, and waited for the woman to stop gasping. She had barely stopped shaking when Mippy and Minny appeared again, both with trays which they set on the table. Minny curtseyed, but before she could suppress Mippy, the house elf grinned and called out, "Have fun, Master!" And vanished, having set Hermione off into another gale.

Minny shook her head with exasperation and _popped _out after him. Resigned, Severus left Hermione's side—where she was convulsing silently now—to uncover the food they'd been left. Finally, breathless and lungs crying out from deprivation, Hermione managed to banish the giggles and gasp in fresh mouthfuls of air. She crawled over where Severus was staring at the food. "No doubt more of Mippy's doing," he remarked with snark. Hermione looked.

The breakfast was the epitome of a lazy morning in bed: French toast, drizzled liberally with syrup, crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, chocolate-dipped strawberries with whipped cream…the part of her that was her parents' child cringed at the cavity-inducing spread before her, even as the rebel sweet tooth within her went crazy. "Merlin," she said. "I don't think I've ever indulged so spectacularly before."

"Neither have I." Severus sighed, sat. Waved her to take a seat. "Mippy is probably getting back at me by stuffing me with unhealthy, bloating food as I've told him I usually shun."

"If you want, we can have them change it," Hermione offered, even as avarice and greed kicked in.

"No, no." Severus scowled. "Damn. Damn. That sly elf knows I won't let it leave my sight now that its here and I'm hungry."

"First time for everything," Hermione said, and dug in.

**-break-**

Somewhat to Severus' shock, they didn't make it out of Hermione's quarters until late afternoon. Both of them had collapsed into their respective food comas after Mippy's food revenge, which had then transitioned into a creative way to work off the breakfast—and relearn each other's bodies—which had then become a debate over whether it counted as real exercise, whereupon Hermione had taken it upon herself to prove that it could be a real aerobic workout. Then Minny had shown up, a grinning Mippy in tow, to serve lunch and Hermione had dared to challenge Severus to a game of trivia, leading to a competition of obscure references that had eaten up more time than either expected.

When they finally left Hermione's rooms, it was to head to the library. Madame Pince had recently ordered some new reference books for the restricted section that Hermione thought Severus would be interested in, and he went on her shoulder as a raven, Disillusioned. He held perfectly still and Hermione displayed no anxiety or hint that she bore an unusual and invisible burden as she efficiently wove through shelves and some students. Madame Pince gave her a brisk nod but continued to scold a sheepish-looking boy as she herded him out the door. "And if you think you can just disturb the sanctity of my library with your chatter and gossip, you can think again! I have the power to award detentions, and if you disrupt the quiet again it won't be a boot out the door—it will be you dusting _all _my books by hand, scrubbing the tables and chairs, hand-copying some of the older tomes that can't be magically replicated so that there are extras for loan…"

The librarian's lowered hiss faded as they moved past, and Hermione had a moment's nostalgia of the time Madame Pince had kicked _her _out, along with Harry and Ron. Oh, she had been furious at the boys for causing enough ruckus for them to get her kicked out. It had never happened again, not after she'd torn into first Ron, then Harry. _Never a dull moment around them, _she mused as she slipped into the Restricted Section where only one or two students, all seventh years, browsed.

She felt Severus' interest in the books by the way his talons shifted, just a little, on her left shoulder. Smiling, she basked in the mutual rapture of a booklover's greatest pleasure. When she finally shook the dreams from her eyes, she lost no time in pulling out the tomes she thought would best interest herself and Severus. Irma Pince wouldn't allow anyone, student or teacher, to take books out of the Restricted Section, but there was the Library of Dreams, much more private. Staggering a little under the weight of the books she'd collected, Hermione slipped around the corner and, making sure that no one else was around to witness it, bypassed the security system and entered.

As she'd expected, no one else was in the private library and a quick spell—once she'd set down the burden of the books—showed that there was no human presence, invisible or otherwise, to spy on them. A third spell set up a warning that would allow Severus enough time to hide himself should someone else choose to access the Library of Dreams. "It should be safe now," she informed the raven.

"Excellent," the man replied. He strode over to the pile of books, eyes glittering with avidity. "Ah, Hart's _Treatise on Mind-binding. _Even Lucius' collection doesn't include it—not that he'd risk having a book that can invade his mind and destroy it, as his Occlumency isn't up to such a challenge. Daughton's _Capturing the Dark Beast Within. _Vector—_Dark Arithmancy, _so she did finish the book after all."

"I didn't know Septima Vector wrote, until I saw it in the list of new books Irma had ordered," Hermione confessed.

Severus didn't take his eyes off the collection of tomes, but he nodded. "Most of the professors at Hogwarts have published at least several things—articles, treatises, books. Even Sibyll. Hogwarts doesn't have its top-notch reputation for nothing," he said absently.

"Have you published? A book, anyway. I know you've already been in several Potions journals," Hermione added.

Now, he looked up, surprised. "You've read my articles?"

"All that I could find," Hermione nodded. "You're well-respected and well-known in Potions academia. The one on significant improvements to Wolfsbane was brilliant."

Baffled, Severus shrugged. "I suppose. I had not thought of it in some time."

"You haven't written anything since then? That was in our third year!"

"I have been...preoccupied," Severus noted with a little irony. "Publishing hasn't been foremost on my mind for some time."

"Well, it'll be something to do once Beltane is over and done with," Hermione said with a little forced cheer. "No book, then?"

"No book," Severus confirmed. "Making plans for me already?"

"It's not like you're making any yourself, so you may as well follow mine," Hermione retorted. At the look in his eyes, half amused, half pitying, and a little too full of caution, Hermione shook her head emphatically. "No, Severus," she said forcefully. "No. Don't give me hippogriff dung about facing realities and the situation and living for the moment. I love you." Her voice broke on it. "I love you, you arrogant, snarky little bastard, and that means I need to hope. I need to believe that you're going to live to annoy the hell out of me, and snipe at Harry and Ron, and take me flying at night. Damn you, Severus, I need to _believe _that we have a future together past Beltane, or I won't make it _to _Beltane."

Aware that she was gripping the table too tightly, Hermione released the rest of what she wanted to say—that she needed him, that the pain was too much, that he was a cynical, pessimistic fool—and instead took a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"There's nothing to forgive, Hermione," Severus said gently, taking one of her hands in his. "I forget, too often, that I am allowed to hope. As often as I might wish that I had not tied your fate into mine, that my choices and my life would not affect yours in a way you do not deserve, I would not give it up, selfish man that I am. I plan to live, Hermione, so that I can hear you call me an arrogant bastard many times, and poke at me for antagonizing your friends on purpose. So that I can watch everyone's faces when they realize that somehow I have managed to catch the best witch that's walked Hogwarts in centuries. You began something here, Hermione. Something infinitely more than I suspect you planned, but it's too late to back out now." In a smooth movement, Severus had her in his grasp, arms possessively around her. "It's too late. I don't give up what is mine."

Her heart fluttered. "I'm not a possession," she muttered, but made no move to pull away.

"You're mine," he repeated, and kissed her.

_Merlin. _Hermione gasped, and saw the wizard she had seen a year ago who had been startled in his office and had given her bruises, pinned her to the wall before he perceived who she was. This time, Severus was very aware of who she was and the aura of a dangerous man shone out, as did the fierce light of the warrior, long denied the chance to fight openly. Had any man ever made her feel so protected? Not since she was a child, shielded by her own father, Hermione thought, and let herself thrill in it. She was not weak, and had certainly proved her ability to protect herself from both school bullies and evil wizards, but it was frighteningly good to know that the man she loved would and _could_ kill, maim, and destroy to protect her.

**-break-**

They took a walk at dusk, after their eyes had blurred with words and both nursed headaches. The falling light made the castle look like a fairytale, just like the first time Severus had laid eyes on it as an eleven-year-old. He'd hoped that it would be a good omen, for a sanctuary in his seven years.

He hadn't found it then, he mused, winging above Hermione as they made their way to the edges of the forest where they could be themselves with little fear of discovery. He hadn't found it then, not in the seven years of his schooling. But he'd found it some years later, when he'd returned to throw himself at Albus' feet. He'd found it as a young professor, grieving for the woman he'd thought he'd loved and throwing himself into his work because he wouldn't be his father and drown his sorrows in alcohol. He'd found it when his students had grown to hate him, not for his part in death and torture but for mundane things, like detentions and points lost. That they cared more for the points than the idea that they might wake up one morning to find their family dead was important. It meant that peace had come.

It would come again. With or without him, it would come, Severus thought. _And I plan to enjoy the tentative beginnings of peace again, to see the fear of death recede to fear of losing points. _Seeing Hermione, seeing the plans she'd already begun to make, seeing the blazing fierceness of the lioness, Severus had allowed himself to succumb to the hope, the blasted hope that not only would he live, but that Hermione would still want him afterwards. That they would spend a future in each other's company. Even as he thought it, believed in it, he felt his Occlumency walls strengthening, becoming and impenetrable fortress far beyond what it had been even before Hermione. It would withstand a thousand years of siege, built on new foundations—love, rather than despair as he'd used to wall up his mind after the first war.

_We will live, _he thought, and floated down to become himself and twine his hand with hers, flicking up the protective and warning spells even as he did so.

**-break-**

"Yes. Yes," Pansy whispered, eyes half-closed. Around her in a circle, the group of women she'd grown to trust glowed in her Sight. Her woman's Sight. She reached out a hand, confidently, and asked. In return, the power pulsed, beautiful and cooperative, and the cold that came was sudden and vicious, brutally so. Automatically, Ginny twisted the link and warmth washed over the girls even as the ice that Pansy had called continued to grow around them. Then it reversed, and the heat flared as Ginny took it further, and all of them smelt scorch marks and soot. Air whipped up, angry and hard, and fed the fire. Before they could burn, Millicent called the rain. It soaked them to the skin, pelting like daggers. Encouraged by the monsoon, green things sprang up. And up. And with another twist of magick, Hannah wove strangling vines and thorns into a deadly trap for anyone foolish enough to attack.

"Normal. Put it back to normal," Luna murmured, and faster than thought the linked girls joined in unspinning what they had wrought to the clearing they stood in.

When it was done, all of them dropped to the ground, exhausted and exhilarated. "We did it," exclaimed Susan.

"We really did," agreed Pansy. Her face held a light that could not be extinguished by the weariness dragging on her bones. "We're ready."

This was the first time they'd attempted battle-magics, the offensive kind that ley line power could wield. Elemental, primal, and very, very effective. With one girl directing each element of fire, water, air, and earth, the rest had supplied control and channeled the ley lines into the will of the four chosen girls. And it had worked.

"We'll need to practice," Ginny began, then laughed. "Never mind, we can think about that later. We deserve to celebrate!"

"And to thank Luna for pulling it all together, giving this to us."

Luna smiled, a little. "I knew we could do it, together," she explained. "The Nargles are very good at discerning the right kind of people."

"You were the one who did this," Ginny insisted.

"This…this sisterhood, the camaraderie, I've never had anything like it," Pansy said slowly. She exchanged glances with Millicent and with Mandy Brocklehurst. "It wasn't something you expected from life, as part of the Pureblood faction that supported, supports, the Dark—Voldemort. That you gave it to me, to us, is something I won't forget."

"Nor I," Millicent and Mandy chimed in. Millicent continued. "Mandy, Pansy, and I, we're all from those families. The most that was expected out of us was that we'd marry well, perform adequately in school, and give fabulous parties. Perhaps if we were ambitious and strong, join Voldemort's ranks more actively, like Bellatrix Lestrange did. Even when we chose to go against that, we didn't expect friendship, trust, _this, _out of it. You gave us that, Luna."

"We've had friendships before," Ginny said, referring to the rest of the girls. "But none of them come close to what we have here in this circle, Luna. You created it. You had the vision for it."

Luna blinked, felt tears spill. In all her years at Hogwarts, she had never had friends like these, who _thanked _her for her vision, for being herself. Even Harry, who had first befriended her, had never given her this. How could he, when his own heart was already given to the two standing by him, a little circle of their own? This, though, _this _was a circle she'd dreamed, taught, and forged together into…family. They were family. Overjoyed, she laughed even as she cried. "I'd rather your friendship than to see any Crumple-horned Snorkack, be he the king of them himself," she said, and meant it.

**A.N.: In case anyone (like me) has forgotten, Mandy Brocklehurst is a canon character in Ravenclaw, the same year as Hermione. For the purposes of this story I'm casing her as a Pureblood from a family rather like the Parkinsons, not quite the standard of the Malfoys but rather leaning towards the dark. **


	91. Chapter 91

**Disclaimer: If only.**

_Heat, searing heat, the stink of sweat and saliva—_burns!—_her body is being crushed, utterly annihilated and she is drowning in the screams…_Luna lost all the breath in her body as she fell and was brought up short by the floor next to her bed. It brought tears to her eyes, along with the still-lingering phantom pain of her nightmare-vision—for Luna knew, with the aid of the clear, cool amulet that was the only thing grounding her to reality at the moment as it lay against the feverish skin of her neck and collarbone, that it had been no ordinary nightmare. There was an odd, fifth dimensional quality to the dream that also pervaded her true visions of her waking hours.

Shivering and aching, Luna slowly crawled from floor back onto her bed, fervently glad that she had woken no one else with her abrupt wakening. Around her, her circle slept peacefully. The detritus of a girls' sleepover littered the room. They'd asked, and received permission for the sleepover and had celebrated their secret success of a week ago in the clearing with utterly unrelated gossip, fun, and chocolate.

Luna shivered. Just as she had been burning up with the venom of some creature's rabid attack and the heat of the battle an instant ago, now she was freezing as if she'd been plunged into an ice-bath. Clattering with cold, Luna could barely get her clumsy fingers to wrap her tangled quilt around her huddled body, leaning with some effort against the headboard. The nightmare tugged, ugly and vicious, at the edges of her eyes and with some effort Luna kept her grey-silver eyes open wide. Despite her exhaustion, she did not dare let her eyelids slip down to allow access for the nightmare to come back again.

Or another one.

Seven days—seven days straight in which she'd thrown herself violently out of one nightmare or another, all of them bearing the unmistakable quality of a true-vision. Seven days, starting the night that the circle had first linked and guided the magic with the power of women. Each nightmare had been different. In her first, she'd been buried alive as the earth roared and shook about her in rebellion and the lines of magic she desperately clung to twisted and writhed like live things, snatching themselves out of her grasp. In her second nightmare, she'd slowly asphyxiated, feeling the lights and shadows of loved ones dance before her eyes before everything had gone black and she'd woken up gasping like a drowning person. Her third, fourth, and fifth had involved different spells, angry and dark and whipping around her to crush her to bits with their malignant power, or the backlash of her own magick burning her up in uncontrolled surges. Her sixth had been the most terrifying of all so far, for Luna wasn't sure if she'd actually _died _as she was sure she had died in every other night. Instead, she had screamed and thrashed under the agony of a _Cruciatus _Curse until she actually _felt _her sanity slipping away, had actually welcomed the madness that entered and made the torture something she could understand and translate in her body to something else more benign and fled to a world where men and women did not kill and enjoy bloodshed, death, and the pain of others.

And tonight, the seventh night.

Luna had confronted death before. She'd confronted it at five, when she'd fallen from a tree she'd climbed and broken her arm. The pain and the way her arm flopped like a dead fish or jelly, as she tried to hold it up, had convinced her that she was going to die.

She'd done it again when she was just nine, watching the orb her mother had been cupping in her hands explode into a million shards that tore apart her beautiful mother's face, hands, arms, and chest. Again, staring at the blood-stained, lifeless body of the woman who had been the center of her world, and the pounding of her father's steps up the stairs into the workroom, the wail of pure grief and denial that had come from his throat as he fell onto his knees next to his dead wife.

Again, she'd faced down death as she gripped the familiar, warm wood of her wand and followed Harry Potter on a wild goose chase in the Department of Mysteries and felt the tip of a wand drive menacingly into her skull, heard the whispers of those gone before calling to her from the Veil.

Luna had seen death too. Not just her mother, but many others—people she knew, people she didn't. Good and bad people, who lived out their lives long and short and didn't know that their end might be nearing if they chose one path over another. Her visions were not an easy burden to bear.

Yet, apart from the sudden vision she'd had of death and failure just before she had chosen to follow her friend Harry to the Ministry, Luna had never dreamed of her own death in so many different and vivid ways.

She clasped her arms around her knees still tighter, allowing silent tears to escape. _I don't want to die, _she thought desperately. _I like living. I have real friends. I haven't done nearly an eighth of the things I want to do yet, like go on an expedition to find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, or fall in love. I've never fallen in love! Daddy says that it feels like the world was just painted anew and everything is brighter, and that you see things clearer. Being in love gives you immunity to a lot of bad things. _

Valiantly, Luna took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Death was only one possibility, she reminded herself. She had seen death before she'd gone to the Department of Mysteries, but she had lived because she'd chosen—or someone else had chosen—a slightly different path than the one that led to her death. But her heart beat fast, and Luna's mind kept her awake with the knowledge that death—if not hers, then others—was coming.

**-break-**

Ron fiddled with a chess piece as he waited for Professor McGonagall to finish her Floo call. Fingering the finely carved piece—one from the Muggle set Harry had given to him for his last birthday—calmed him down, gave his hands something to do when he was nervous or thinking. He disliked the Headmistress' office. Somehow, despite the many times he'd come in here as an Order member rather than a recalcitrant student, he still couldn't shake the feeling of having done something wrong. Not to mention it still felt odd not to see Dumbledore's genial face offering him a lemon drop or some other sweet thing.

The Headmistress finished, and sat back on her heels. "My apologies for taking so long," she said briskly, a hint of irritation coming through as she got to her feet. "It seems as if Hestia hasn't been as effective as of late in reassuring the Minister that the Order _is _preparing and quite fully ready to fight. He wished my assurances as well, though its not as if I speak for the Order."

"But you do, to the Ministry's knowledge anyway," Ron pointed out.

"I wish I didn't. It wasn't a particular thing I desired to inherit along with this position," the Transfiguration Mistress snapped. Then she took a breath. "Well. What is it you wished to discuss with me? You said it was important."

Ron stuck the castle into his pocket. "Well, it was more of a question," he admitted. "We've been working on this two-pronged plan for Beltane for ages now, and it feels as solid as it'll be with all the information we have at the moment, before the actual fighting starts. But I was wondering if any of the people we've been organizing, mobilizing, shuffling around, if any of them know their parts or who else is part of the plan. Even I only know pieces of it. I don't know who all the allies I've been moving around are, just what their strengths are. How can we know or trust our allies to do their part and have our backs if we don't know who they are?"

Professor McGonagall—_Minerva, _Ron reminded himself, as she'd given him permission to call her that when they were working in the capacity for the Order. Minerva pursed her lips. "It is a concern," she admitted. "You know as well as I that there are risks involved in each player knowing the other."

Ron nodded. "Uncaught traitors or moles, loose talk, the plans getting out where they shouldn't be," he muttered. "Yeah. Already thought of that. But I don't know, I think that the benefits far outweigh the risks. I think…I think our greatest strength against Voldemort is that underneath it all, we trust each other. They, their army, they don't trust each other. Not even in the Inner Circle, from all that the spies have told us. They don't trust each other as far as their can throw each other. That's going to cost them."

She thought. It was a long moment that frayed Ron's nerves. Then she gave him a tight smile, the kind he'd never gotten from the teacher but frequently from the Order member, one that meant she thought he was on the right path and she approved. "I see your point. I shall take this up with Li. Or rather—" she considered further. "Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Staggered, Ron gaped. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Do shut your mouth, Weasley," she said sternly. "We'll call a meeting among the strategy team, have him come. You can bring it up, since you were the one who thought of it."

"Me. Present an idea," Ron said.

"Yes, that is generally what happens at meetings," she said with a hint of amusement. "If that is all, I'll let you know when the Powers that Be decide to have that meeting."

Still in shock, Ron took the out and left, wandering in a daze down the halls of the school. He didn't even notice as two fourth years cursed and leaped aside in time to avoid colliding with him. _Me, Ron Weasley, presenting my own idea to a committee of the Order of the Phoenix. To adults, as an adult. Me! It beats the hell out of being Head Boy, or opening a shop. _Yes, he, Ron Weasley, was coming up in the world indeed. _Watch out, Voldy. _"You're so dead," he muttered, and ignored the frightened glance of a first year who scuttled by the red-head, obviously driven mad by the approaching NEWTs.

**-break-**

_Another Death Eater Dead Under Mysterious Circumstances! _Screamed the front page of the Daily Prophet. Hermione took a bite of eggs, raising her eyebrow as she scanned it, then the reactions of the students. Most looked smug. Several looked uneasy, and of course there were the oblivious ones as well, though truth be told there were far fewer of those than she had thought there would be. There were a few faces that were curiously blank or as roving as her own gaze. Hermione took note of those. Several at the Slytherin table, a few interspersed among the Ravenclaws. One at Gryffindor. Hermione sighed. _Possible spies, then. Sent by their parents to keep an eye and ear within Hogwarts. _How could any parent be that cold, to use their own children in that way?

None of them had raised much of a red flag, arguing that they had been selected to stay in Hogwarts because they could eavesdrop and infiltrate without causing too much trouble or suspicious. Hermione had marked several of them already as possible spies—little hints, tiny clues here and there. None of them were good enough to match her. They were children, after all, when all was done. She'd stopped being a child a while ago, and had been trained by the best in any case. Severus had already mentioned three of the students she'd noticed this morning, marked them as spies. The rest were possibilities. She'd have to alert Minerva.

It looked as if Minerva needed a bit of a chat with her too—there was that in her face. It would have to wait, as breakfast was over and today was Hermione's busiest day on the schedule.

It was mid-afternoon, several hours after lunch, when Hermione had a spare moment. Luckily, so did Minerva. The Scottish witch looked up immediately as Hermione entered, neatly stacking the scroll of parchment she'd been studying among a basket of similar scrolls. "Hermione, how are you? Is there anything you need?"

"I am fine, thank you," Hermione responded, taking a seat in the small seating area off to the side. Minerva rose from behind her desk and joined her by the fire. "You seemed as though you needed to speak with me. At breakfast? And I needed to speak with you as well."

"From your manner, this isn't school business," Minerva said. "And you are right, I did need to share some things with you, now before everything starts rolling too fast. Would you like anything to drink? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice." _And it will give you—and I—something to fiddle with while we talk, as it seems you have something important to tell me that's making you nervous. _Hermione observed the Headmistress as she summoned a house elf for tea, nearly fussed with it before snapping back into sense and offering a cup to Hermione. "Well, perhaps I should get my unpleasant piece of business out of the way then. Here's a list of the students we need to be keeping an eye on."

Minerva took the small scroll Hermione handed to her, unrolled and scanned it. She sighed. "Spies, then?"

"Most likely. If not directly for the Dark Lord, then for the benefit of their families," Hermione said neutrally.

"Gods all. Using _children _in an adult's war…" Minerva shook her head and her lips were in a straight line of anger.

Hermione politely kept silent, but Minerva seemed to catch on to herself and sighed a little. "Not that we haven't robbed children of their chance to be children ourselves," she said wryly. "No, we cannot claim perfect innocence. As I'm very sure you are aware of, Hermione."

Hermione _mmm'_d noncommittally.

"Still, that this is the level of war we are caught in now—Hermione, as much as I dread the deaths that will come on Beltane Day, I hope I do not shock you when I say I cannot _wait _for the day after."

"Not at all." Hermione thought of Severus, and the idea of spending more than a snatched hour or weekend together. Of the strain she'd seen on his face that spoke, more than any of his pithy descriptions of his duties and life as the Dark Lord's pet potioneer, of how wearying it was on his mind and soul. She'd done what she could for him in the fleeting weekend they'd spent together, and sent him off back to danger with far less taut stress etched on his face and body than when he'd arrived. But oh, how she wished that she need not send him back to that kind of risk, that kind of constant pressure! "No, not at all. I understand it. I can't wait for Beltane myself."

"I thought you would. Well." Minerva tucked the list away, and sighed again. Drank, and stared down at her tea as if it held all the answers she was looking for. _She's as drained as Severus is, _Hermione noted. _She may not have the Dark Lord and his minions watching her every move, but she has the direct responsibilities of hundreds of children, a dozen professors, tied to her besides what's coming to Hogwarts when May arrives. _

"I'll come straight to the point, I suppose," Minerva finally said slowly, replacing her cup in the saucer. "You know that I head up a strategy team that has been shuffling and finalizing all the pieces of the puzzle together for when Voldemort's forces finally come calling. Young Ronald's on that team as well, the youngest but he has a head for it and fresher eyes than the rest of us. He brought up something that I think…no, I know, is important and that Li himself will see the sense to. We need to reveal the pieces of our side to each other, Hermione. All the disparate little groups and people that have been working for the same cause in different ways, all the people who one way or another will gather to fight against the dark come Beltane Day, either at the Ministry or here."

"That's impossible," Hermione said flatly. "The _risk, _Minerva—to the double agents, the moles. More than that, to the entire plan your team has drawn up. We can't let the other side hear of just exactly how many people or who we've managed to marshall, or any bit of the plan or the idea that we know what's coming."

"I know. And all of that is very real, something that needs to be addressed. I told Weasley as much. But he pointed something else out. He said that the heart of our side, the reason we fight, is for a world of trust, of truth. That we couldn't go into battle weakened because we didn't know our allies or trusted them. One instant's doubt can cost a life in the battlefield, you know that as well as I. Hermione," Minerva insisted even as Hermione began to deny the ring of truth in Minerva's voice. In what she said. "Hermione, while it may strip some layer of protection in the form of lies and deception away from him, it also adds another potent shield. With the rest of us knowing his loyalty, he will gain an entire army protecting him, watching his back. And not out to kill him."

Hermione stopped. The look she gave Minerva was one that the witch had rarely experienced before, a searching pitiless gaze that saw down to the depths of her soul and left nothing unturned or missed. It was the same kind of clear, harsh sight that Severus had once turned on her, in the early years when she'd finally made some overture at friendship. There was _power _in those eyes, in that stare, not the sort that Harry Potter exuded which was crackling, fueled by his many emotions, and only partially tamed by training and, no doubt, Miss Weasley. No, this kind of power was one fully controlled and harnessed, like a deadly tigress might be utterly obedient to the will of the one who had brought her up from cub. It both acknowledged its own lethalness as well as the exquisite control that would allow such to be displayed without the risk of it breaking free of the master. Minerva suppressed—barely—a shudder of apprehension. When had the little girl who had been her best student become…_this? _

Finally, the brown-haired witch nodded, breaking eye contact finally. "You think the Order will take this course of action, then."

"Yes," Minerva agreed, relieved as the burning countenance was turned away from her.

"Thank you for your warning. If he dies, they will regret it." Cold, implacable. Hermione Granger rose, and left quietly. Behind her, the Headmistress breathed deep and hoped that the Order would make the right decision—and that it would not result in the death of Severus Snape.

**A.N.: Everything's going to accelerate from here on out. We're racing towards the climax, folks. In case anyone's confused about the timeline (since **_**I **_**was, and I'm the author), its still March and the next few chapters will be in March. A lot of things are going to happen in March. And April, I guess, since the Final Battle is on May 1****st****. **


	92. Chapter 92

**Disclaimer: Can I has? Pwease?**

**Warning: Very tiny blip of an Age-line (that's a "I think it might be a teensy bit past a T and into an M rating section) in this chapter. Buried in the middle. It probably doesn't really rate an M, but I'd rather be safe. **

Hermione surveyed the assembled faces around the table—round, if you please, just as King Arthur's knights might have sat at. It was a motley crew, far from the shining warriors she envisioned of the past, of the first circle. This, after all, was the beginnings of the very first Merlin's circle such as the one that bound the Order together with each initiation. Today, the table was a sturdy wood affair rather than stone as the myth and the history suggested, and there was no polished swords or armor to be seen. Not physical ones, anyway. No matter how ragged or odd this crew looked, Hermione had no doubt that they—and the army they represented—were warriors, as much in their own way, as the knights of the round table.

Ron was nervous. She could see it in the way he rubbed the tip of his left ear as he exchanged a quiet conversation with Minerva. Harry too, with his fidgeting. There were faces she knew, and some she didn't, all displaying various expressions of wariness, uncertainty, or confusion. That was only normal. Hermione, though her breath was steady and her gaze casual as she scanned the table, felt her own nerves bubbling with impatience and resignation deep within her gut. She was not looking forward to this.

She remembered breaking the news to Severus. He'd responded to the spellphone, picked up the annoyance and more, the fear in her terse request to have a chat in person. In private. And though it was so soon after he'd spent the weekend at Hogwarts, he'd said nothing of the risk of returning rather than meeting in Gaston's. Just made his arrangements, and come to her.

_"You needed to talk to me," Severus said calmly. "While I appreciate the tea, there's no sense in procrastination. Tell me whatever is bothering the devil out of you, Hermione, or this trip's for nothing."_

_ Hermione grimaced. Of course he'd caught her weak attempt at putting it off. She bit her lip. "I don't know how to start," she began._

_ "From the beginning," Severus said. "It won't make much sense otherwise. Damn it, woman, I taught you to summarize succinctly, make reports, didn't I?"_

_ And because he had, because he deserved it, Hermione stopped putting it off and told him, in sharp, explanatory words in the manner of an unemotional report. From the beginning, the conversation with Minerva, the words Ron had somehow managed to find despite his usual inability to think on an emotional level. Or perhaps she was being too harsh on her friend, but at the moment he was far less a friend and more a foe for having brought this on her, however inadvertently. At the end, Severus had said nothing for a long time._

_ "I can talk to Li, make him see sense," she said uncomfortably into the silence. "I can—"_

_ "Do nothing," Severus cut in sharply. His voice was as hard as it had not been for months. Hermione drew back in shock. "You can do nothing. The Order will agree with Weasley. And he is right. No matter the dangers to some of the players on this board, the benefits outweigh the risks. An army bound together by truth and a knowledge of each other is a far more potent enemy than one that is in many separate pieces. Even if by doing so, we lose a few, the bound-together whole will be far more effective."_

_ "And you'd put yourself in danger for it, for the chance that we can become one big happy family and defeat the Dark Lord with love?" Hermione spat, her heart contracting with fear. _

_ "I am in danger now, daily," Severus pointed out equably. _

_ "Damn you! You're too important to risk!"_

_ "No, I am not. The information I can pass on to you and the Order now is minimal. You have most of what you need. From now on, it will be the odd piece here and there."_

_ "You're too important," Hermione repeated fiercely. Her anger flared, bright and hot. Her eyes were no longer mild nor peaceful, but wild with fury. "Don't deny your own worth, Severus, don't you deny it!"_

_ Coolly, Severus leaned back. "I am merely stating the truth, Hermione. A courageous woman with a logical brain like yours, surely you are too smart, too well educated in matters of war, to disagree with the truth because it doesn't suit your _feelings."

_She could feel him pulling back even as he spoke. The soul of himself that he'd just started allowing her to see, to experience, being locked up tight within cold walls again. Hermione could bear it, the ice that was left in the wake of his withdrawal into his formidable persona, pulling the mask back on even as he sat there in her armchair and sipped her tea. Despair threatened to make her clutch, but the urge to reach out and grab some part of him to make him stay with her woke her to just how far gone she was. The cold words slapped her, tore at her heart. Stiffening, she turned her head, stared blindly at the locked drawer where she knew the potion he'd made from their first night together throbbed like a weeping moon. "You want the truth?" Tired, she too leaned back. Closed her eyes against the tiredness, the tears that wanted to escape. "The truth is that I think that you are more important than you, or anyone else, will give credit for. Both to the war, and to me. The truth is that I won't have a moment's peace from the instant I tell them about you, not till the end of this, after Beltane. The truth is that I fear telling them about you, because the instant I do so we will have to be nothing more than handler and spy, professional. Any love, anything else will have to wait till after this war because both you and I will put duty and the end of the Dark Lord above even ourselves. There's no other option for us, because that is the kind of people we are. So I am selfish, because I don't want to give up what is between us, Severus, not yet. Not even for a chance at winning against the dark. And I'm scared, Severus. I'm scared for you, for me, for what will become of us. I love you."_

_ She'd kept her eyes shut as she spilled her heart at his feet. She felt cold, drained. She wanted…she just wanted to sleep, to forget the hurt and the work that shadowed her every step. The responsibility that ate at her so she couldn't run away, couldn't ask Severus to come with her and leave this bloody war behind. _

_ She was so tired._

_ Then there was a faintly callused palm brushing her tangled hair off her face, threading gently through the unruly frizz. She didn't dare open her eyes, see pity or reprimand in his face as she knew she would. One or the other. Even like this, with misery haunting her bones and crackling by the fire, she felt herself drift a little. As if at a distance, she heard Severus' voice. _

_ "You're so pale," he murmured. "When was the last time you rested?"_

_ "With you," she said thickly._

_ "Two weeks ago. Hermione, you're working yourself to a wraith. You need rest, sleep."_

_ "I need you."_

_ "And I, you." He said it with a sigh. "Blast you, woman, it seems I need you as well. You've addicted me."_

_ "I didn't mean to. I just…"_

_ "Oh, do stop talking," he said irritably. Hermione felt herself suddenly lifted in strong, comforting arms. Now, she tried to open her eyes but this time she found herself unable to. Her eyelids felt as heavy as stone. _

_ "Severus…"_

_ "Shh. We'll talk of this in the morning. You need sleep." A pause, and Hermione felt cool sheets and bedding underneath her. Half-asleep, she still tried to reach for Severus. The next instant, he was there, holding her. "And so do I," she heard him say, faintly, as she finally slipped into slumber._

They'd discussed it, as he'd promised, in the morning, hadn't they? Hermione had woken up in his arms, just as she'd fallen asleep in them. The love she'd felt in that moment, seeing him still fully clothed with an arm protectively flung around her, had been fast and far surpassing anything she'd felt for him before. He had been just as tired as she, the lines in his face even in sleep told her that. She doubted he'd gotten any more rest since their blissful weekend together. But he'd taken care of her, carried her to bed and—yes, somehow changed her into her nightgown so she'd be comfortable though he'd neglected himself.

This wonderful man would let her sleep first before continuing their argument. And he hadn't left. Hermione's breath had caught in her chest then, tripped over the great love she'd felt for such a man who would give her both equal cruelty and gentleness when she needed it.

**-Age Line-**

_"Hermione." he woke with more than need, but desire thrumming in his veins. She rose above him like a vision, and he was helpless to her hands. He had fallen asleep fully dressed, too tired to undress though he'd made sure Hermione was comfortable. He woke with air and Hermione's hands caressing his bare skin, her lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. _

_ "Severus." She couldn't keep her hands, her mouth, off him. And the love she felt for the man eclipsed any other thought in her head as she showed him what was in her heart. This time, he was the one half-asleep, and she took full advantage of it. She felt shameless and beautiful. Never, until Severus, had Hermione ever felt as beautiful as she did now. Not even when her parents told her she was gorgeous, or Ron and Viktor had just about come to blows over her at the Yule Ball. But she felt beautiful now, as she gave and took pleasure and more, love._

**-Age Line Ends-**

_In the end, there was little to discuss. Hermione knew that Severus would not yield to her fears, not even for her. The Order would do as it willed, and Hermione would not try to stop it though she'd make certain that everything was done to protect Severus, and the others who would be in more danger the instant their identities were revealed. They would not meet in more than a professional capacity, not take advantage of their duty again until Beltane. She felt her heart break as she kissed him goodbye, watched his winged form soar like light away from her. Then ruthlessly reconstructed herself, used every bit of the wand crystal to sink deep into a Vacuumency-trance—of the right sort—and store the memories and the love into its own separate place in her mind, turned the key in the lock. _

There was an empty seat left, and Hermione was not surprised to look up and see Li entering. He smiled, greeted them all. Hermione shifted. And brushed fingers with the bland, nondescript man beside her. Not intimately, but more of a reassurance and a recognition of what he would be going through before the end of this.

"Apologies for my tardiness," Li said as he took the last seat. "It looks as if I'm the last one here, so we may as well begin. I called this meeting as you know, but it was on a suggestion—one that the High Council approved of—by one of our young members of the strategy team. I'd like him to explain in more detail, why you've been called here tonight." On that cue, Ron stood. There was some surprise, a few murmurs. Harry looked at Ron as if he'd grown a second head.

"Hi. I'm Ron Weasley. Uh, well, my idea was that its getting very close to Beltane and the final battle. All of us here know that that's the big showdown. All of us have been preparing for it, in one way or another. But we need more than that. We've got heart, we've got all of you, all the pieces that are going to be risking their lives now and in May. Now we need to…get to know each other, I guess." Ron shrugged. "When we stand as an army against Voldemort, we need to be one solid army, or we'll all fall in our own separate little pieces."

"We know this is a risk for many of you, or for those you represent," Minerva slid in smoothly, as Ron sat down a little abruptly. "We ask a lot of all of you, those who risk your lives by revealing yourselves, what you do, and those who must accept them with only our word that they are part of us. But this is necessary, and I—the strategy team, and the High Council as well, we believe this is vital to winning a victory over Voldemort."

"We ask for your open hearts and open minds for all who are gathered here," Li said, gazing around without a hint of a smile. "I expect no less from those whose talents and dedication we have tapped in a multitude of ways. You do not have to like each other, but you do have to believe and trust in your comrades here, for we all have the same purpose and work to the same ends, to bring down that which would devour our world and more besides."

_Scripted and flawless, _Hermione observed. _Appealing to the common sense and common drive among us to ensure harmony. It may work. _Or it might not. Hermione's cynical side had already calculated the room they were in, the amount of people gathered. She'd seated herself and her companion right by the exit, made sure that it was Li who flanked her companion on the other side. If it was needed, escape was possible. She was ready for it.

"I'll start," Li said cheerfully into the tense, expectant quiet. "I am Li, whom you all know as I have met with all of you one way or another. Some may suspect or know, but I was asked to come here by my good friend Albus, to take over his unfinished work in the waging of war and overseeing of such forces for it. He knew that his time was running out, one way or another. I came here to Britain, to say goodbye to one of my greatest friends and to carry out his last request of me."

Before the shock waves could dissolve the meeting before it began, Minerva jumped in. "I am Minerva. I direct the strategy team in detailing battle plans and maneuvering our forces, both now and for the final two-pronged confrontation. I also provide both Voldemort and the Ministry with a visible scapegoat so that all may concentrate on me rather than finding out about our good friend Li and his importance."

"Uh, Ron Weasley, like I said. I'm just part of the strategy team," Ron said uncomfortably.

"And one of our best minds," Minerva added. Ron flushed. Hermione smirked. _Some things never change. _Ron still couldn't take a well-earned compliment without turning as red as a tomato.

"I'm Harry," said Harry carefully. "Ginny and I are representing the DA—the student dueling club at Hogwarts. We've been training, making sure the students can protect themselves and each other."

_And not a peep about being the only one able to take the last step and kill the Dark Lord. Is that humility, or reluctance? _For Harry's sake she hoped it was the former. He'd been turned off bloodshed since the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries and Sirius' death, but he'd need to face it if they were going to win.

"Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley. As Harry said, I'm one of the leader's of the DA—Ron's the other one, but he's here in another capacity today obviously. I'm also part of another group. Luna?"

"Ginny and I are part of a small circle of girls," Luna murmured. "We've recently mastered women's battle magick. Linked together, we're fairly powerful."

_Women's…oh sweet Merlin! The book! D'alle's blasted curse of a journal. Dear havens, it must have been Luna that Minerva lent the thrice-curst book to. _Hermione lost enough composure to gape at Luna before a warning nudge brought her quickly back to her studied neutrality. Luna, blast the girl, remained unconcerned, as if she'd just told them that she was going into the next room to fetch something. _And to sneak it right under my nose…why didn't I see anything? Not even suspected—Ginny didn't tell me either. _

It looked as if no one else but Minerva and Li had known. Even Harry was staring at his girlfriend with a bit of irritated betrayal. Harry _hated _having secrets kept from him. Hermione felt it only justified that Ginny would surely be coming under fire from several sides after this. Everything about D'alle's book was dangerous and deceptive. Hadn't she proved it, with her dabbling into the mind-block portion of it? Hadn't she dealt firsthand with the kind of trouble D'alle and her magics could cause? Luna and Ginny and whoever else they'd involved in this had no right to risk themselves in that way! And, it galled Hermione to realize, much of her fury was her chipped pride. These _students _had apparently conducted dangerous magics under her watch, and Hermione had not even suspected. _What else have I missed, if I could miss this? _

Some confusion, some wide eyes. A few dismissive, a few leaning towards hostile. Probably depending on who had heard about D'alle and her notorious career. Li cleared his throat and looked at the next person next to Luna gently. It took a moment, but the tension died down a little as the sharing continued.

There were some expected introductions, more shocks as the baton went from wand to wand. Remus Lupin was liaison and representative for the non-human allies: he and Hagrid had won a faction of werewolves, acromantulas, centaurs, and mermaids to their cause. Draco and Skye were there for the Slytherin student group they'd become the de facto heads of, Poppy Pomfrey for the field Healers, and a regal-looking woman named Aquila Avis as the leader of the Order fighting force not otherwise connected to other present groups represented at the table. Hestia was there, as the official liaison with the Minister of Magic, and Danielle as the representative Unspeakable. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there for the Aurors, and Arthur Weasley for the rest of the unclaimed Ministry riff-raff allies from various departments.

"No official Ministry sanction to the Order's actions," quipped Hestia. "But reps for all the most important branches of the government. I'm basically here to act as a go-between so that the Minister can say he didn't sanction the use of Hogwarts and children as a lure, or the use of deadly violence by civilians, or the army we're putting together but he can congratulate us and be the first to grant an official pardon for defending ourselves."

Someone snickered. "Ministry politics at its best, with an eye on winning and looking good while doing it," the sandy-haired man said heavy irony and great amusement. Hermione examined him closely. Something about him tugged at her mind insistently, something about his manner—that bit of a tilt to his nose, as if he were better than those he mocked, the way he sat primly in his chair with his back stiff with straightness…his eyes, the way his spectacles sat on his face. He was sharing a brief, smug look with the woman next to him and something about it was familiar.

_Rather like Fred and George after they pulled a fast one successfully…_

Hermione stilled. _Exchange the sandy complexion for freckles, the mousy hair for red…_

"I'm Audrey White," announced the woman. Her hazel eyes danced as she poked the man. "I'm this oaf's handler. He's a mole within the Ministry. As Hestia's told some of us, we _know _there are Death Eaters and Dark sympathizers high up in the chain of command. Just like Arthur sussed out the allies, we—or rather, him—sussed out the rot, toadied up to the high-ranking ones so that we could bring them down."

"Yaxley," the unidentified man said with a grimace. "Umbridge, Thornspur, Chaucey, Cain, Tripoli, Audaxas, Rookwood…the list goes on. Scumbags one and all."

"And some of them were oh so conveniently murdered and exposed in similar fashion, with their Dark Marks showing," muttered someone, looking at the pair with suspicion.

Audrey shook her head. "No, not our direct doing. We were only assigned to ferret information and point out which ones were the most influential, that sort of thing. Strictly information. My friend passed me the information, I passed it on to the higher ups. We didn't know anything about the killings, although they deserve it."

"Damn right they did, those shitheads," the man snarled. The Glamours Hermione knew he was wearing did nothing to disguise the hatred he felt. _You've changed, _she thought. _Or perhaps none of us truly knew the depths you evidently possessed in the first place. _She half-smiled at the hand that Audrey had laid on his arm. The concern was evident, the restraint on the man's part noticeable the instant she touched him. _A familiar story, eh Severus? I think that perhaps we may have at least two more supporters than I counted on, when the big reveal occurs. _

"Sorry," the man finally muttered sheepishly. He pursed his lips. "Well, Audrey's my handler and as for my name—you might know me a little better in this shape." The disguise fell. The glasses became horn-rimmed, his hair reddened like a blush, and his features took on the proportions of a slightly supercilious young man with clear Weasley genes running rampant in hair and complexion. "I'm Percy Weasley," he continued, and directed a full-blown Snape-worthy smirk to his present relatives. "Hey Dad, Ron, Gin. How's it going?"

"Percy!" Ron gasped, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

"_Going? _How's it _going? _I'll give you how it is, your bloody prat!" Ginny shrieked, and flew at the brother the Weasley's hadn't heard from since the summer. She landed on top of him and pummeled him with her fists.

"Ow! Gin," Percy protested thickly as his spectacles were knocked askew.

"You boob of a brother! What kind of idiot fool are you, you…"

"I'm sorry!" Percy awkwardly patted his sister, who had stopped hitting him and started to dry-sob. "Aw…don't cry, Ginny, you know I hate that."

"You deserve it for haring off and making Mum cry and then getting involved with dangerous stuff," Ginny said fiercely, her voice muffled by the way her face was buried in his chest. Hermione looked at Ron and saw that he still sat frozen, as if he'd been poleaxed. _For all the strategy in the world, he didn't guess that one of the spy-pawns he'd been moving around the board was his own brother. Poor Ron. _

"Hey now, GinGin, I'm sorry, okay? I made a lot of stupid mistakes and then this was the best way I knew to make up for it."

"There was no need, son," Arthur Weasley said gently. He had made his way to his two children sprawled on the floor, and he now knelt by them. "Percy, your mother and I would have forgiven you in a heartbeat if you had come home when you realized that you'd make a mistake. There was no need to endanger yourself."

Ginny got off Percy, and the young man sat up, righting his glasses. "Of course there was, Dad," he corrected with the same self-assurance that had made his brothers grit their teeth and devise torturous pranks for Perfect Percy. "If not to atone for my poor choices, then to do whatever I could to help end a war. It shouldn't be a non-Ministry sanctioned group that's got to fight off the forces of evil, Dad. It never should have been the Order's job at all, but for the fears, weaknesses, and corruptions in the Ministry. If I can do anything to carve out that rot and banish the weakness to make the government worthy of its existence and purpose, then its my duty as a sworn Ministry official to do so. A lot of us have forgotten it, but I haven't." He looked at Audrey, then back at his father. "_We _haven't."

Hermione silently applauded Percy. _Well, the Order once again turns out a fine spy with a tempered soul. He may be a priggish politician, but he's every bit of him devoted to winning this war and to fixing the ineffectualness of this government and administration. _She had no doubt that the man had grown into himself through adversity and trial by fire, for the lot of a spy was hard to walk.

Ron, too, approached his family. Shuffling his feet where he stood, he and Percy locked gazes. Hermione read worlds in that look. Anger, apologies, and acceptance bloomed and faded between the brothers, and a sort of understanding between two young wizards who had grown up too fast in the past year. "Prat," Ron said gruffly.

"Nuisance," Percy shot back. He stood up and heaved his sister up as well. He hesitated, then stuck out a hand. Ron glared at it, then at Percy. Before anyone could blink, he had disregarded the hand and hugged his brother roughly. "Mum'll kill you when she finds out," he said, and let go. The cocky attitude was gone—when Percy turned to his father to be enveloped in another hug, Hermione and most of the rest of the room looked away to respect privacy. Hermione was not the only one to catch the gleam of tears in more than one pair of Weasley eyes as the black sheep was welcomed back into the fold.

"As touching as this reunion is, perhaps we might continue with the reason we are here," sneered the man beside her. Hermione sighed. _I so miss the absence of the customary vitriol. _

Introductions continued. Minny stood in for the contingent of house elves who had agreed—or rather, insisted—to be allowed to actively help. While her presence raised eyebrows, Datona Fields and Natalie Wood both offered new surprises—to most, anyway. Hermione remembered Fields, as Fields, she saw, remembered her. The American witch had given her a hard and evaluating stare when she had seen Hermione, and Hermione with more than a year of experience in the school of hard knocks had met that scrutiny without giving an iota. _I was a lost and hurting assassin when you met me, right out of my induction trials, _she thought at the American. _I am no longer one. Well, I am still an assassin but I am no longer the guilty wreck I was and if you plan on distrusting me because my trials involved killing, you and I will have to have a nice chat after this. _

"Unofficially, of course," Fields drawled as she explained her presence. "The ASHE—American Sorcery House of Electives—won't involve themselves in foreign affairs like this, especially where we're not invited. But unofficially, the CIA-SU, that's the Sorcery Unit that deals with national and international intelligence for the safety of the country, want to make sure this doesn't blow up in anyone's faces. I've been given unofficial permission to bring a relatively small force here to throw into the fray, whatever you need. We have some slightly different spells and some different methods, and we're used to covert missions so I can promise a great surprise for any Death Eaters approaching _us." _She smiled nastily. "Plus, we Americans really don't like dictators or tyrants. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness wasn't just a Muggle dream, we sorcerers fought for it too."

"I think we Brits are rather aware of that," Hestia joked.

"Good. Then we're clear on it," Fields teased back.

Natalie Wood caused her own sensation with the news that she represented a mixed Magical and Muggle group of fighters who were training as hit and run guerrillas with much success in Muggle weapons. Furthermore, the group consisted of the dead—or those thought dead!

That was when Hermione wished she had a Headache Remedy potion handy.

"How can mere Muggles—"

"—too dangerous—"

"_Presumed dead?—"_

"—never would have thought it—"

"Like lambs to slaughter—"

"I'll bet _you've _never seen some of those Muggle weapons—"

"It's not their battle!"

Natalie Wood finally slapped her hand on the table with a harsh _thwack _at this last, regaining some modicum of silence. She shook her head scornfully. "Not their battle? How can you say that, when Voldemort took the battle to _them? _All of them, in one way or another, were meant to die and its only thanks to the swift work of our spies that we managed to pull them out in the nick of time. For shame!" She glared around the table at them all equally, for once bearing no vestige of the bubbly girl Hermione had gotten to know in the brief time she'd spent at her parents' safe house. Her eyes were deadly serious. "They've been training, they're _good, _and they might just give us the unexpected edge of surprise to win on one front at least. Some of them have incorporated some weapons that we witches and wizards won't even _know _are weapons until its too late."

Harry, who had been the one to say it wasn't their battle, looked away. "I don't like it," he admitted frankly. Hermione, as her parents' daughter, firmly agreed. The war-self, coolly calculative on all fronts, thought it a waste of sentiment. "I don't like involving so many people in a battle I don't know I can finish. In the end, whether you believe in prophecies or not, Voldemort does and he'll make it so its between him and me at the end. And I can't promise that it'll be me standing at the end of it all."

"That's stupid," Ron began and Ginny elbowed Harry sharply, clearly put out at her boyfriend's attitude. Hermione, however, cut in with the words she knew Harry needed.

"You worry about yourself, and let us worry about us," she told him as crisply as Minerva might have. "Harry, look around you. _All _of us _chose _this fight a long time ago, with our own free will. Not all of us are even here for you." She dared not look, even twitch, towards the man seated next to her at all but she continued quite calmly. "Some of us—like the Slytherins," she nodded towards Draco, "are here because they decided for themselves that they wanted a world that still entailed a free will rather than one in which their very ideas and thoughts were to be dictated by another. You can't and shouldn't worry about us all." She smiled sadly at him. "We risk our lives, all of us, not just for you but for the entire country and even the world since I doubt the, Voldemort will be content with just one kingdom when he can expand to many."

"Hear, hear," muttered Datona Fields with a sharp and approving glance at Hermione. Whatever doubt might have lingered in her mind after the unexpected initiation of the youngest member of the Order last Christmas had fled. There was only respect and a hard, warrior's understanding of each other in her eyes now.

"You see, Harry?" Ginny took up the thread. "You shouldn't take on so much, really. We're here because we want to be, not because you forced us to fight and maybe die."

Harry was still troubled, and reluctant to admit it. Hermione could feel it even if she hadn't been able to see it plain on his face. The familia bond that had long remained almost dormant like a napping cat stretched out in the warm sunlight, now stirred restlessly. _I hope this isn't indicative of the kind of effect it might have on us during the battlefield. Harry will be in danger and upset then, no avoiding it, and it wouldn't do any good for the rest of us who pledged to be family to him were laid out flat from the spell instead of fighting. _Hermione resolved to take another look at the bonding that she'd put out of her mind in the rush of events that had since occurred.

"Who—"

"That's still classified, I'm afraid," Natalie said calmly, anticipating the question. "It's not vital, they're all people you'd trust anyway if they were not thought dead before, and its still safer not to spill secrets."

_In other words, Li approved them to remain nameless for greater surprise factor on the other side, and maybe even a bit of a morale booster to ours if we find those we were close to were part of that group. _Hermione only wished, fleetingly, that it were that easy for her and—_no sense dwelling. Move on. _

Ylba, the Matriarch house elf, was the next in the circle and right next to Hermione on her other side. Her imperious manner was as tangible as her mistress', for she belonged to Aquila Avis. Ylba quite rolled over every uncertain glance or offended soul in the room with a remote look and a few well-placed words. Atrocious grammar and all, she was every bit as commanding as her mistress, and her very brief description of her actual standing solidified Hermione's utmost admiration and respect for the house elf. As current Matriarch of the house elves on what could vaguely be considered the British Isles and some of France and Germany—house elf territories were drawn to a different border than human countries—she was considered the epicenter to which elfish culture and life turned. She was part monarch, part mother, part rule enforcer, and part something else altogether that Hermione sensed Ylba avoided altogether.

Nothing that was not vital to convincing the humans that house elves were every bit as advanced and capable as they was revealed. Ylba had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, through the various flurries and shocks and even outrage that had pulsed through the room over and over. Her large-pupiled eyes had been as busy observing as Hermione's own. Hermione suspected that they, the witches and wizards in this room, had been given an honor beyond their own understanding or appreciation that Ylba had chosen to show up herself rather than assign another to represent her. Perhaps that had something to do with Aquila Avis—the elegant woman had shared a Look with her elf at the start of the introduction that Hermione knew meant volumes, though she couldn't interpret it.

"We is remaining _neutral," _Ylba said sternly to the table at large. "House elves there is, bonded to witch and wizard who fights for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We is loyal to bond and master first and foremost." She flicked one delicately shaped, large ear. "However, there is many elves of yous side, who wish to fight with elves and with men. We is organizing, and other side is not ordering elves to fights for them. Elves will not kill elves." She glared at all the faces. "We is putting _elf _before even bond, such is way of the house elf in past and now."

_That _evoked several startled blinks. Hermione suppressed a smile as Ylba continued. "We is offering protection, to takes younguns and injured away to safe places, too. Hogwarts elves all, and yours in many homes of 'light', may be found such willing to fight or protect. No more than that."

"That is much more than we have ever expected and we thank you for your generosity and help, Ylba-Matriarch," Li said evenly before anyone else could interject or stir up trouble again. The female house elf acknowledged Li, and Aquila Avis flashed a quick look of cool approval at the old man. Li pointedly looked at the next person, and Hermione felt her heart speed up in spite of all she had done to still it and lock away the fear and nerves.

It was her turn—hers, and her spy's.

**A.N.: Er…it's not **_**that **_**bad of a cliffy, is it? Is it? Don't kill me! The next chapter will be up soon! I solemnly swear!**

**Also- we are very close to an ending. Wait, what? Yes, it's true. I estimate around eight to twelve chapters will bring about the conclusion of an over-two-year-long odyssey this story has become. I am still slightly in shock, both at the sheer length of The Last Spy and the fact that I am, indeed, in the process of writing the beginning of the end. **

**So if you're one of those people who can't stand it when endings creep up on you, this is your warning- Hermione and Severus' story is almost over. **

**That said, there's still a WHOLE lot of action going to happen between now and the epilogue, so don't walk away yet!**


	93. Chapter 93

**Disclaimer: If only I could get my hands on some Polyjuice Potion and JKR's hair…**

"I am Hermione Granger. I perform several functions within the Order and for the war," she said. He, with all of his years of listening for double or triple meanings behind words, could not tell what she felt behind the impervious mask of the professional she had enclosed around her. He felt a pang of regret for the sly, lively, passionate woman that she had banished since the night they had both understood that duty and war had come calling so much earlier than they had expected. But the emotion was ruthlessly rejected as swiftly as it had come, with as much efficiency as Hermione Granger's war-self for he too had his own persona to play and job to complete.

"During the battle I suspect I will primarily be a plain fighter," she continued. "My current position is less…applicable in the heat of the battlefield."

The Potter boy looked as witless as his father. The Weasley boy was only little better, likely as a result of all those sessions with the strategy team. Minerva was a good teacher, the boy apparently a good student of the battle plans. And _he _had a good idea of the pieces left still unclaimed on the board, who had been invited to this council of the forces. Yes, there was a dawning look of dread that made the gangly boy look positively green, an unhealthy contrast to his hair. The man that Hermione had made him would have even felt sorry for the boy. The man he was, by the dictate of his duties, was merely coldly amused.

"Hermione—" the Weasley boy choked. Minerva darted a warning glance at him, which went unheeded and unnoticed.

"I am one of the Order's assassins," she said indifferently as if she were announcing the weather or her enjoyment of a book. "I receive names from the leader of the covert operations in the Order, whom—" she shot an assessing glance at Li, "is far too important to risk even in our several decades long war, or so I presume as the person in question is not present."

"The…murdered Death Eaters?" Remus murmured. It was less of a question and more of a statement.

"Those exposed, who were until then respectable law-abiding—even law_making—_citizens," Hermione said with remote acknowledgement. "Yes." She half-smiled ironically at Percy Weasley who had recovered his aplomb much faster than the others. Well, he had been a spy too, and though the ethics weren't quite the same it was enough for him to understand the reasoning behind what the others would see as cold-blooded murder.

"That's where those names we got went to," his handler—Audrey White?—muttered.

"Hermione," Ron breathed. His expression was a cross between a pained understanding and horror. _Fool. _The greater fool was the damned Potter boy, who simply sat in tense stillness, observing his friend as if she were a worthless piece of dung. He felt a sudden surge of anger at that, at the sanctimonious little devil who would _dare _look at something priceless like Hermione as if she were no better than a turncoat.

_Her feelings and her friends cannot be your concern. Not until after Beltane, _he reminded himself. _She can handle herself. She must. There is no other choice. Neither of us can afford any clouding emotion to get in the way of logic when the battle turns on such. _

"Is this your only function?" Fields asked shrewdly. "It seems to me the killings only began fairly recently, and you seem to have…weight within this movement and in the Order."

Hermione inclined her head at the American's frankness and observations. "No indeed, it is not my only function," she replied as primly as if she were reporting some esoteric fact from one of her research books. "I am also our top-ranked spy's handler. He is our only contact within Riddle's inner circle, and has given us vital information time and time again. Such as the plans Riddle has to bind young witches to himself and use their magical cores, or life force, to replenish his youth and power."

The werewolf's eyes narrowed suddenly with understanding. "Ah—that is why I didn't recognize you," he said directly to the man. "You used masking spells to alter your scent."

"I have had enough run-ins with werewolves to wish another," he said disdainfully. With barely a ripple, he allowed the spells that had disguised him to unweave, and felt rather than saw Hermione grip her wand tightly.

"_You!" _

Severus' physical shield overlapped with Hermione's, and the combined force sent the fire-haired witch flying backwards. Severus raised one dark brow at the unexpected attacker. _One would have thought it would be Potter, even the Weasley boy. _The _female _Weasley he had not even given thought to—not a good sign of the state of his skills. Though, given her emotional reaction to the revelations of Percy Weasley's non-Ministry sanctioned activities, perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all. She seemed to thrive on exaggerated emotionality, just like her boyfriend. Potter's first reaction was to catch his girlfriend with trained swiftness that Severus thought was testament to Hermione's teaching. "Let me _go, _Harry, don't you see the _damn traitorous bastard _who killed Dumbledore is right there, let me go, let me _go!" _

"Ginny!"

"_Petrificus Totalus," _Hermione said with the same preciseness as she had no doubt done in her first year to Longbottom, and the ballistic witch froze.

"Take it off, Hermione," Potter said in a tight voice. He cradled the girl in his arms as best as he could a stiff figure, and his being radiated a dark fury that screamed _Power! _The uncouth threat of his magic responding to his anger manifested in air that felt as thick as mud to breathe, and it was lucky someone had apparently taught the idiot some sort of control that nothing else happened.

"Not until she calms herself down," his witch responded with utter calmness. There was no way Severus' mask could hold against the stab of fierce pride at the strength and rooted power that _his _woman emanated. No other, except Li and Avis, glowed with utter stillness in the middle of Potter's temper-wrought storm pressing down. _And excepting me, of course. _

Hermione was impervious. She seemed to install some sort of small confidence to those around her, as _her _magic pushed back against Potter's and allowed some breathing room once more. "Yes, this is Severus Snape. He's been invaluable, and he has been completely loyal to his oaths to the Order." She looked at Li, who cleared his throat.

"It is true that Severus Snape has not violated a single of his oaths which he took when he became a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Nor has he found any loopholes, which _was _fixed after the unfortunate incident of Peter Pettigrew."

"Severus has risked life and soul over and over to defeat Riddle," Hermione continued, her voice—had she but known it—as commanding and doubt-squashing as the elf Matriarch. "He did kill Albus—because Albus was dying. There was a curse eating away at his magic and his sanity, and within some months he would have been either dead or entirely bedridden and raving mad. It was the best way to keep his cover and give Albus a good death in the cause he spent so much of himself on. Since then, I have been Severus' handler."

Severus surreptitiously examined the Order members, but his eye was drawn—caught, rather—by a pair of grey eyes. Draco sat as if frozen, unblinking. He looked as if he had become a pillar of ice. There were emotions underneath the frost-covered surfaces, but it was as if the boy had frozen too deeply for them to show. A small, feminine hand was comforting him, as if simply by rubbing Draco's arm she could thaw the ice that had stilled his godson with shock. Slowly, Severus looked deep into the boy's eyes and let his true apology show, just for a split second.

Frozen still and having undergone massive changes in the past year, Draco was still enough of a Slytherin to read that brief flash before Severus tucked it away firmly again behind the stone mask he wore against the rest. Something else entered the blond's gaze then, half-demand and half-anger. There would be a reckoning, a personal one, when Draco could get him alone. But for now, his godson told him wordlessly, he would back him. For now. Severus had not expected even this much from the boy he had pledged to care for and had abandoned in a very real sense, as betrayed as Potter and perhaps even more so for having had that personal bond with Draco.

Dragging his gaze away, Severus was greeted with another—Skye Corwin's determined stare, far too like her aunt's for Severus' comfort. She evaluated him with all the professionalism of Danielle Corwin, and a warning was easily read in her eyes. _She _would support him only if he could convince _her, _not Draco. And if he ever hurt Draco again, there would be hell to pay. Severus respected that. The spitfire reminded him just a little of Hermione's own will to forge her own choice regardless of the decisions and judgment of others.

Severus leaned forward, rapidly scanning the rest of the uneasy, fearful faces. A spy does not live long if he cannot assess anyone, any situation, at one glance. _Draco and Skye will protect me, for now. Fields is cautiously convinced—as a CIA operative herself, she has no doubt had her own share of dirty, unacknowledged jobs that offend the ordinary man's morals. The werewolf isn't sure of what to believe, but will only pose a threat if Potter and his clique dissolve this situation still further into chaos. Ylba will support me if I need it—Mippy has no doubt filled her ear with every facet of my life by now, and she would not be seated so close to Hermione and I if she was not a firm ally. Li, Minerva, I can count on my side as well since they already knew. Arthur Weasley is ready to kill, but I think that is more his protectiveness of his daughter than his reaction to me. Ron Weasley, surprisingly enough, does not seem ready to attack although he is gripping his wand rather tightly. Ah, and of course the entire situation hinges on how Potter reacts. The rest will take their cues from him. _

"I am not looking for friendship or…_understanding_," he drawled. He tempered his sarcasm and loathing for Potter's sanctimonious anger with some difficulty, knowing that Hermione at least still saw _something _in the brat enough to call him a friend, even brother. Draco's steady gaze helped some. He truly did want to mend fences with the boy he'd considered his responsibility and care. "I offer no excuses for my actions and I take responsibility for them. If my presence—my _contributions—_offend you, I advise you to deal with it in your own personal time. This is a war in which no stone must be left unturned, and those of you who occupy the heroic, glamorous jobs cannot hope to win your battles with the rules of _ethics." _

"And you call the murder of the Headmaster your _contribution _to the war?" Potter spat, livid. He raked both Severus and Hermione over once with potent fury, and then deliberately laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. Wandless, wordless magic—all that anger channeled, freed her from Hermione's spell and she unfroze.

"You vile murderer," the girl snarled at him. Potter still held her, and she did not attempt to attack again. "And you! I trusted you! You're nothing but a lying rat." She turned on Hermione. Severus itched to hex her, but Hermione spoke first.

"I could very well call _you _the same thing," she said without inflection. "After all, not once did you ever mention the dangerous magic you and your group of girls were attempting. Not a hint, and only Minerva and Li knew, I suspect."

The girl was red with anger and perhaps even some shame. "That's _different," _she growled.

"Oh?" Hermione smiled lightly, mockingly. "Perhaps, if you wish to see it that way…"

"You traitorous _bitch," _the Weasley girl snarled. "You disgust me." _Enough is enough. _Severus raised his wand, ignoring Hermione's cold warning glance.

"Ginny, don't be pigheaded," someone broke in unexpectedly. _The Weasley boy? _Severus thought in astonishment. "Hermione's role, and…Snape's, were assigned—and approved—by the Order, and we _need _them in this war. If we hadn't had them we'd have lost a long time ago. Look, I don't like it but you can't argue with the tactics of the best generals and war leaders in history. Spies are necessary, assassins can be necessary, and Hermione and Snape are doing a damn good job of it. And she's my friend. That's enough for me."

_Quite a speech, young Weasley. Perhaps there is more to you than I thought, that logic has finally invaded your tendency to blow up. _Potter looked as if he'd swallowed a dead fish. The girl's face was black. And Hermione was staring at Weasley as if he'd given her the best Christmas gift in the world. The next instant, her mask was back but Severus could not help the jab of jealousy that flooded his mouth and tasted bitter on his tongue. _Damnit, she has assured me that Weasley is a friend, no more. I should be glad that at least one of the fools has his head extracted from up his ass far enough to see how important, how wonderful Hermione is both to this war and as herself. _

"Severus has always remained loyal," Minerva declared firmly, glaring at Potter. "I swear on my magic that he is on our side."

"He's a cowardly traitor who's _murdered _and hurt far too many people just like the devil's snake he is," Potter yelled—apparently, the spell of quiet anger was temporary. _There it is—the childish temper I was expecting. _

"Damn it all, boy, _think. _You can't let emotions get in the way of fact. You should be glad that there's someone to do the jobs you don't want on _your _conscience," Fields snapped. Her accent, normally a casual twang, thickened with irritation. Severus' eyebrows arched. Apparently Potter had touched a nerve in the American witch. She was now firmly on Severus' side. _Not a good idea, to have angered the foreign representative, Potter. You have the diplomacy of a flobberworm. _

"Li, can we trust them?" Arthur Weasley asked softly. _I am _here, _you could talk to me instead of about me, _Severus thought acidly. His head was starting to pound. Hermione must be miserable, with the tension that anger and magic had created. Severus was glad he had had the foresight to bring Headache Relief potion with him. All he had to do was get through this damn farce…

"I do. The Order's High Council does," Li responded loudly enough for all to hear. "I would trust both Hermione and Severus with my life and with the lives of my children."

"As would I," Minerva declared solidly.

There was silence. Then Potter said quietly, "I see." He looked around, scorching each person there with the vivid green fury in his eyes. "Then there is nothing else to say." The Weasley girl began to splutter, but Potter squeezed her shoulder and she stopped. "I will go along with this, because I cannot believe that all of you—and the High Council—would be stupid enough to damage our chances of winning this war for once and for all. I've sworn the fucking Secrecy Oath you wanted when we all walked through the door and it will hold. But I won't forget this. And I won't agree with it. I thought you were my friend, Hermione—almost like my sister. I was wrong." He stared at Hermione, and Severus almost shivered. _His eyes are exactly the same as Lily's was, the day she told me we were done, that she no longer wanted to see me or speak to me. That I was dead in her eyes. _

Perhaps so imperceptibly that only another trained spy watching closely would notice, Hermione flinched. Abruptly, Potter sat down again, and slowly, so did the Weasley girl, still glaring at both of them. The others who had in the chaos jumped up also cautiously reseated themselves. When Hermione spoke, it was strong and without a hint of pain. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, Harry," she said with great sadness. "I'm sorry to anyone who feels as though I have betrayed you or lied to you. But I am not sorry for what I have done. I thought it was necessary and I still think it is. _Severus _is necessary, important to everything we've done. So I can apologize for having made you feel betrayed, but I cannot apologize for doing what I thought was important and even more significantly, what was and is _right." _

She met the Potter boy's glare directly now, and it was him who looked away first, green giving way to firm brown eyes. Without another word, she calmly met all the stares, finally looking at Li. The old man rose. "Perhaps we might continue with the agenda for the evening," he suggested kindly.

Minerva, snapping back into her ordinary self, rose. "All right. We've divided you up into three groups, you leaders. Some of you will be leading your specific group in the battle at Hogwarts. The second will be all the leaders who will have their groups fight at the Ministry. Third are the leaders of groups who will need to be split between the two battles—such as Poppy and the field healers. I'm going to read off who's in which sector, and then perhaps we can afford a five-minute break before reconvening and discussing the plans particular to your team." She took a parchment from Weasley and cleared her throat. "Those at Hogwarts: Harry, Remus, Ginny, Luna, Draco and Skye, Hermione, Severus. Those at the Ministry: Hestia, Danielle, Percy, Audrey, Natalie, Datona. Those who will need to split their forces between both battles: Ylba, Aquila, Poppy."

The instant they broke, Potter and his little troupe left the room, heading no doubt to another corner of the house to bitch and curse. Severus watched the swirl of hatred depart with some gratefulness. Most of the others wandered away as well in twos and threes to discuss the multiple shocks of the evening in low voices. Severus gave in and pulled out the Headache Relief, downing the extra-strength dose in one shot. He offered the other to Hermione wordlessly. She took it with hands that…trembled? In fact, they were shaking almost uncontrollably as she tried to unstopper the phial. Concern swamped him. He took it from her. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

She tried to smile. It came out a grimace of pain. "The…the familia bond with Harry," she whispered. "He really hates me. It's making me feel it."

With a narrowed gaze, Severus cast a general diagnostic spell. "What hurts?"

"Its just a bit of pain in my chest area, and a filthy headache," she said, trying to dismiss it. But the spell showed glaring spots and Severus hissed through his teeth angrily. "Just a bit of pain? Hermione, your magic has cut back on anything non-essential to living just to suppress the bond. It's a wonder you're not writhing on the floor with pain—it's got to be the equal of the Cruciatus Curse. Certainly I've not seen this type of response on very many spells or curses, and most of them are illegal or Dark or both. Your magic is doing everything it can to suppress the spell—the bond, in this case, so that you don't go into seizure or heart arrest. You should be utterly incapacitated."

"Oh," she said weakly.

"You need to go to the hospital," he told her.

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. Just give me something for the ache and I'll be fine," she insisted.

"You're _not _fine, Hermione Granger. You are dangerously close to having a heart attack!" Without giving her a choice, He grabbed her arm and dragged her outside the room. Thankfully, Poppy was just outside, about to reenter.

"Goodness, where are you…what's wrong?" the Healer asked, voice going sharp suddenly as she assessed the situation before her.

"The damned magical bond she's got with _Potter _is putting extreme stress on her life force," he snapped. "Her magic's already cut back on all non-essential functions."

Poppy's expression turned to alarm. "What? That's not possible. She's not…" a diagnostic spell of her own made her pale. "Miss Granger—Hermione, you need to lie down. Right now."

"I'm fine," Hermione protested as Severus conjured a stretcher for her to lie on.

"You are most certainly not fine," the Hogwarts Healer told her, wand doing further extensive diagnostics. "Severus—that bond needs to be blocked. It can't be cut, not without another ritual and probably a lot of nasty backlash, but if we build a barrier around it and isolate it from the rest of her magic…"

"Yes, yes, I see," Severus said, already placing his own wand over Hermione's heart.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing." Hermione still managed to sound annoyed, even as her voice wavered and weakened.

"She's being tortured through the familia bond with Potter," Severus said to Li, taking a vicious pleasure in how Potter himself paled and the Weasley girl looked taken aback. Everyone was there now, and Poppy tsked.

"We need peace, and some privacy," she said with a warning in her tone.

"Take her inside the room. We'll all stay outside," Li said instantly.

_Thank Merlin for Li. _The commanding snap in his tone showed instantaneous results. It was Minerva who Levitated the stretcher smoothly into the room. The table scuttled out of the way under Severus' wand, and Hermione was placed there. She was struggling weakly to sit up—Poppy pressed her down firmly. "There now, Hermione," she said gently and with great firmness. "You just sleep. Rest a little, won't you?" With an ease Severus admired, the woman swiftly slid Hermione into deep slumber, the spell barely noticed.

The stretcher itself wiggled and became a bed. Startled, Severus looked up to meet Minerva's look. She nodded once at him, and to his surprise as she left she touched his shoulder briefly. Then everyone else was gone and the door closed. Poppy sighed, stroking Hermione's hair. "Poor girl," she crooned. "So much weight, so much of the world placed on her because the rest of the world didn't want to face their fears and instead let the responsibilities be given to children."

Severus said nothing, but Poppy seemed to know what he was thinking. "Stop that," she scolded. "T'wasn't your fault at all, you great booby. If anything, you eased some of the stress she's been under. Don't think I didn't know that she had someone she was seeing. I didn't know it was you, of course, though I've had my suspicions, but if she hadn't had you she'd have ended up in my Hospital Wing a great deal earlier than now." She looked at him fiercely. "I wish you would have told me, Severus. I'd have believed you with none of this swearing and vouching and such. But what's done's done, and I know now." She patted his hand. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Having taken away his breath with the simple trust and friendship she had offered freely, Poppy again placed her wand over Hermione's forehead. Severus, after a moment, did the same over her heart. He'd thank her afterwards. After Hermione was safe and the blasted bond blocked off. They breathed together, and began.

**A.N.: So I hope the chapter was okay? Reviews are like cookies without the calories. Please give this author a cookie or two and keep her fed!**

**Okay, so this is when I tell you that I'm continent-hopping again to go back to college, and as such the next few weeks are going to be insanely busy. I do have most of the next chapter written but it may take a while for me to finish it and post. My apologies!**


	94. Chapter 94

**Disclaimer: I don't suppose a little **_**Imperio **_**would be legal to gain possession of HP & co…**

**Warning: There's a bit of a violent scene in this chapter towards the end. **

Hermione felt an empty place where Harry had once resided, his good nature and brotherly affection and constant friendship. No, not quite empty. More like…dead. Or perhaps blocked off, shielded away so tight that even she could not break through. She did not try, simply slid around the slick walls that hid away her best friend. She did this every day, like a child who constantly wiggles his loose tooth with his tongue despite the twinges of pain, or someone picking a scab. Inside the walled off area, there was pain and despair and hot hatred that would drown her if she allowed it to. Without, there was only sorrow, the only emotion small enough to leak through the barricade Severus and Poppy had built for her. Neither Harry nor Ginny were talking to her. Granted, it had only been a couple of days since she had given them the truth.

Now, more than ever, Hermione was grateful to Minerva that she had been accelerated through the last year of classes and had graduated already. It was hard enough being within the same castle as Harry and Ginny. It would have been worse to share the same classes and the same common room. As it was, Poppy had already warned her—and, she suspected, Harry—to stay away from each other for now. The distance and the time would, Poppy hoped, keep Hermione from danger and cool Harry's temper. Hermione knew better. Distance might indeed allow for Hermione's block to hold, but Harry once provoked would not forgive easily. _Too much like his own mother, _she thought bitterly, remembering Severus—and Lily. _We are a pair after all, both rejected by mother and son. _If it hadn't hurt so much, Hermione would have laughed at the irony, the fitting irony of it all.

To her surprise, Ron had come down on her side in this utter mess. _"I don't like how he's handling it. He and Ginny, I mean," _he had said to her when he'd visited her the next day. _"I hate that you didn't tell me and I…I wish you didn't do what you do, but it's _important. _Really important, more so even than my hurt feelings. Sun Tzu says that you should pick the most intelligent of your people to be spies, and I guess it's no hard decision about who's the smartest of all of us." _

_Hermione beamed through the waves of her own crippling sadness. "You did read the book I gave you," she murmured._

_Ron rubbed his neck awkwardly. "It really helped me, and gave me some suggestions that Head—uh, Minerva hadn't thought about. Look, I'm sorry on Harry and Ginny's behalf, Hermione. I wish I could knock some sense into their heads. Dad's already talked to Ginny, even Perce has had some words with her, but she's as stubborn as Mum when she decides something. And I know Professor Lupin has tried to talk to Harry." _Because Hermione _had _heard about the unmitigated disaster that had left Remus very shaken and disappointed in his old friend's son, she smiled weakly at Ron. _"It's okay," _she had told him. _"I guess I deserve it for having withheld the truth for so long. I know that above all, Harry hates not being told something important."_

_ "It's _not _your fault. He's an ass for thinking anything but that it was your _job. _Harry's never been brilliant at logic when emotion gets involved," Ron told her. _

_ "Funny, I recall telling you once that you had the emotional depth of a teaspoon," Hermione mused. "Perhaps that was for the best, in the long run."_

_ "Definitely," Ron said, making her giggle. Glad to have put a real smile on his friend's face, he patted her shoulder. "I'll work on them, Hermione. They'll come around. If they don't, there's always Mum and her Howlers, which she _will _send when she finds out about this."_

_ Hermione shuddered. "Give them a bit of time before you inflict that on them," she said earnestly. "That's a ghastly prospect."_

_ "I'd say they've earned it," Ron said airily. "Ah…Percy says to tell you that he's impressed. And something about the revenge of the nerds." Ron shrugged, a little confused. Hermione both sighed and smiled at the same time. _

"_Muggle thing," she assured Ron. "Though _where _Percy heard the phrase revenge of the nerds or watched the movie…"_

"_His, ah…friend, White—she's Muggleborn, I think," Ron offered._

_Hermione found herself amused by Ron's attempt at diplomacy as well as more encouraged than she'd been before. "You're talking to him then?" she asked carefully._

"_Yeah. Dad was ecstatic, you know? And…" he made a face. "After Ginny's…well…it just didn't seem right. He still has to make up for all he put Mum through," Ron added warningly. "It wasn't right, that. She was devastated every time he didn't come home for a holiday." _

_Hermione was glad that, as painful as Ginny's attack on her had been, _something _good had happened out of it. Ron might be more mature than she'd ever thought he was capable of, but with Ginny's outrageously out-of-line anger on display, he'd been pushed to take a firmer stand on both Hermione's and Percy's side. _

_She let herself stop truly listening to Ron, even as he told her things she automatically filed away. That Arthur Weasley was disappointed in both his daughter and the boy he considered his own already. That Molly Weasley knew something was wrong but hadn't found out what yet. That Percy had gone back to his work and no one seemed to be the wiser. When he finally left, the momentary good cheer he'd brought with him dissipated as well. _

Hermione sighed, staring at her—for once!—empty desk. She could see the top of the table. Minerva had decreed that she not do anything too demanding for at least a week, which included grading and marking. Slughorn was having to grade _her _assignments for a change. She'd insisted on continuing to teach the classes she had though, rather than full rest. Hermione thought she'd go mad without something to do all day.

A knock on the door caught her ear. "Who is it?"

"It's Draco."

Hermione sighed. She'd been expecting this visit for some time. No doubt he'd waited politely until she seemed to have recovered before accosting her. "Come in."

He entered—he was alone for a change. Hermione wondered where Skye was, and whether Draco had told her he wanted to talk to Hermione alone. "You may as well sit down," she gestured. "Minny?"

"What can Minny gets for Mistress Hermy?" the house elf asked, appearing instantaneously. Minny had been hovering ever since Hermione had been returned to Hogwarts still asleep from Poppy's spell and the exhaustion of her life force working to protect her.

"Tea, Draco?"

"Oh—that would be lovely," the boy answered, a hint of nerves showing through in Pureblood-bred manners.

Minny was fast and as usual, the service was impeccable. Hermione thanked her and sipped her own cup, distantly amused to taste the distinct flavor of chamomile in her cup. The house elves were conspiring to keep her relaxed and stress-free. "Now, I can guess what you wanted to talk about," Hermione began directly.

Draco stared into his cup. "It's Severus," he admitted. "You never hinted…"

"I couldn't. Any little hint, and he could be caught," Hermione said. "Look, Draco, I know that you feel lost and rather betrayed at the moment. I don't blame you. But I can assure you that Severus has always been unwaveringly loyal to Albus Dumbledore, to the Order, and," she paused, looked at him, "to you, Draco."

Draco gripped his cup tight enough that Hermione was glad that he'd been provided with one of the thick mugs rather than the delicate china the house elves often liked to use for guests in teacher quarters. "He killed Professor Dumbledore," he said tightly.

"Like I said before, Albus was already dying. He would have died slowly—losing his mind first," Hermione replied. "There was only a split second to make his choice and a war he had promised Albus—and a great many other people, including himself—that he would put above any one life. I promise you, Draco, it was not done in cold blood. He had nightmares and guilt enough to fill all the oceans in the world twice over. He still does. One of his biggest regrets is that he was not able to ever be what he swore he would be to you, a guardian and godfather in truth. He did all he could to protect you and make sure that the Dark Lord never felt inclined to pursue you past your disownment. He may never say it, Draco, but he loves you. I think he may not admit it to himself but you're the child he never had."

Draco's face was at its stoniest, and having been around Slytherins long enough told Hermione that he was trying to suppress the unmanly—and un-Slytherin—show of emotions that were no doubt roiling inside of him. With a sensitivity born of being female, she took the opportunity to look away, pretending not to see as the boy tried to pull himself together under the unbearable mask of ice. Too much of life with Skye had rendered it a far more difficult task than it would have been before, and Hermione suspected the mask might break. Better to look away and give him as much privacy as she could. "He…I couldn't think about him, when I thought he'd walked away," he said harshly. "I never let myself think about him, because I couldn't hate him and I needed to. Even when Skye…trust Snape to be that wily he tricked all of us," he managed with a half-laugh half-sigh.

Sensing that the danger was over, Hermione looked back again at Draco. "He'll have his own words to say to you, though they may have to wait a while since he can't afford to draw too much suspicion to his comings and goings. He's been in and out a great deal more this month than usual. But I do know that he's proud of you, and proud of your maturity and the life you've made with Skye," she said confidently.

Draco gave a little nod, but he blinked as if something had occurred to him. His grey eyes sharpened. "You're in love with him." It wasn't a question.

Hermione showed no reaction, only raised an eyebrow, but her heart began to beat faster. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Don't bother. Severus taught you, I'm sure, which means you could lie and I'd never know the difference. But you _know _him, and you talk like you know how he feels. He _never _lets his guard down enough for anyone to know that, barely with me even. That means he really feels something for you, and you're enough of a Gryffindor I think to be straightforward with me about his feelings towards me. That means you know what's important to him, that kind of conviction is enough to tell me that you really do have feelings for my godfather. Otherwise you wouldn't care about all these emotions, just about the important facts for winning the war."

Hermione met Draco's eyes. _He deserves the truth. _She dared not say it out loud, the trained caution in her still supreme. But she allowed silence, and a momentary flicker of her eyelids, to speak for her. Draco's face lit up with triumph. "I knew it!"

"As you've so astutely pointed out, there is a war to be won that does not hinge on mere emotion," Hermione pointed out.

Draco winced. "You even sound like him now. I don't know why I didn't notice just how snarky you've become. No wonder. All right, I won't say anything. Not even to Skye." He got serious. "I know it's hard enough for you two without all of this other stuff going on as well. If you ever need to talk, or a helping wand, I'm always here. Skye too, and she won't ask any questions. Not during the moment anyway," he added. Hermione smirked. Skye would never stop asking questions. _It's a good habit to have, though a dangerous one in these times. _

"Thank you, Draco," she said quietly instead.

"Thank _you," _Draco responded. "You're unbelievable, you know that? Just unbelievable. Exactly the kind of sister I'm glad to have around to make things interesting." And with that parting shot, Draco left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione was caught between laughter and tears. Draco had done that on purpose. _As one brother disowns me, another claims me as family. _It was exactly the kind of open-hearted awareness and sneaky tactics that Severus might have employed if he had been able to be here, and Hermione felt a bubble of pride. She would have to tell her parents of this. They certainly would be as proud as she of the boy they already considered part of the family. The thought of her parents, far away and training to fight in a war that they should never have been involved in, was the last straw. Tears won over laughter, and Hermione curled into a small ball and sobbed, wishing for her mother and father, wishing that she were in a world that didn't demand the impossible from her.

**-break-**

When the watch signaled an urgent message right in the middle of lunch, Hermione was suspicious. Severus wouldn't risk his cover to simply ask for another meeting with her, not so soon after he'd seen her last and especially not when the last time had been three days ago at the 'great reveal'. The message was straightforward enough, an urgent request to pass on important information. All by the book, except for the timing. Something turned unpleasantly in her stomach, and she excused herself, sending a glance Minerva's way. She was waiting in the Headmistress' office when Minerva extracted herself a short while later, hopefully putting off any eyes watching.

They did not, however, have the time for Hermione to explain her misgivings because the confirmation arrived seconds after Minerva did.

"Mistress! Mistress!" sobbed a hysterical thing, appearing out of midair to fling itself at Hermione. Reflex had her nearly Stunning it before she recognized it for what it was—a house elf. More specifically, Severus' house elf. It was the second time Mippy had come to her to her this hysterical, and the last time Severus had been knocked clean out by an explosion in his potions lab. This time, Mippy didn't just look insistent and worried—he looked frantic. Hermione's heart froze.

"Mippy," she said calmly, "take a breath and get a hold of yourself."

She knelt down so that she was on the same level as Mippy, who looked rather worse for the wear. Blood was splattered across the towel he wore, and the tip of one of his flappy ears was cut clean off. Silently, Minerva handed her a soft piece of cloth, which Hermione used to make a field dressing. There appeared to be no other injuries on the elf, so she simply waited for him to pull himself together enough to tell her what had happened.

"Is Master," Mippy finally said. His over-large eyes were already starting to glaze with shock. "They was hurting him. Bad Mippy, bad bad Mippy tries to save Master but they is wanting to kill Mippy. Bad elf, to run away, to leave Master behind. Bad, coward, scum! Bad elf, bad Mippy…" the house elf began to tremble, and something told Hermione to grab him. Just in time—Mippy thrashed, obviously intent on bashing his head against the floor.

"Mippy. Mippy! No! Stop this at once," Hermione ordered with a strength she didn't know she had as her heart shattered.

"Sorry…I's sorry, Mistress, sorry…Mippy is sorry…" he moaned, and Hermione sighed quietly in relief as he collapsed limply in her arms, giving himself up to grief.

"Minerva—I need—" she looked up to see Minerva ushering another small house elf towards them. Minny rushed towards her brother, scooping him up out of Hermione's arms with prodigious strength in her little frame. She was already crying as she rocked Mippy back and forth like a child, babbling in an utterly foreign tongue. Hermione felt as though she were wading through thick mud or a fog that muffled all as she turned her head with difficulty towards the witch.

"He's—in trouble—I have to help," she got out, fighting the urge to succumb to the honey-thick mist that pressed down on her with enormous force.

"You will sit here and take a Calming drought while I find out more information and get enough people to go so that this won't be a suicide mission," Minerva said crisply without giving Hermione a chance to object. She thrust the phial in her hand and somehow heaved Hermione into a chair. Time—perhaps five minutes, perhaps an hour—passed in a blur. She didn't take the potion. Instead, she closed her eyes and half-allowed herself to drift in the fog. It was better than the mirror-sharp shards that threatened to close off her lungs and carve out her chest. She swam back up though when she felt someone's hand on her arm. Opening her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of Minerva, as old as she'd ever looked and grim-faced.

"Yes?" she managed.

"We have a team put together. Minny got more information out of Mippy. They have him on the top floor. There's at least the entire Inner Circle, perhaps more, there but when Mippy managed to escape Severus was still alive. We have a chance to get him out, Hermione."

That pierced the fog. In fact, it vanished, leaving only pitiless clarity. Everything was doubly-outlined with sharpness like a camera lens that had gone from blurry vision to focusing in less than a second. "Then let's go," she said, surging to her feet. The unneeded Calming draught clattered to the floor, unheeded.

"Mippy can't get back inside—they did _something _with the wards. Mippy managed to get out but when he tried to go back in for Severus, they'd somehow managed to bar his ability to go in. You're the only one who will likely be able to get access."

There were other people in the room too. Hermione knew them and did not know them—they looked at her with expressions ranging in pity and worry. She knew she probably seemed demented, and she cursed them mentally for not seeing the worth in Severus, but it was of little importance now as long as they did what they were told. "I'll go in as Milena," she said, brain already a hundred miles ahead, racing through the best plan of action. "I always enter on the ground floor, in the Apparating room. As long as I can evade an ambush there, I can unravel the wards from the inside. We'll need to spread out and cover the rest of the house as well, to make sure there aren't any surprise ambushes. So a couple of you, come with me straight to the top—the rest of you, clear the rest of the house and then come up as fast as you can. We'll be outnumbered or evenly matched at best, and the Dark Lord will be there so best to be careful."

"Are you going to be able to take down the wards?" someone asked.

Hermione took a breath and allowed herself to remember Severus—the love he showed only when they were alone, the way his entire body agreed. Doubt could not be an issue, not if she was to succeed. She thought of the way his dark eyes never evaded hers, but only held—truthfully, honestly, trustingly. Those were things Severus had by his own admission never given anyone else in such large measure since Lily. Not even Albus.

_And Mippy called me Mistress. Not Professor, not Missy Hermione, not even Mistress Hermione—just Mistress. _"Yes," she said with confidence though her throat ached. "Yes, I will."

It had only been a half-hour, after all. When Milena Apparated, it was with several devices hidden on her body that would emit different types of signals, all of them amenable to pinpointing her location. Prince Manor, after all, was under far too many wards to know where it was in actuality. Courtesy of Fred and George and their little tag team who had created the spellphone, the location device—not yet named—both twins swore it would even work through Fidelius, although it would and did die within minutes of entering such powerful warding spells. Any locating would need to be done within the first ten minutes, which meant Hermione had to immobilize any attackers and take down the wards under that time.

There were four men waiting for her. One went down immediately, felled by her wand. A second yelped as her second spell slashed his wand arm, but switched clumsily to his other hand. The crystalline quality she was experiencing came in handy. Hermione moved silently and swiftly, taking out the man she'd wounded in a feint. But the other two were warier, and seemed content to circle around forever. Hermione had no time and no patience. Severus was in fatal danger, and she was not going to dance around with Death Eaters down here while he faced the Dark Lord upstairs.

With incredible foolishness or bravery—she had no doubts as to which Severus would have asserted was the case—Hermione _lunged. _She barely felt the pain as her flesh ripped open at her shoulder and side, just missing another spell, and felt her left fist, the one not holding her wand, slam into the Death Eater's gut. A supernaturally powerful twist swung the winded man's body directly into the path of the second Death Eater's spell, and she tossed the limp body at him. He wasn't fast enough to stumble backwards, and Hermione used the momentary distraction to fire a Stunner and magical-suppressant ropes at him.

The silence in the room was very loud, broken only by her heavy breathing. Had she been fast enough? She cast a Tempus charm. _Three minutes left. _Hermione inhaled and stood up straighter, ignoring the screech of pain from her shoulder and side. Something warm trickled—blood—but nothing was so important as her task at the moment. Hermione laid a hand on the wall, and felt.

_She felt…empathy, as she realized just how little Severus had been granted in life, just how much he had to bear. No pity though—this was a man who deserved none, as he simply went on with life amidst the broken pieces of his world. She felt joy, as she bickered with the man. A more stubborn person she'd yet to meet but oh, the intelligence of his comments, the way he argued with his brain and not some vague sense like the boys her age! She felt despair, as she looked at him, her friend, and longed for more…for more that she dared not assume of him…and wonder, as Severus took her flying, banishing the motion sickness and giving her the gift of flight. The stars sang above them in the dizzying way he looped and guided his broom. There was love! There it was, and he had given it to her, his heart, though she did not deserve it. She felt helplessness, as duty that had brought them together now tore them apart. But there was still love, as he reached for her in his sleep or searched for her eyes first of all in the morning, and willingly graded her work alongside her, taking great amusement in inserting Snape-like criticisms in her handwriting. _

Something…quivered. Hermione, lost in the flow of memories, struggled to keep her mind open and her heart full as tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the blood she had already spilt. "I love him, and he loves me," she whispered. "Is it enough?"

The quivering became still. And then—_yes. _Wordless, but assent flooded through her, and Hermione carefully lifted her palm from the wall and at her simple mental request, the wards of Prince Manor deactivated.

_Twenty seconds. _Slowly, Hermione stepped back and watched as the rescue party of the Order Apparated in, some still wearing looks of surprise.

"You're hurt," someone cried even as others dealt with the unconscious bodies on the floor. "You ought to leave—"

Hermione ignored the voice, simply walking towards the door that led to the rest of the house.

"Hermione." Another voice, warn and commanding. She turned her head to see someone she thought she knew…_friend, _her mind whispered. "Let me field-heal it, at least." She nodded numbly, and made no sound as the woman efficiently stopped the deep cuts from bleeding. Real healing would have to wait with slashes as deep as her injuries. With the bleeding stopped, she headed inexorably for the stairs, not quite running but moving fast enough that those who were supposed to come with her had to hustle to keep up.

It was ominously quiet but for their own muffled footsteps. She slowed as she neared the last flight of stairs, training taking over once more. She Disillusioned herself silently, prompting the others to hastily follow her example. Creeping up the bit of stairs, as twisty and winding as a madman's mind in the manner of old houses, Hermione caught the watcher they'd posted off guard. It was a mistake he wouldn't make twice. A second later, she cocked her head to one side trying to listen to what was happening inside the closed room. It was most likely an attic-room of sorts, but judging by how little the manor seemed to have narrowed as they ascended, it was probably a fairly big attic.

There were faint murmurs—as if there were a Silencing spell that was only starting to wear off, and then something that made her heart grow cold. That tinny, hellish laughter could only belong to one wizard.

They burst in, the other four Order members with her acting in perfect concert as if it had been planned. Noise regained its proper volume, and they reduced the Death Eaters down by five before the real fighting started.

It was a scene from Hermione's personal nightmare. Severus, half-dead and three-quarters tortured, grey and unmoving on the wood floor. He was wrapped in dull chains that glistened with magic-suppressing spells. The half-circle of Death Eaters were far more than even she had expected, and her heart pounded in her mouth and hammered loudly in her ears as she took in the very bad odds even as she worked to even them. _Severus, oh god Severus! _The brief invisibility was soon stripped away as this, the Inner Circle—it had to be—reorganized with threatening speed, obviously trained to face this sort of unexpected attack. _No doubt to protect their lord or themselves if the Aurors came calling. _

They flanked the vile tyrant even as she silently finished off another man, his eyes bulging with shock as he toppled over, dead or unconscious she didn't know and didn't care. And behind their protective circle lay the body of her love. _Please, please, be alive. Please, gods, I pledge you anything if you will protect him, save him! _Dimly, she realized she was pressed back against a wall, furiously defending with every bit of agility and strength she had, and still it was barely enough. They had the numbers and the surprise advantage was gone—the only chance they had lay in the other Order members making it up here in time. There would be enough with the rest of them to make a real stand and not be massacred.

She was screaming now, giving voice to both anguish and magic as her muscles burned with the effort to cast and counter all that was crowding her in. She was fighting a purely defensive battle now, as sweat poured down her face and neck, and sooner or later—

a curse was going to get through.

_"Sectumsempra!" _

Her vision actually greyed as her body arched in silent agony, but _somehow, _her wand hand kept moving as if on autopilot. The wound in her side reopened, and the difficulty she had breathing told the remotest part of her brain that the cutting curse had glanced off her side and managed to cut to the bone and leave a gash on at least one rib. She would pass out in moments from blood loss—could already feel the world starting to swirl and go away—_but Severus. _

_ Screams, fresh angry ones. _Vaguely Hermione thought that the reinforcements must be here, because suddenly she didn't need to defend herself—there was suddenly a gap in the Death Eaters, as one man went up in furious flames keening his agony and the rest shied away instinctively—

And she took the opening.

With the last of her slipping hold on consciousness, Hermione launched herself bodily over the burning wizard, the agony of her injuries a fine distraction for the pain of the crackling fire as she half stumbled through it, and then she was shielded, as Severus roared something, surging out of the smoke still shaking uncontrollably and to her distant surprise, another Death Eater was jerkily yanking off the last of the chains that bound him.

Severus' shield around her was flickering-weak, weak enough for a child to blow on it to sweep it away, but it took the weight of an ugly hex and all Hermione could think about past the incoherent roar of battle and the spinning room and red eyes screaming something at her was Severus. It might have been forever or two heartbeats that had Hermione staggering unstoppable to him, right under the nose of the Dark Lord, even as the Death Eater who had helped to free Severus screamed and died before he could dodge the green light that Voldemort aimed at him, and then her hand clamped on his, warm and alive, and she managed the last words that would be forced past her raw throat.

"I love you."

The world whipped dizzyingly, and went black.

**A.N.: **_**Cowers under the bed…**_**I'm sorry! Don't kill me or you'll never find out what happens! **


	95. Chapter 95

**Disclaimer: Let me check—nope, looks like Rowling didn't answer the email I sent her begging her to give me the rights. Not even Snape, and she doesn't even like him. **

Luna paused, and peered into the silence of the private room that Hermione Granger occupied. Her first view was not of her friend, motionless in the hospital bed, but of a man's back. It was hunched in an attitude she had never seen on this particular person, and the magic around him practically vibrated with darkness, nightmares, and despair so deep she felt herself starting to drown in its pain. The sudden cold against her skin of the amulet she wore reminded her that her mind belonged in her body and not in the sorrow and self-hate of another's.

"Madame Pomfrey won't like that you got out of bed," she remarked in her silvery voice.

He did not respond. His body still shook with tremors from the aftereffects of the torture curse. She ventured in closer, glimpsing the tumbled frizz of brown hair against the pillow. Hermione looked feverish. There were blankets piled on top of her, and still she shivered in her sleep. She had lost a lot of blood, and while Blood Replenishing potion did wonders, it still took time for it to work, for her heart to pump that much new blood into her body. The emergency Portkey she'd activated had further worsened her condition. Still, Madame Pomfrey had patched her up fairly quickly. Now, it was the fever that threatened to take Hermione away.

"She looks like she's just sleeping," Luna mused.

Silence.

"Have you talked to her? I'm sure she's very bored by now, and she'll want to know what happened after the others got there."

"Get out," he said.

"That's not very nice," she frowned.

Professor Snape—no, just Mister Snape now. Or perhaps Potions Master Snape?—turned his head towards her. His eyes were the darkest Luna had ever seen, darker even than in her dreams when he killed Professor Dumbledore or did so many other things that he probably hadn't done yet or, in this world, would. "I have no time for loony little girls who try my patience and disturb Hermione's peace," he snarled. "Get. Out. Leave now, Miss Lovegood, or you will regret it."

Luna took no offense. She rather hoped that one day she'd have someone who loved her like that. Still smiling dreamily, she reached forward to cup his face, the face of the man her friend loved. "Ask and you will receive," she recited. "She's just waiting to be asked."

Before he could hex her or do more than jerk away from her gentle fingers, Luna let go, leaned down to kiss Hermione smack on the lips, and spun her way out of the room, humming to herself.

Severus glared in disbelief after the crazy Lovegood girl, and raised his own fingers to feel his cheek where she had touched him. _Mad, _he thought contemptuously, resettling himself to focus back on Hermione again. _Mad as Potter is weak. _He'd tossed the boy out with a blast of accidental magic—him and his little gang, with the most pleasure he'd felt since the Dark Lord had arrived in Prince Manor. They'd flown several feet back, out the door, only his hastily-remembered iron control had kept him from doing worse. If he was not mistaken, they would be flat on their backs with a ringing, blinding migraine from magical overexertion due to his one blow, and no potion could alleviate those reactions (nor would he brew it for them if it existed). The brat had spurned Hermione, had made her hurt. Now the shallow little dickwad and his female-dog shadow were frantic and castigating themselves. They deserved no less—in fact, they deserved far more pain than what they were experiencing now. No mere headache could even begin to live up to what they had wreaked on their 'friend'. _Friend—hah! _

Mister Weasley, he had treated with barely more restraint, allowing the stammering redhead five minutes to see Hermione as he loomed over the boy's shoulder. To give the boy his due, he had been civil and so earnest it had induced toothaches. No one else but Minerva applied and gained entry to Hermione's private room within the Hospital Wing.

Except the odd Lovegood girl. Her parting words still lingered in his mind. _Ask and you will receive….she's just waiting to be asked. _Rubbish, he told himself. But it stayed stuck on his brain, and echoing in his ear. Ask…

The first, obviously cribbed from the Christian Bible. He'd read enough to remember that it was a verse, speaking of the Christ and of the nature of God. Was he meant to pray? There were no accounts of the Christian God being female though, and the Lovegood girl had said that _she _was waiting to be asked…to be asked…of a favour. A favour as a gift to him, from a woman who was both guardian and goddess. The Morrigan!

Severus sat bolt upright. When he had become a child of Hogwarts so long ago, the White Witch had offered him a boon as a gift for him, a sign of her respect of his worth. He had never claimed it, had just about forgotten it, dismissed it as simple speech. Now…well, he would grasp at anything that offered the possibility that Hermione might be made well. Even now, she shivered in the fever-induced sleep, sweat beading her forehead. She was in pain—and her temperature kept climbing. It was dangerously close to the degree in which she might lose the brain she had been renowned for. Even the most potent Fever Reducer had not helped, and if it went on another day he knew as well as Poppy that there would be irreversible damage—either death, or loss of mind. _Which is another death, for I doubt Hermione would wish to exist like that. She would rather die. _They'd resorted to the Muggle way of putting her in ice baths every hour, sitting her in tepid water and slowly increasing the chill of the water. _I cannot live without you in either scenario, Hermione, _he thought, grief a raven perched on his heart, _but maybe I may not have to. _

He caressed her clammy cheek, brushed some hair away from her face, and breathed deep ignoring the sharp ache of his own healing injuries through his fingers and nerves, the threatening tremors that might unexpectedly seize up on him without warning, without any modicum of control. "Morrigan, I need you," he murmured, somehow certain that he did not need to call loudly or search for her.

She came with no sound at all, eyes full of wisdom and dark with the knowledge of death and pain. In old legends, the Morrigan had been the goddess of the battlefield, of war and strife and blood spilled in the quarrels of men. She wore the gown of royalty and wealth, but her eyes were those of an old soldier's. "Child," she acknowledged. "You have called my true-name."

"Can you save her? Can you heal her?" he demanded, barely maintaining a polite tone. Or perhaps failing—by this point he didn't care.

The Morrigan let a hand hover over Hermione's forehead. It occurred to Severus that she was no longer in a painting—that she was standing next to him in life size, skirts brushing the stone of the floor, and quite solid indeed. "Of her body, your Healer has done mighty work deserving of the highest praise indeed," she noted.

"It is the fever which nothing we do will bring down," Severus confirmed, his voice uncharacteristically roughened. _Hermione, Hermione…_he ruthlessly forced his mind to name the ingredients and steps for Wolfsbane. To dwell too long on the way Hermione shivered and still burned hotter and hotter…her skin clammy and her hair limp, lips chapped and dull…_no! That way lies madness. _

"Yes, I see." She made a little considering sound. "I see." She looked up at him suddenly. "I can give her body stability, and show it the right balance," she said to him, "but are you willing to spend your favor of me on her?"

"Would her fever break on it's own?" he asked in return, biting back his protests. She was a goddess, no matter how restricted in power.

"I see very little when I see the future at all," the Morrigan admitted. "But I think—that she has the feel of a warrior I would claim to my keep soon."

_Never! Not now, not when I just found you…_"Then I would never risk her life, or her _mind, _in any sort of game of chance like this fever," Severus said flatly.

"And yet she goes into battle daily, _plans _war, and know you that she will be directly involved in combat when Beltane arrives. You would spend your favor now, and not then when the danger is greatest to her?" The goddess' voice was cutting and sharp.

Severus deliberately bit back what he wanted to snap. "Morrigan," he said. "I will play with no fates. I do not care about prophecy, fate, or doom. Hermione is her own woman and she has her duty as I have mine. Before we even pledged each other, we swore that we would not let what was between us get in the way of those duties. She will choose to fight as will I. _But this is no choice. _Look at her!" he gestured. "If she dies, it will be long and painful, fighting her own body's instincts. She is a spy, a handler, an operative. This is the worst kind of death when your own body, the body you've trained to control each instinct, betrays you. If she does not die, the fever will rob her of her mind and that is worse. Yes, worse! She will not be Hermione. She will be everything she fears, wiping every part of what she most prizes about herself away. That is no choice, Morrigan!"

He had said much more than he had meant to. Had he offended her? But then—there was no mistaking it—the Morrigan's eyes lit up with a fierce light, almost like battle fever. Before he could react, she reached out and in an eerie echo of Lovegood, she cupped his face. "My raven," she crooned, "you have proven yourself far more than I could have imagined. You love, as I had hoped, and your love is as clear-sighted as your form for you see your beloved's heart and her mind truly. It is a great love which would put the beloved over oneself."

He shivered at her strange touch, cool like a mountain-spring or the first chill of Autumn. His voice—and much of his mind—washed away in the presence of her palm on his cheek and jaw line.

She laughed, the sound of birds calling and harness bells and the ringing of swords. "Come then, raven-hearted. Yours should be the that which first greets your beloved's eyes." She bent her head over Hermione, and blew.

In the next moment, she was gone but her breath continued as a little fresh breeze that frisked around the entire length of the room and back to tease Severus' hair, lanky with lying in a hospital bed, then caressed Hermione's face once more. The tenseness on her face eased, the fever-flush on her cheeks subsided. It was as if the breeze was breathing life into her. Unbelieving, Severus' hand stole up to feel Hermione's forehead. It was cool—not clammy, not hot, but a pleasant temperature—completely normal. She shifted, and he sucked in a breath.

Her eyelids fluttered, opened. When they met with his, there was life and sense in their rich brown joy. "Severus," she mouthed, confusion—and pleasure—in her eyes.

He felt his dratted heart turn in his chest. "Hermione," he whispered, and threaded a hand through her tangled curls. "You infernal nuisance of a woman, don't you _ever _pull a stunt like that on me again! I thought I had lost you, and if Dolohov hadn't had some odd form of a Life Debt to repay me you wouldn't have managed to get to me even with that stupid move of yours."

"Kay," she murmured, already slipping into sleep—of a peaceful, natural kind this time. He paused, and kissed her lips gently.

"I love you too," he murmured.

**-break-**

Tonks paced. It was a measure of how agitated she was that she did not accidentally trip on something, or walk into the wall, or stumble over the feet of the other people waiting somewhat more patiently for their turn to be called out of the waiting room for friends and relatives of patients at St. Mungo's.

Agitated, slightly worried, perhaps a tat annoyed. That described how she felt. Anything more was not possible, because that would be saying that Remus was in a worse-than-usual shape. So agitated she was, rather than…frightened out of her wits.

"Ms Tonks?"

Tonks jumped, and this time did end up tripping over the one thing she couldn't avoid in her pacing—herself. The Mediwitch looked at her with a professionally trained compassion. "Yes, yes, that's me," she said hurriedly. "Is he awake? Can I see him?"

"Please, come with me," the Mediwitch said.

Swallowing, her throat suddenly dry, Tonks followed the green-clad girl into the maze of sterilized rooms and impersonal hallways. She was ushered into a small, whitewashed room. There were two beds, both occupied. One held a stranger. The other…

With a stifled cry, Tonks knelt by the other bed, where Remus lay far too pale and unconscious to be him. "Remus," she whispered. "Hey, lover. They let me go after a couple of nasty potions. Looks like you're in for a longer stay, you unlucky devil."

"Excuse me. Ms Tonks?" Tonks looked up. There was a different woman—this one wearing the sage green that denoted the best of those that worked in healing, the full Healers. Tonks didn't know whether to be grateful for the guaranteed top-notch care Remus was getting, or scared that his injuries needed it.

"Yes?" she managed.

The Healer smiled sympathetically. "If you'd take a seat, I can certainly discuss what is going on with your fiancé now, or we can move this to my office if you'd like."

Tonks glanced around. The other patient was sleeping the sleep of the dead, and Remus was unconscious. There was no one else in the room. "Here would be fine," she said, transferring herself to the chair instead of kneeling.

The Healer seated herself in the second chair by the bedside. "My name is Healer Brown," she introduced herself. "I'm the Healer on Mister Lupin's case. Mister Lupin was brought in this afternoon, transferred from the Hogwarts Hospital Wing at the recommendation of their Healer, Healer Pomfrey. He was stabilized but in critical condition when he arrived here. Healer Pomfrey's first diagnosis was silver poisoning, both external and internal, and some superficial bruising. The bruises were easily taken care of, but…I do hope I am not telling you something you did not know already, Ms Tonks, but Mister Lupin is a werewolf and the silver poisoning has put him near death."

She struggled not to cry. "Yes, I knew," she said more or less evenly. "I don't care a fig. Please, Healer, is he going to live?"

Healer Brown met her eyes. "At this moment, I cannot tell. So far, he is in what we call a stable but critical condition. There was a sliver of silver buried in his shoulder, which we extracted so there is no more silver being released into his bloodstream. We've purged all the poison from his blood, but the damage was already done to his internal organs. His heart is dangerously weak, as are his kidneys. Furthermore, the danger increases because it is so close to the full moon."

"It's tomorrow," Tonks murmured.

"Yes. Not only is the silver more poisonous to werewolves the closer it is to the full moon, the added stress on the body from the transformation—I am not sure if he will make it through," Healer Brown said.

"Not even with Wolfsbane?"

"It will help, but even so…" With great compassion, Healer Brown laid a comforting hand on Tonks' two tightly gripped ones in her lap. "I'm sorry."

She would not cry. She would not cry. Not in front of the Healer who had done her best to save Remus, who didn't even seem to discriminate against him because he was a werewolf. "May I…be with him? Alone?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need. Visiting hours are over at five, so you have a little over an hour." The Healer rose and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Tonks scooted her chair closer. Leaning forward, she found Remus' hand and held it. "You have to get better, you hear me?" she whispered fiercely. "If you don't, I'll…I'll sic Hestia on you. You know she's been wanting to give you a good makeover for ages. She'll drag you out clothes shopping and everything. You'll loathe it. Wake up, or I swear I'll send Hestia to haunt you. And Harry. Oh Merlin, Harry's going to blow when he finds out. You're his only connection to his parents now, and he loves you just for you too. _I _love you." Her voice broke, although she did not cry. She smoothed his forehead with one hand. The hand that bore the plain band that Remus had given her just a week ago, apologizing that he could not afford the time or the money for anything close to what she deserved. _I deserve _you, she thought. _I told you then that I didn't care if you gave me a plastic ring from a child's cracker, I would treasure it. And you. Merlin, and you. _

"Wake up," she murmured. "Wake up because I don't think I can live without you anymore."

A gentle hand touched her own shoulder. Tonks looked back to see both her parents. Andromeda Tonks brushed her daughter's cheek as Ted knelt awkwardly by her chair and opened his arms. And she wept like a little girl caught up in both her parents' embrace, her head buried in her father's chest and her mother stroking her short cap of hair.

It felt like years later, when the tears finally slowed, when she had finally passed the hiccupping and blowing-the-nose stage, when they had ensconced themselves in chairs, her mother still patting her back rhythmically, soothingly. Someone had brought in a third chair for her father and left it there unobtrusively. "We came as soon as we heard," her mother told her quietly.

"He was…" Tonks cut herself off, but her father urged her on.

"We've already put up privacy spells, darling, and the hospital rooms have their own privacy wards too."

"Oh." Tonks felt touched at her father's quick instincts, and very thankful. "He was hurt when we went in on information that one of ours had been captured by Voldemort." She looked uncertain for a moment, and her mother sighed.

"We don't need to _know _who the operative was or what he—or she—did, Nymphadora," she said wryly. Tonks automatically winced. "We understand procedures of secrecy within the Order just as well as you do. You probably don't have the authority to tell us yet, though I doubt it will stay secret for very long considering the many Order members being treated at St. Mungo's for their battle-wounds."

Tonks flushed. "Right. Um. Well, we went in but he was in the group that went ahead while we checked the security of the rest of the house, and when we got up there they were outnumbered. He—he held on till we got there but before Her—um, before someone got our person out, one of them attacked Remus." She swallowed, seeing it before her eyes vividly. _The screaming, the spell lights, unmoving bodies, the stench of burning flesh. The squat, bullish Death Eater that had appeared out of nowhere, a silver arm glinting as it fell on Remus. Remus shrieked and collapsed—too far away for Tonks to get to in time. _

"They Apparated out seconds after our person vanished out of there, but he was…Remus was already hurt. They…they don't know if he'll make it past this full moon. He's just so hurt," she suddenly wailed.

Ted Tonks enfolded her in his arms, as if she were a little girl again. "Sweetie, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

Her mother said nothing, but there was understanding as she moved closer to stroke her daughter's hair—for once plain brown. The same shade as Remus.

They let her cry, and soothed her, and when she finally agreed to sleep, it was to the secure knowledge that her parents would be watching over Remus in turns and would wake her the instant anything happened.

**-break-**

Harry came to visit the next day. "They excused me from class," he said, trying and failing to smile. Ginny was with him, and Tonks' heart both warmed and ached at the solid show of silent support she gave him as he gazed at the prone figure of his father's last loyal friend.

"He hasn't woken yet," she told him. "They say…they say that he probably won't, until the moon rises."

"But we won't know if he'll survive the change," the young man said grimly. She shook her head wordlessly. "How…how are you doing?" he asked her quietly. That in itself spoke for how much Harry had grown in the past year, for when Sirius Black had died and when Albus Dumbledore had gone through the Veil, Harry had been centered on his own loss and his own grief. Now, though Tonks could see pain shining in Harry's green gaze, there was genuine concern for her as well.

_Oh Remus, if you could only see your boy now, _she cried in her head. _He would make you proud. _"I'm managing," she replied with a wan little smile for him. "Could be better."

"He'll pull through," Ginny said as confidently as she could. Tonks wished she could feel that same assurance. "He'll make it. He's tough as nails."

"How's Hermione? And…and Snape?" she asked abruptly. She still couldn't believe the old bastard had been really on their side all along—and that _Hermione _had known, had facilitated it. She couldn't wrap her head around it, hadn't been able to when they'd rushed her into the emergency plans to rescue him. Couldn't now that Remus was injured so badly that she could think of nothing else. Still, she did not miss the irony that her lover had been harmed so badly as part of the rescue of his childhood nemesis.

Harry's face crumpled though he did not cry. "Not good," he admitted in a rough, broken voice. "Madame Pomfrey said that _he _was kept relatively alive because they wanted him to see them…kill…Hermione, so he's in better shape, just dealing with the aftermath of the Cruciatus. He woke up today. They were going to kill her, Tonks." Green shimmered with unshed tears and anguished shame. "You saw it, didn't you? You were there. Moody said…there were more spells aimed at her than anyone else. He told me it was a miracle she managed to dodge all the Avada curses that were going her way and still shield most of the rest. She didn't die there, but she might now. Her fever's climbing so fast they're afraid she'll either die or be brain damaged."

"Harry," Tonks breathed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _Merlin, Remus and Hermione…so much pain paid for Snape. Is he worth it? _She wrenched her thoughts away from that bitter path, knowing Remus would have chided her for it.

Harry fought for control. "Yeah. Me too." Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "Can I talk to Remus for a bit?"

"Of course." Tonks begrudged every second out of Remus' presence, but Harry deserved privacy. Slowly, she left the room. At the door, Ginny caught up to her.

"She was the one who taught me how to act normally around Harry," she said abruptly.

Tonks blinked. "Who? Hermione?"

"Mmhm. She told me to follow my heart and ignore all the stuff in my head, even if it seemed to make a lot of sense and the stuff in my heart didn't. She said that half the battle was knowing what I wanted and if it was right for me, and the other half was fighting for it and not giving up."

"A lot of people would think you were talking about someone else," Tonks mused. "Hermione always came off as so much of a logic creature."

"She knew when it counted to follow illogic, when it was logical to follow the illogical," Ginny said fiercely. She laughed a little, bitterly, at herself. "Listen to me. I barely make any sense."

"Sure you do. Makes perfect sense," Tonks said.

"She was the first friend outside my family that saw me, and _not _my last name or my reputation," Ginny said, "and the last time I talked to her I screamed at her and called her a traitorous bitch." Tonks remained silent. Evidently, it was eating away at the girl.

"I told her that she disgusted me," Ginny continued. She seemed unaware that tears were streaming down her face freely. "I said that she was a liar and a traitor for not telling me that she was Snape's handler—for _being _Snape's handler. For killing people. That's her last memory of me, all my hate and anger and accusations. What if…what if she _dies, _thinking that that's what I think of her?"

"Hermione's a smart girl. She knew…knows better than to believe that," Tonks said firmly, drawing the other girl close in a hug. "I promise, she knows that you were upset and didn't mean the things you said. Everybody says things they don't mean when they're angry. She knows you didn't hate her or think that she was a traitor."

"I don't want her to die!" Ginny wailed, and collapsed fully into Tonks arms.

"Shh…shh…it's okay. Cry it out, let it go," Tonks crooned gently as tears sprang into her own eyes. She rubbed the other witch's back. "It's okay, just let it all out."

When the red-haired witch finally stilled and her body stopped heaving and juddering with uncontrollable sobs, Tonks pulled the handkerchief in her pocket out and handed it to her. "Here. Blow," she ordered, and had Ginny giggling weakly.

Ginny wiped her eyes and nose, and then looked at the handkerchief properly. "I'll wash it and get it back to…oh, its Professor Lupin's," she exclaimed. Indeed, the little square of cloth had the initials R.L. embroidered in the corner. It had been part of a set Tonks had given Remus for Christmas, and a jolt of pain ran through her as she thought of the look of joy on his face as he'd lifted them out. _"I've never had anything with my initials monogrammed on it," _he'd said. He had been too poor most of his life to afford it, and it wasn't exactly the kind of gift a guy friend, however close he might be, would think to give.

"Don't worry about it," she managed to say normally, waving off Ginny's stuttering apologies.

"I will wash it and give it back to you," the girl promised firmly, tucking it away carefully.

"Thanks."

"Thank _you," _Ginny returned, meeting her eyes. "I didn't mean to go all hysterical on you like that. Only I didn't want to make Harry more miserable than he is already, and I guess it just built up…"

"I understand," Tonks assured her. "Shall we go see if Harry's done telling tales to Remus?"

"Let's." They walked back together.

**-break-**

_One down, one to go. _Luna strolled in sometime after Harry and Ginny had left, surprising the dull brown-haired woman who was talking in a low tone to the prone figure on the bed. The woman looked up. Recognition took a moment, but then Tonks pasted a smile on her face for the new visitor. "Miss Lovegood," she acknowledged.

"We missed you in class," Luna said, coming to sit next to the Professor-Auror.

"I heard from Harry and Ginny that Minerva substituted."

"Yes, she did. She was worried about Professor Lupin, and you," Luna told her, twirling a blonde curl with her finger absently. "I think she thinks that the Killwalarees will get you like it almost got Professor-Potions-Master-Snape."

Professor Tonks stared at her. _A common response, nothing to worry about, _Luna decided. She'd been ready this time too—she hadn't even needed the ice amulet to keep her mind in the right body. "Will he be okay?" she asked idly, waving at Professor Lupin.

"I…I don't know," Professor Tonks confessed. "They don't have a lot of hope for him surviving the change tonight. It's full moon…"

Luna switched hands and continued to twirl her hair. "If he doesn't change, he won't be in danger of the silver, will he?" she mused.

"What do you mean?" Professor Tonks snapped.

"If he just wasn't a werewolf, they could probably treat the damage inside him and he wouldn't hurt himself more," Luna continued, almost talking to herself now. "That's all that really needs to be changed. All that really needs to be wished."

"Don't you think I don't wish that every day?" Professor Tonks demanded, her eyes going from a muddy brown to as black as Professor Snape's had been. "Every damn day, because he doesn't deserve the pain, the stigma, the unwarranted shame. He is the most human, the _best _human I have ever met in my life!"

"And its only one wish," Luna said softly. "Aladdin had three, but that's really more decisions than we need in our life, isn't it? One different wish can send the world spinning into millions of different directions." Without warning, Luna stood up and leaned over to pat Professor Lupin on his arm. "See you soon, sir," she said cheerfully, and waltzed out of the hospital room before Professor Tonks could respond.

Tonks scowled at the closing door. "Queer girl," she muttered. "She didn't seem quite so odd in class, somehow."

Turning back to Remus, she smoothed the bedcovers more securely around him so he wouldn't get cold. It teased at her though, what Luna Lovegood had said about wishes and choices. She was familiar with Aladdin, as most Muggle children were, for her father had insisted on introducing her to the wonders of Disney and Muggle fairytales alongside the traditional tales of Beedle the Bard. _Three wishes, _she thought. _If I had three wishes, I'd ask the Jinn to make Remus better, to kill off the rot-infested Voldypants for good, and for all the good guys to live happily ever after. The end. _She didn't have three wishes though, so what was the point of dwelling? Luna Lovegood and her speech about choices and the worlds created in just one chosen wish instead of another had nothing to do with—

_Wish. _Tonks froze in her seat. _If I had one wish…I _do _have a wish! _Memory flashed, and excitement and suppressed hope made her tremble. If it didn't work…slowly and clearly, she enunciated, "Morrigan, I don't know if you can get here from Hogwarts but if you can, please come. I need my wish."

"I thought you'd never ask, child," came a cool female voice from behind her. Tonks yelped, twisted, and fell off her chair.

"Ouch," she muttered, but when she looked up and saw the White Witch—somehow out of her portrait and life-size before her, hope bloomed in her heart. "Morrigan—White Witch—"

"Well met, child," she said gravely with a hint of pure humor twitching on her lips. "I can assume that you have decided what you wish for, as you call my true-name."

"Yes. Well, uh…" Tonks picked herself up, clasped her hands behind her back. "That is, I need to know something. Hypothetically, if I asked for Remus to be just plain healed from the damage in his body, you could do that?"

"Just so."

"But he would still be a werewolf."

"That is correct."

"And if I asked you to remove the…the curse?"

The White Witch betrayed no emotion as she replied, "He will no longer change with each full moon nor consider silver poison to touch. I cannot remove the entirety of the curse, for it was given to humankind to endure, but your man will only suffer cravings for raw meat, an acute sense of smell, and an Animagus form that will never change from the wolf."

"Would he…" Tonks cleared her throat. "Would he survive the silver damage?"

"It is a risk, as many important choices are." The Morrigan looked down with compassion at the man her child had given her heart to. "It will be up to him to fight the damage already present. I cannot both heal and remove the curse, not even a little. It will take all my abilities to win his freedom. But he is a strong man, otherwise healthy, and he loves you. There is a very good chance that his love will draw him back to life where another man might give up. He has the health within him to heal—it is up to him if he chooses to do so or not."

Tonks stared at Remus. _So it comes down, in the end, to whether or not you love me enough to fight this stupid damage to your internal organs and live. Or if you'll believe, despite my reassurances, that you are not worthy of me. _Her heart broke a little more. _I can't condemn you to the life I know you never wanted to live with a curse you were helpless against. You told me once you would have risked everything, died a thousand times, to not be a werewolf. The least I can do if I love you is let you have that option. _Swallowing her tears, the ringing protests and pleas and whimpers she wanted to let out, she turned back to the Morrigan. "Morrigan, let him choose to live or die as he may—but to do so as a man, free from the werewolf curse he's had to suffer since he was five."

"So note it be," the goddess swore solemnly, and her eyes were big and shimmering with something painfully bright, like understanding. Wisdom. Beyond human ability to grasp. It rapidly slid out of view, as if a veil had separated their locked gaze, and then the Morrigan leaned over Remus and kissed him full on the lips.

Silver flashed once, brightly, and Tonks cried out and shielded her eyes. Then there was acute silence. Slowly, she lowered her arm and blinked away the stars that were still bursting in her dazzled eyes. When she could see again, the Morrigan—for the first time—looked weary to the point of dropping. She was flickering, her body translucent and almost nearly transparent. "Morrigan?" she faltered.

"It is done," the White Witch said in a voice that was a mere whisper. "Luck, and the love of your man hold you, child." And in the next instant, her image dissolved like a mist dispersed by the sun. Remus still slept, but his color was good and there was now a little smile on his face, and more—peace. Tonks touched him, felt him solid and real. Then she saw a tiny silver charm in the shape of a moon hung on a cord and nestled against the bare skin of his neck. Lifting it up, she saw that where the silver had rested, there was no burn, no mark at all. Remus was human. Tonks abruptly burst into tears.

**A.N.: Well well well, Luna has certainly been a busy girl. First of all, I'd like to point out that I do not necessarily share the same opinions as many of my characters. Aka, don't yell at me because Tonks is more sympathetic to Harry and Ginny and less so to Severus. She is simply more inclined that way. **

**If anyone was wondering, Healer Brown is related to Lavender Brown. I figured since they were a Pureblood family, they'd have some relatives somewhere out there. She might be an aunt or something.**

**Thoughts? Opinions? Review love? **


	96. Chapter 96

**Disclaimer: I do not own blahdeblah…Rub it in, why don't you?**

Recovery was a faster process than anyone thought it would be. Pain existed, but it was far less than Severus could be going through—and he was still sane. _Mostly, anyway. I would be the first to admit I have never been completely _sane. There were residual effects. Severus found himself unable to walk without the aid of a cane. It was the plainest of affairs and much-despised, but it allowed him to walk without putting too much strain on his overtaxed muscles. Poppy was pouring a cabinet-full of potions down his throat to counter the damage that repetitive strain injury—the medical jargon for the Cruciatus curse—had done to nerves, muscles, and circulation. He was always cold now, for the frequent torture he'd undergone had caused his muscles to seize up without respite, affecting blood flow. He would never regain the absolute control over his every movement the way he had before, and he could barely brew a first year potion. Eventually Poppy believed he would regain the control needed to brew once more, but the most complex of potions—beyond master-level—would never be within his reach. One needed to have absolute control down to the minutest tremor to brew _those. _

He knew he had gotten off lightly for not dying or going mad, and tried not to mourn the loss of the art which had been his constant reprieve and bane, the most consistent thing in his life for so long.

_And if Hermione wasn't well on her way to recovery…_

It was like the symptoms he'd learned of coming off an addiction. He thought of a potion he could be brewing, felt his mind take him through the steps of Draught of Living Death, automatically assumed that he would be making up the next batch of potions for the Infirmary. Each potion he took for his various ailments was a fresh slap in the face, a reminder that he had not been the one brewing it and that he would most likely never be that person again—that the very fact of his taking the Stability potion was to minimize his tendency to tremor or overbalance while shifting his weight. Severus tried to lock away all the complex theories he'd never had time to explore, the inventions he had once wanted to create, the ideas he had never found time to experiment with.

Severus' first stop when Poppy finally released him from the Hospital Wing was to find Luna Lovegood. She was drinking hot cocoa in the kitchen, discussing various types of tea blends with one of the elves when he finally found her. _Thank yous _were not generally part of his vocabulary, but when Severus departed from the girl an hour later, he was bemused and a little befuddled and wavering between the certainty that she was either off her rockers or a genius. Because Lovegood had managed to take his awkward thanks and transform it into a quizzical discussion on the preferred habitats of Nargles and still manage to make him feel as if she knew and valued the difficulty it had taken to thank her.

By then, Hermione was almost back to her normal self with the fever gone and her injuries mostly healed. It meant being able to sit up in bed and demanding to return to her private quarters or barring that, a stack of books to be brought to her. When she reduced the third helper—a previously stalwart fifth year—to tears, Poppy was exasperated beyond compare.

"Fine, fine, have it your way," she cried, thrusting a Calming Draught at the distraught boy and glaring at both Hermione and Severus. "Two peas in a pod, I swear…" muttering, Poppy strode off to return with a chart and an armful of potions. "The blue one's Pain Relief. No more than four times a day, at your own discretion. Pink's the one for your side so it doesn't reopen days or years down the road, twice a day _after _a meal. You don't want to have it come up, and it will if you don't have a full stomach. The brown balm is for infection, lingering curse-effects, so on. Apply it after every bath." _I know, woman, I may not have brewed the blasted things and may never be able to, but I do still retain some modicum of my former knowledge! _

She dumped it in Severus' hands and stalked out, indignant. He wondered whether to laugh at Poppy's exit or scowl at the fact that he did not know the person who had brewed these Master-level potions. He paused.

Hermione eyed Severus. He eyed her back. They began to laugh, and Severus' bitterness washed away quickly. It didn't last very long—it still hurt both of them to laugh, shout, or move quickly. But when they caught their breath, they were once again at ease with each other as if the torture and the subsequent rescue had never occurred. It did not come up again. Neither wanted to approach the subject.

No one—none of the _teachers _at least—said anything about Severus moving in with Hermione. Minerva _had _offered separate quarters, but Hermione had refused point-blank before Severus could articulate a word. _"We are together, and I refuse to hide it away as if it were something to be ashamed of," _she had said firmly. Severus did not care who thought what of him in the least, though he had hoped to spare Hermione the judgment and vicious gossip she was letting herself in for The students, of course, said what they willed though most of them to their credit at least whispered it far from the dungeons and from any professor.

Tonks paid a short visit, relaying the news that Remus had pulled through. Severus hadn't really been paying attention to any of the Order members who had come for him except Hermione. He grimaced at the thought of being—Merlin forbid!—_indebted _to yet another Marauder. Oddly enough, except for the brief flare of disgust, he really had no energy to waste being angry anymore. Not at Lupin anyway, who had not betrayed any of the ridiculous accusations or denial at the 'Revelation'. No, all the anger he had was being channeled towards Potter and his entourage, the female Weasley and several other pathetic little fools in the Order who no doubt hung on Potter's every breath.

Severus took himself out of the way of Nymphadora Tonks' visit, except for a brief moment as he escorted her out and told her gruffly that he was certain that the mangy creature would live on like a bad cold to bother them all at the next gathering. Tonks half-smirked in a fashion far inferior to any of Severus', tripped over the opening door, and thanked Severus for his kind thoughts. He growled at her retreating back and reentered Hermione's quarters.

"Time for your nap," he told Hermione. She was sitting in one of the large, soft armchairs that graced her living room, propped up by far too many fluffy, overstuffed cushions. _"Minerva needed to do something for me desperately because she felt it was her fault for not being part of the actual rescue—despite the fact that her position was too important to replace at this stage of the game, so I had her Transfigure a dozen of them. Saves me time and energy," Hermione had smirked when he had stopped, transfixed (in shock and horror, of course) at the sight of the horribly garish objects, brightly colored and _fluffy.

"I don't _want _to," she said petulantly. She was still weak, for the fever had taken much out of her and her side and shoulder wounds, despite being healed, were still tender from the curse-magic.

"You need to sleep if you're going to mend," he reminded her in his Professor's voice. He dragged himself to her side, mentally cursing the slowness and the way his knees kept wanting to bend and dump him on the floor.

"I _hate _sleeping," she snarled with uncommon vitriol. It was the first signs of temper she'd shown since she had woken up. "I bloody don't need it! I'm fine!"

He gave in to his body, and sat. He compromised by leaning forward and fixing her with an intent glare. "Do not make me tie you down to the bed, Hermione. _You are still recovering. Your body needs sleep to repair itself. _Stop acting like a child, or I shall start calling you Miss Granger again for you are full stupid enough to _be _her rather than the adult I thought you had become."

The words bit to the heart, as he had intended. She swore, a string of bad words that would make a sailor blush. Something else was in play here. His instincts told him she wasn't just in a foul mood for no reason. _And I think I know why. _Sighing, he waited out her temper tantrum and when she paused for breath, spoke.

"Hermione, are you having nightmares?"

Her face told him the answer. "When did they start?"

She swallowed. "Right after…"

"Yes, you took Dreamless Sleep—I remember," Severus murmured. "You stopped?"

"I refuse to risk addiction, and I refuse to be at the mercy of a couple of ghoulish _dreams," _Hermione retorted, heat coming back. "I can't take it so many times, and I am not going to let some little nightmare defeat me. I'm working through it. I just…" she broke off and stared at her hands. "Every time I close my eyes," she finally admitted, when the silence had gone on for a long time.

"I see it, every time I close my eyes. I hear _him_…laughing, like a broken record that won't stop. You're dead, you're already dead. I'm always too late."

He reached out and shook her firmly by one shoulder, the good one. "Hermione! It didn't happen. I'm alive and old snake-face is probably brooding over his loss. _You weren't late." _

"I wasn't late," she echoed almost disbelievingly, and reached back to touch him. "You're alive. You're alive and you're here." Something broke in her, and she began to cry.

He was by her in a flash, the fastest he'd moved since he had received his own injuries, and despite the stirring panic at the sight of tears, he managed to awkwardly stroke her hair in silence as she cried herself out, as she had not done when she had first woken and seen him.

When her weeping was done, he carried her to bed, surreptitiously casting a Featherlight charm and praying with each step he took without his cane and with his burden, he would not fall or drop her. _I could use a nap myself, _he thought wearily as he tucked her in. She was already half-asleep and not fighting it anymore. But when he joined her in bed, dimming the lights and instinctively turning towards her in the dark, she managed the last word.

"I'm _so _killing Ron—and the Order—for putting us through this," she promised darkly.

He laughed, glad to see the return of her true spirit, and tugged her closer to him.

**-break-**

Hermione woke slowly, fighting off the last wisps of nightmares that came when she slept. She feared them, yet knew that they were but dreams, the soul's way of dealing with the true terror that had touched her when Severus had been discovered. In a way, the terror had already begun before, from the instant she had found out from Minerva's lips that Severus would be exposed. _Yet another case of why secrets between more than three people are no longer secrets, _she thought. Yes, she had understood all too well the logic behind such damnable actions. It did nothing to ease the fear that had leapt to life once that secret passed out of their hand.

Still. The nightmares were bad, but she would rather suffer nightly terrors than the true thing. It had been a close call. _Too close. I am going to have a Talk with Ron. And with Li. _How _did the 'secret' get pass the Secrecy Oath and who was it that leaked the truth? _There would be hell to pay for risking Severus' life, not to mention her own.

Sitting up, Hermione frowned. Severus had slept too, but his side of the bed was now uninhabited. Where was he? Her stomach told her it was probably dinnertime or thereabouts. Perhaps he was eating.

But when she crawled outside her bedroom and into the sitting room, she blinked in surprise. Severus was standing at the entrance to her quarters, and he was Very, Very Angry.

"I will not repeat myself again, Potter," he hissed, voice deadly soft. "You have no right to see her and I am not going to allow you and your _filthy, _unworthy person anywhere near her. _Leave, _before I violate my own personal code and hand-deliver you to the Dark Lord myself."

"But—"

"_Get. Out." _

"Severus."

He whipped around, pinned her with all the force of his potent rage. Magic danced uneasily, kept controlled by the barest finger hold. _This _was the man that the other Death Eaters were wary of, which had earned him a place in the Inner Circle despite his blood-status and youth. "Go back to bed, Hermione," he snapped.

She hesitated, and saw how close he was to losing control over himself, physically and magically. She obeyed.

A few minutes later, he reentered, still breathing heavily and trembling visibly. Alarmed, Hermione went to him. He resisted her embrace for a few seconds before giving in and clutching her to him until she squeaked. She did not reprimand him then for ordering her about or for dismissing her friend—for despite all, Harry remained dear to her heart.

Severus was close to collapse from the exertion and the energy that his unthinking fury had expended. Mippy, who had been reunited with them in the Hospital Wing and still subdued and stubbornly guilt-eaten for leaving his master behind and barely left them in peace from hour to hour, brought them dinner in their rooms. They both ate silently, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Severus was clearly ready for bed, and Hermione did not mind, and so shortly after they found themselves once more in the darkness. He held her possessively, almost too close for comfort. Hermione allowed it for a while before finally speaking, her voice piercing the night.

"Severus?"

"Mm."

"I love you," she said fiercely. Before he could respond, her voice turned hard as it had not been earlier. "You _will not_ give me orders on how to conduct my own life again."

There was silence. She waited, knowing that he would reply sooner or later.

An eternity went by before he spoke, his voice harsh with suppressed rage. "He broke—_breaks_ your heart into pieces—don't deny it, both of them did. And you wish me to step aside and _let _them in?"

She tentatively caressed his cheek. "No. I wish you to step aside and let me deal with them myself. I know that you are irrevocably bound in my life Severus, perhaps more than you do. My personal life is partly yours as yours is mine. But tell me this, Severus. When Lily scorned you, when she turned away from you for the mistake of one wrong word, did she break your heart? And more—_did you not seek reconciliation, despite her greater wrong to you?" _

His breath caught. "That is different," he snarled.

"Oh Severus, it is exactly the same," she said sadly. "She broke your heart as Harry and Ginny broke mine, for the choices that we made. Would you not have grasped any chance at mending the trampled bits of your relationship, however feeble it might be? No matter how unfair and illogical it might seem?"

"_My _choice was to call her a name she found deadly insulting, and surround myself with dark magic and evil men. _Yours _was to become an adult far too soon, take on an adult's job, and contribute to ending the reign of terror and darkness."

"_Your _choice was to allow yourself to be angry enough to forget the guard on your tongue, and to seek company that would not laugh and reject you as the rest of the world had," Hermione said passionately. "I cannot say I would not have made the same error in your position. If I had not bonded over a Troll, I can say that I would have been tempted, very tempted, by the power and the knowledge the Dark Arts offers. And Severus, it doesn't matter whether my choice was more morally good or bad than yours—morals are far too open to interpretation in most circumstances anyway. Take our jobs in this cursed war, for example. No, what matters is that Lily found your path repugnant as Harry and Ginny did mine. I ask you again—_would _you have grasped at any chance to reconcile with Lily?"

He didn't want to agree, and the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Then—"Yes," he gritted.

"Then can you not afford me that chance with Harry and Ginny?" she asked softly.

"I…suppose I must," he bit out, displeasure and frustration thick in his tone. "You are far too stubborn a debater and a woman for me to go against."

"The ultimate compliment. Thank you, Severus," she said sincerely. She knew that he understood that her thank you was for more than the compliment.

He remained still for a few more minutes. "You must know that I loathe him," he said almost conversationally. "I disliked him before for his father and even more, for his attitude and childishness. For the petty self-absorption and capacity for making null any plans to keep him safe by insisting on involving himself in things meant for adults. It pales in comparison to the loathing he inspires in me now. I cannot forgive him for hurting you, Hermione, even if you can. I will leave him to you without censure because I trust you to take care of yourself, but I will not forgive nor forget."

She felt tears and let them spill, silently. "I won't ask you to," she told him. "I won't ever ask you to."

"Good." He bit it out curtly, but she read worlds of pain and relief underneath that one word. And when he finally slept, she stared blindly at a wall and cursed Harry herself—not for hurting her, but for hurting Severus.

She waited three days for Severus' sake, knowing that both pride and anger would test his control to keep his promise to her. Harry did not come back to her door—neither did Ginny. In that time, Ron dropped by several times, and she severely pinned his ears back for the risk he had put them all through before forgiving him. Severus was almost positively friendly with the boy, which Hermione nearly cried with joy at. It almost made up for the enmity between her other friend and her beloved.

More visitors came—professors, students, Order members, Ministry officials. Most of them were uneasy, downright frightened of Severus, and he kept out of the way for the main part. Hermione blessed Hestia, who breezed in, kissed a startled Severus on both cheeks, and proceeded to interrogate him on how he had managed to entice Hermione into sex when Hestia had been unsuccessful in getting her to even wear something risqué. When he had recovered his aplomb, Severus merely smirked and told her that he did not kiss and tell, but that _he _needed no silly ploys for so-called 'enticement'.

Since she, Kingsley, and Tonks were the Ministry officials sent ostensibly to take him into custody for war crimes, Severus only had to endure one brief recounting of a carefully concocted story that jibed with the one Minerva had told the students and let Severus off the hook on murder. It had taken some fast work and plenty of strings pulled, but Hestia confirmed that the Ministry would be happy to declare the matter of Severus Snape temporarily resolved pending a full-length investigation _after _Beltane. There would be, Hestia swore, no problem as long as he stayed within Hogwarts boundaries until then. _"And after the war, if you fight on our side I can guarantee you that we can maneuver you a not-guilty verdict. There are enough loopholes in the law to see that happen. Albus used one to get you out of Azkaban the first time, as did Lucius Malfoy and a number of other Death Eaters. There's this lovely small-print little law dating back to before the Schism between magical and Muggle that allows certain illegal activities under your particular situation—spying—to be excused if you get a writ from the top of the Ministry, and trust me—I'll get a writ." Hestia winked. _Severus did not look convinced, and Hermione held on to her cynicism but kept the peace. If Severus was unfairly judged, it would be easy enough to flee the country, even apply for asylum in another magical community. No doubt a country such as China, with its general disdain for Western politics, would be more than happy to put one in the eye of magical Britain. Not to mention India would do anything to rile the British Ministry—wizards and witches have long lives and even longer memories, and the deep-seated resentment at colonial occupation and exploitation was still present. _The Americans might take us too, although their code of morals seem even more precious to them than most. Datona Fields seems to like and support us though, so I rather think she might vouch for us. _

Hermione was already making contingent plans in her head for after the battle, surreptitiously researching the best ways to avoid forcing Severus to have to live through the nightmare a trial would be, and to eliminate any chance however remote or real that he might be placed in Azkaban for a night or a year.

Draco came to visit as well, face as unreadable as his one-time father could have wished for. He expressed relief at Hermione's recovery, with Skye's promise to come by when Hermione wasn't dealing with the constant stream of visitors, concerned, curious, or unbelieving. Then Hermione got out of the way with no fuss, taking herself off to visit Hagrid, who blubbered all over her and offered her rock cakes. She snuck them to Fang, discovered Crookshanks sleeping in the dog's basket, and found out that her cat had been practically living with Hagrid for the past several months.

"You lousy kneazle," she muttered, stroking the ugly and temperamental thing with affection.

"'E's been real 'elpful an' all, ketching them vermin," Hagrid offered anxiously. "Real champ too, with an uncanny knock of finding the hurt critters in the forest."

"And I've been a very inattentive mistress for the past year," Hermione sighed ruefully. "Crookshanks is better off here. Honestly, I think he was getting bored with life in the castle." _And it's like he knew I needed him to be my best friend, best supporter, and best love when I first got him but now that I have Severus, he's eased out of my life and gone to look for someone else who needs him more._

The half-kneazle purred under her hand, and watched her with knowing eyes.

When she finally came back to her quarters, escorted by Hagrid and Fangs with Crookshanks watching them leave, tail lashing slowly and rhythmically, Draco had left. Severus was reading with no evidence of stress or having had a heavy discussion with his estranged godson, but when he looked up at her entrance, the minute ease around his eyes and mouth told her that if not completely mended, his relationship with Draco was well on its way to understanding and forgiving.

The next day, she sought out Harry.

**-break-**

The Gryffindor Common room was as loud as she remembered. Students sprawled everywhere, taking advantage of their time out of classes to gossip, giggle, and _occasionally _study. The majority crowded over a Quidditch game in miniature with tiny paper cutouts zooming around, courtesy of several wildly-grinning seventh and sixth years. She smiled involuntarily. It was a good bit of spellwork and spoke well of their concentration. Then again, all of the 'players' were in the DA. By now they were as good or better than the average adult witch or wizard. If their generation had been the 'lost' one, forced to grow up before their times, they were also a generation who would excel beyond their predecessors.

Ron saw her first, and his little Keeper nearly plummeted to its paper death before he managed to set it down gently on the floor. "Oy," someone protested as the other team took the opportunity to score.

"Dolt, look who's here!" Ron stuck his wand in his back pocket (Hermione nearly winced) and vaulted over several seated people to reach Hermione, seizing her hands. "You look mighty fine, Hermione," he said with honest gladness.

"You saw me just yesterday morning," she retorted. "Nice spellwork."

"Like it? Harry figured that it was good practice in all sorts of different spells and the kind of split concentration we need for…stuff, and most of all, it's _Quidditch," _he enthused.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione, you're okay!"

"Are you _really _dating Snape?"

"Does he sleep upside-down?"

"Was he _really _a spy?"

"Professor, are you going to start teaching us again?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hermione said, holding her hands out to stem the flow of questions and babble as everyone gathered around her. "I'm fine, S—Professor Snape really _is _on our side, I can't give you any more information, and I'll take my first to third years from Professor Slughorn on Monday." She paused. "Where's Harry?"

"I'm here." Everyone turned to look back at where Harry Potter came down the last of the stairs leading from the boy's wing, staring at her intently. His green eyes pulled at her heart, at once begging forgiveness and ashamed. Her family bond with him was still an aching numbness inside of her, for the shielding that had been constructed around it for her own safety had remained miraculously intact.

"Hermione," he said into the sudden hush. "You look…good. You look well."

"I am, Harry," she said softly.

The students all parted quietly on their own accord as he walked towards her. She waited until he stood before her. Ron squeezed her shoulder—the _wrong _one, and she felt a twinge of an ache—with as little subtlety as an elephant, and backed away as well. She was perfectly calm as she inclined her head, looking up at the tall, raven-haired wizard. "Could we…uh…can we talk?" Harry asked uncertainly. She gave a small nod. _Just because I want to reconcile doesn't mean I'm going to make it _easy _on you! _She waited until the silence was awkward and ringing before she finally relented a fraction.

"Why don't we go to the Room of Requirement?" she asked.

He assented with obvious relief, and as they left, the tapestry swinging shut behind them, she heard murmurs start up again behind her. Before it closed, she turned back. "Oh, and I can assure you that Severus Snape sleeps in a perfectly normal bed," she asserted in a burst of impishness.

There was startled silence when the painting shut on them.

They walked without speaking. Harry was obviously uneasy, and by the time they got to the Room of Requirement and Hermione had specified the privacy and impersonal comforts they needed, the tension was thick enough to cut.

This room was neutral—even the colors ranged in shades of brown and beige, and the seating arrangement was bland, comfortable, but not overly soft or indulgent.

Having settled, Hermione waited. She did not have to wait long. Harry had never indulged in long silent sulks like Ron had been prone to in the past, and Hermione rather suspected that he _hated _tense silences more than he hated fighting.

"Hermione, first of all I want to say how sorry I am," Harry said almost too fast for her to actually hear. _Obviously rehearsed. _And obviously, if he didn't get the chance to spit out his entire speech he would fall apart. Very well, she would listen.

"It was unforgivable of me to accuse you of anything. You were right. I was wrong. I reacted without thinking, which you _have _been trying to train me out of, and I acted like a- a bloody idiot. I was so _angry, _Hermione. It blindsided me, and I haven't been blindsided since…well, I just ended up regressing into my stupid younger self. And then you hexed Ginny and you and…_him…_were so, so in tune it was like you were mentally connected or something." He laughed weakly. "I just wanted to make you hurt, the same way I felt because I thought you were lying just like every other adult I trusted in my life, when I first came to Hogwarts…you know, Hermione. But I was wrong. You weren't the liar, _I _was—I was lying to myself. I—" he was breathing hard, green eyes desperate as she showed no reaction to his words. "_Please, _Hermione. I don't deserve a chance, but I'm sorry. I'm _sorry, _Hermione."

The last finally prompted her—she half-smiled, digging it up for both their sakes. "You're not just a bloody idiot, you're a downright wanker," she told him scathingly, watching as his face fell like a kicked puppy. "But like the fool _I _am, I believe in second—and third and fourth and fifth chances. Mind, you _dare _use up the chances like so many disposable napkins and we will be having more than a Talk."

The sudden brightness in her friend's boyish features could have illuminated the entire castle. She sighed and opened her arms. "Come here, you troll."

He flew at her, plucking her off her chair and sweeping her off her feet in his exuberance. Between the combined weight of both their emotions, the shield of ice that had been constructed around their magical connection collapsed as if it had never been, and Hermione _felt _Harry's sincerity, his regret and shame, the overwhelming torment and mindless fury he had experienced in the moment he had thought she had betrayed him, the knowledge that he didn't deserve her easy forgiveness, the crushing, twisting, insidious guilt he felt for causing her to almost die, …

"None of that," she scolded lightly, pulling back to meet his gaze. "You are not at fault for the dangers I chose to put myself in, do you hear?"

"But…I hurt you, and I wasn't there to get your back when you fought Voldemort," he protested.

"Egotistical brat. Should I start calling you the Boy-Who-Lived instead of just Harry? Careful, or your swollen head won't fit into your hat," she snarked. "All right, I'll give you that you caused ten kinds of discomfort when you were playing angst-king with your feelings, and you are _so _going to be making it up to me for the next decade or so. _However, _your feelings and your _gawd-awful _reaction had no bearing on you not being there at Prince Manor, Harry. You're a student. Minerva and Li—and I for the matter—wouldn't have let any student fight when it wasn't needful, not when full adults in the Order were available."

"I…guess," Harry said reluctantly, still not reconciled. Hermione stifled a sigh at Harry's unchangeable 'saving people thing' she'd long ago diagnosed him with.

"Look, Harry," she said firmly. "We still need to talk."

He looked uneasy again as she invoked her stern tone once more. "About…"

"You know very well, I think."

He shuffled, looking at his feet. "Snape," he said flatly—sullenly.

She felt a flash of anger at his stubbornness. "Severus," she agreed, pointedly using his first name. He winced. "Harry, you _have _to agree to get along with him—well, at least to work towards the same goal and not detract," she told him. "I don't expect you to be friends. In fact, I rather doubt Severus will ever be able to forgive you, and I suppose I have no right to expect you to forgive him for what he was forced to do. No, Harry," she continued as she saw him open his mouth to retort. "You don't get to be angry that he hates you. He hates you because _you hurt me." _

He shut his mouth on whatever angry retort or sulk he had been about to voice. Remotely satisfied, Hermione went on. "This war is more important than any one of us, and anything less than total victory is not a possibility. At all. That means that all grievances, all your morals and emotions and thoughts are not an option because they will adversely affect our ability to crush the Death Eaters and Voldemort. What's more, I am telling you now because it's hardly possible to hide the way the situation has fallen—although I am far from ashamed—that Severus and I _are _seeing each other. More," she corrected herself almost instantly. "We love each other. That isn't going to go away, but that too _is _going to take second place to this war and both Severus and I are prepared to put our duty before ourselves, as we have done before. I am asking—no, _demanding—_no less than what we demand of ourselves, that you put your responsibilities before yourself. This is more important than any one of us, so you just have to deal with it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can forgive you for the hurt you've given _me, _but I will not tolerate any more foolish dramatics or histrionics or temper tantrums. Have I made myself perfectly clear, Harry Potter?"

Harry had been turning steadily more and more black and ready to burst, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple and his jaw clenching so tightly it creaked. Multiple emotions of disgust, horror, rebellion, fury, and bewilderment crossed his face in rapid succession. Then he stopped, as if something had struck him. When he spoke, it was quiet and surprised Hermione, who had been expecting another blow up.

"That really speaks it all, doesn't it," he said, mouth turned down and eyes still showing his blatant dislike and unhappiness. "The 'we'—it's become you and _him. _Not you, me, and Ron anymore."

And _that, _more than anything, might be what was eating at Harry. _Poor boy, _she thought, the anger she herself had worked up fading. _So many changes so fast, and he was never the most open-minded in the first place so it had to have been hard for him to adjust. And unlike before, there's no Ron and me perpetually there whenever he turns around to cajole and bully him into the more-or-less right path. We were always constant—and I think he's just realized that we're not anymore and we won't ever truly be like that again. Friends, closer than most, yes, but bound up like _that—_that's the past and will never be again. _No matter that he had Ginny, who was closer than that, who would fill what Harry's heart longed for. It wasn't the _same_. Hadn't she herself mourned a little for the good old days when one had to pry the three of them apart with a crowbar? Growing up might mean better friends, better companionship and a true matching of souls as she had found in Severus and he, she thought, in Ginny. It didn't make leaving behind what had been _good _any more fun. _Outgrowing one's best friends is never _fun.

"I'll try," he finally said into the awkward, sad hesitation. "I _don't like it. _I don't think you know what you're doing, and I think he's taking advantage of you. But you've pointed out very clearly that we aren't…aren't like Fluffy anymore, and you have the right to make your own choices even if they're really fucked up mistakes." He faltered a bit under her sudden, heated glare but plowed on stubbornly. "I won't let it get in the way of what we have to do. I promise."

She gave him a tiny, genuine smile, decided to ignore—for now—his prejudice and judgment of her relationship with Severus. "Thanks, Harry. That's all I ask."

He fidgeted uncomfortably, and she decided that both she and he had reached the limit for emotionally-wracking truths today. Time again later to go further into any of the issues they'd brought up this time. _She _was exhausted and wanted desperately to curl around Severus and simply listen to his heartbeat. _He _was probably still reeling from all she had said, and needed the time to think about it all. _And I'll have to go through it all over again with Ginny, _she thought, and suppressed a groan. _Not till tomorrow. I'm all tapped out today. _

"Oh, one more thing before I forget." She smiled at him. So quickly he had no time to react, she hexed him.

"Wha- what—Hermione!" he wailed, dawning realization and horror growing.

"I'm _sure _you won't need the reminder, but I thought I'd supply you with one just in case," she said sweetly. "If you were listening in one particular History of Magic class, Cuthbert Binns discussed the harsher variant of this hex used to shame key members of the Goblin Wars. I used the minor cousin to it that parents use on their children to train them out of saying bad words. Binns _also _mentioned a text which provides the anti-hex, so I'm sure you'll be right as rain in no time," she grinned evilly, vindication thick and heavenly to behold.

Harry, a solid shade of strawberry-red from head to toe, blushed—his flush showed up as maroon.

"It will change color every time you swear or say something gossipy or insulting about someone," Hermione continued. "Don't think that you can ask someone else for help either—that's built into the parental safe. Only the person who cast the spell can tell you where to find the fix or take the spell off."

Harry sighed. "I prefer Ginny's bat-bogeys," he muttered.

She walked him to the Gryffindor Dorm, and politely refused his offer to accompany her back to her quarters. _We'll avoid that confrontation for today, I think. _As she thought, she hadn't even spoken the password when Severus stepped out, examined her with opaque eyes, and let her in without a word. There was scalding hot tea waiting for her, and she drank it in bed in the silence that Severus offered—a quality of quiet that offered true peace and comfort. No sense of unease, disconnect, no one horrified into shock at her or disquieted by her actions or the choices she'd made. Severus did not sit in any sort of judgment of her. He treated her absolutely ordinarily, and she blessed him for it. _Even Minerva can't help but look at me with a tiny bit of questioning, as if she doesn't know how I went from her best student to…whatever I am. _

_The price of performing morally ambiguous jobs and falling in love with a disreputable character I suppose. _

The tea burned it's way down to her stomach, creating warmth within her that in turn calmed the jittery nerves she'd only now allowed.

"Dinner and then bed," Severus said sternly.

"It's still early," she countered but it was weak and she allowed herself to be defeated by his dark glare.

She _was _tired, after all. And she would wish for the early nights in once she started teaching once more. It was nice to have an unexpected holiday. She would take it, and deal with everything else later.

**A.N.: For those of you who wished a long and drawn out torture for Harry/Ginny, my apologies. It just didn't seem like the kind of thing Hermione would indulge in when a.) she's extremely loyal and Harry, for all his bat-crazy stupidity, has been her friend for years, and b.) there's a war that needs to be won that they need to concentrate on, and not forgiving Harry would take too much energy and effort than she's willing to divert from the coming battle.**


	97. Chapter 97

**Disclaimer: Nope, my certification of ownership still hasn't arrived. The post owl must have lost it.**

**Warning: There's a bit of an age-line in the middle of the chapter. If you don't want to read it, it's non-essential and you can just scroll ahead to where the age line ends.**

Hermione did have the same discussion with Ginny the next day, leaving her almost as drained as it had with Harry. Ginny wept profusely, couldn't stop trying to explain, and would not accept Hermione's forgiveness for the better part of an hour. In the end, Hermione had needed a Headache Remedy potion, but she'd confirmed her suspicions that Ginny had reacted so badly in main part due to her anger at Hermione for hurting _Harry. _It was understandable, almost excusable, if extremely uncouth. It also helped that she had meted out the same hex to Ginny, heard that Harry had already gone from red to yellow to green and was now on a lovely shade of bright beetle blue, and that the first time he'd changed colors had been in the middle of DADA when he swore under his breath. She had omitted to tell him that one aspect of the spell was to sound an error-beeping sound and her recorded voice scolding him furiously for using naughty language. Tonks had complimented Hermione on her spellwork and even taken points for the distraction from Harry.

There was no doubt that the rumor mill was working overtime at Hogwarts. Hermione had already heard a dozen different speculations on just exactly _what _had gone on and _what _Severus Snape was doing in Hermione Granger's quarters. And what side he was on. Minerva had made an announcement she'd missed while she was still in the Hospital Wing, but it did little to quell the full on gossip—and the uncertainty. They had only been told that Professor Snape had been injured during a dangerous mission on the Order, that others including Professor Granger had been injured as well getting him to safety, and that he was _not _the man who had killed Headmaster Dumbledore.

That had been Minerva's idea. "No one saw it. There were other Death Eaters on that tower with you. We only have speculation, no proof, that you did it and at this point it would do more harm than good to tell the truth," she'd said firmly to Severus.

"But-"

"But nothing. Albus died a hero's death at the hands of an unknown Death Eater. You watched it with horror but was bound not to interfere by…let's see, an Unbreakable Oath to Albus to do everything you could to maintain your persona and your position as spy even over his death. That will do nicely, and Unbreakable Oaths can't be probed or revealed once the one you made it to is dead and the oath fulfilled or rendered not applicable by circumstances. The Ministry won't be able to charge you with anything, and Hestia will be exerting her full force to keep the Minister appeased."

Yes, Severus had been taken aback by the crisp, officious way in which Minerva had taken over and effectively solved so many of their problems at once. Hermione was merely pleased. Minerva had taken some convincing but in the long run it appeared as if she were fully on Hermione's and Severus' side. _Thank Merlin she found out about us when she did though, I can't imagine her reaction if she had only found out now. _

Still, no one was totally convinced and Hermione knew there would be trouble within the students soon if they let the confusion, the fear, run on for too long. The unity and the cohesiveness Hogwarts had achieved this year would fall apart in suspicion and doubt. Having Hermione and Severus almost practically hermits had helped the first several days, but now they were just chafing and scared and distracted. Both she and Severus would eventually—sooner rather than later—have to confront them in person and somehow convince them to trust them.

_No easy task. Not to mention the issue of _how _Severus was discovered in the first place. It can't have been a coincidence coming so soon after that meeting, but how did the information get past the Secrecy Oath?_

"There _is _one fatal weak spot in this sort of oath we unfortunately overlooked," Li said gravely. The main players of the Order had reconvened, though Remus Lupin was noticeably absent, still in St. Mungo's recovering. They were holding it in Hogwarts out of deference to both Hermione and Severus. Neither wanted to tax their not-quite-fully-healed bodies with the harsh conditions of Wizarding travel.

"The Secrecy Oath was not purposefully violated," he assured them all. "We don't have any traitors here. But unfortunately, the magic _doesn't _cover the mind if it is not protected. All of you do have basic Occlumency—or mental defenses," Li added, with a quick glance at Hermione. "But not all of us can claim to be masters at it, and one of us slipped up."

"Who?" Hermione asked what everyone was thinking. "And _why _didn't you use a stronger vow, if there was such a liability?"

"To be honest, I had thought that there would be few if any Death Eaters skilled enough to enter our minds without us at least knowing," Li admitted. "In my pride I forgot that the enemy are often as talented as we are, or more. I underestimated their skill and overestimated our ability. I will not reveal who it was—suffice to know I have spoken with that person and they are extremely horrified and disgusted with themselves. I convey this person's sincerest heartfelt apologies, most especially to Severus. They will be better training their mind, I can assure you."

Hermione _wanted _to know who it was who had been so stupid, but a quick look at Li told her he would not reveal it to her. Ever. She almost started to scan the other faces to see if she could pick up any guilty expressions or other signs before she stopped herself. _Li will take care of it and make sure this is never repeated again. I can't promise I wouldn't beat the ignorant lout into a bloody pulp if I knew who it was, and it would just interfere with my ability to focus on winning this war in first place. _It didn't stop her from wishing she could at least punch the fellow with the leaky head though.

"The most important thing is what we plan to do now_," _interjected Aquila Avis. "Tom Riddle will surely know by now that all Severus knew, we know. Is he going to change his plans now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak?"

Severus replied, speaking to Avis but including the entire group. "I can't say for certain, but I would judge with some confidence that he would change very little by the way of his plans for Beltane. Some minor changes, perhaps, and I suspect he will exert far more manpower than he planned to personally see Hermione and I are…appropriately dealt with. There is too much momentum behind these plans to change last-minute. The Dark Lord has ever been one whose hubris overrode common sense." He paused. "He will only harm his own battle in this way, as I suspect the personal vendetta will be an obsession much the way he is fixated on Potter. Obsessions are weaknesses. They can be manipulated and used against him."

He did not look at Harry—nor did Harry respond, though there were no few glances exchanged between the rest of the members. Hermione had dreaded this enforced closeness, but it seemed that both men were intent on ignoring each other entirely. _Better than I expected of either of them. Thank Merlin, I don't think I could deal with them coming to blows again. _

"So we can probably count on him attacking both Hogwarts and the Ministry on Beltane still?"

"Yes, I would say so," Severus affirmed. "Be warned, although he will expend his power in trying to visit retribution on Hermione and I which _is _a weakness, it is also a strength. His fury boosts his magic and his madness often spawns brilliance. He also has Damascus Malfoy there to guide him into the most violent and horrific of options."

A reflexive chill raced down Hermione's spine as she remembered the half-crazed light in the demonic red eyes. They had revisited her in nightmares. Finally, someone else broke in hesitantly. "So what do we do?"

Like that, the rising fear was—not completely banished, but beaten back as the Order members worked together to figure out how to take advantage of the weaknesses Voldemort had. The atmosphere was grim but steady—even the youngest at the table had faced death before and were old hands at war now.

**-break-**

Hermione knew when _both _Hestia and Danielle had given her promising stares at the beginning of their meeting that she would not be able to escape the interrogation. The meeting lasted long, with Ron and Minerva threshing out a slightly altered plan over the course of hours and all the members arguing over the best placement, strategy, and people. When they emerged, it was past lunch and everyone was equally tired. Hermione cursed as Hestia and Danielle caught up to she and Severus, flanking them.

"So, Hermione," began Hestia.

"I think we need a little chat," Danielle said with a too-wide smile.

Severus raised an eyebrow. Hestia grinned, showing her teeth at him and Hermione groaned openly.

"Now, Severus," Hestia purred. "Why don't you run along and have a drink with one of the men, and let Hermione tell us about your sexual prowess?"

Hermione choked. Dani smothered something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and linked an arm through Hermione's before she could draw away. Severus let the other eyebrow join his first. "Isn't the Minister of Magic keeping you busy enough, Jones?"

"Oh, I'm _never _too busy to hear about the sex lives of my best friends," Hestia said cheerfully. A Hufflepuff, walking past them, squeaked and scuttled away. Severus sighed.

"You have just destroyed the little that was left of my reputation," he informed the wildly grinning women.

"Oh, _Hermione _doesn't mind, do you? Besides, most of the students thought you were a bastard because you never got laid. We've given them hope that you won't murder them in their sleep now," Hestia chirped.

Hermione just sighed deeply.

"Come on, _you _won't kiss and tell so we'll have to settle for Hermione's account," Dani put in teasingly.

Severus sneered. "She has better things to do than satisfy your prurient interest."

"There's nothing better than satisfying our inner voyeur," Hestia retorted. "Unless it's actively gathering more fodder forsaid second-hand voyeurism."

Now Severus smirked, a full-blown triumphant expression. "Exactly."

Two beats passed as Hermione lost her battle and turned as red as a Weasley. Then Hestia roared with laughter and Danielle spluttered. Severus allowed himself a self-satisfied nod, and Hermione decided that the fates were collaborating against her.

In the end, Severus abandoned her by deciding blandly to pay a visit to Minerva to 'catch up'. No amount of desperate looks would induce him to rescue her, and Hermione resigned herself to being grilled, pumped, and otherwise dragged through the coals for details.

Two hours later, all three of them were well on their way to becoming smashed, courtesy of Hestia—who else?—and the bottle of winter-apple brandy she'd brought along shrunk in a pocket. "The very best quality, expensive stuff," she'd explained expansively. "Winter-apples are only grown in one remote part of Wales, and the brandy made from it is truly a magical experience, girls."

"To Hermione and her learning curve! You're a smart girl to snag such a man," Dani toasted. She had, wisely, drunk the least, not wishing to go from slightly tipsy to unconscious as she inevitably did whenever she drank.

Hestia chimed in, waving her glass in the air. "To Hermione and _all _her curves! 'Cuz she must have used every single one to tempt our Mister Uptight to experience everything I taught her!"

Hermione giggled, horrified and gratified at the same time. "I never," she squeaked, and then straightened her disheveled self with as much dignity as she could gather, seeing as she was half-sprawled on the sofa and well on her way to being blitzed. "I mean, I managed to snare him on my own without any of the little tricks you tried to pollute my mind with, Hes," she sniffed. _At least my speech hasn't suffered, _she thought somewhat ruefully. Oh, she was going to _pay _for the indulgence come morning when she had to wake up early and take over the classes she'd handed off to Slughorn while recovering. Tomorrow was Monday.

"I think," Dani said carefully, "that we should leave Hermione to enjoy the fruits of her hard work and saintly patience. Come on Hes, morning's going to come way too early tomorrow."

Hestia sighed. "Rufus is starting to get boring," she whined. "Why can't _I _have a tall, dark brooding man?"

"Because Hermione will beat you up," Dani said logically.

"Bet I can take 'er on."

"Bet you can't," Hermione shot back.

"Girls, girls. Hestia Jones, get your bleedin' ass off Hermione's sofa and let's get you home." Dani hauled the other woman up, half supporting her as they wobbled their way to the fireplace.

"You have to go to the Headmistress' office to Floo out," Hermione informed them, watching them go.

"So we'll Floo there and then Floo out," Dani pointed out.

"If ye get tired of the man, gie' me a call won'tya lassie," Hestia slurred at Hermione as Dani tossed powder into the fireplace.

"He's _mine," _Hermione warned, displaying all her teeth in a snarl. "Mine, mine, mine."

"He's yours for certain, Hermione," Dani said hastily as she wrestled herself and her companion into the fire. "Minerva's office!"

They swirled away in green flames.

Fifteen minutes later, Severus entered the room, and took in the scene—Hermione sunk into the sofa, robes half-off and hair everywhere, hazy look in her brown eyes. There was still the empty bottle of brandy on the floor, glasses on the coffee table, and cushions everywhere. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

At the sound, Hermione looked up. "Severus!" she exclaimed happily.

"You're half-way to being sloshed," he noted.

"I think so," Hermione giggled breathlessly. "The girls like you lots. They think you're good for me."

His eyebrow twitched. She smiled at him a little vaguely. "Hes wants to get in your pants too."

She grinned at his expression. "Come here, you," she murmured, feeling heat that had nothing to do with alcohol start in her stomach. She reached up, grabbing the front of his conservative black robes. "I told them you were all _mine." _

And kissed him, pulling him down into the sofa on top of her.

**-Age Line-**

"Hermione—" half-gasp, half-groan. He managed to pull away just a little, and his greedy eyes took in the sight. She was beautifully flushed, her eyes just a little unfocused from what appeared to be a healthy dose of alcohol, and her lips were slightly swollen from their kiss.

"You're drunk," he repeated.

"What's that got to do with anything?" her hands were very busy, trailing down his torso, undoing his buttons. He felt drunk himself.

"I shouldn't…"

"I'm fully capable of thinking, Severus," she interrupted. "I'm not completely gone. 'Sides, Hestia says drunk sex can be very…very fun if you don't pass out first."

"Well if _Hestia _says…" he gave in, allowing body to take over mind.

**-Age Line Ends-**

Draco noted the rigid postures and veiled expressions of his Housemates, and exchanged a look with Skye. She had taken to eating with them for breakfast and dinner, spending lunch with her own House. The Slytherins, most of all, were the ones that would be either easiest or hardest to convince. _Draco _himself wasn't fully assured himself, and he was the closest of them all to Snape.

They had been hidden away in Granger's quarters until now, but today both sat at the Professor's table. He—and every other Slytherin—noted the strategic positioning, for Snape sat between the Headmistress and Granger. It was a double-message: that the Headmistress trusted and believed in Snape, and that Snape was being protected by all the powers Hogwarts could bring to bear. An ambitious infiltrator would be hard-pressed to even get close enough to hurt Snape. No student doubted that Granger was a formidable witch—her display of quick reaction and powerful magic in containing Finnigan when he went berserk had impressed and shocked them all. And no one trifled with the Headmistress if they could help it.

The other Houses were reacting too, of course. Gryffindor was openly whispering, although interestingly enough, the most important pulses of that group—Potter and Weasley—refrained. Ravenclaw was studying the odd couple with at least as much intensity as Slytherin, but they too were discussing their observations in low voices. The Hufflepuff table ranged in reactions, from shocked to thoughtful to loud.

But it was the Slytherins who concerned Draco, as it was the Slytherins who would probably have the most complicated reaction and _he _happened to be the de facto leader. They would look to him to see what he thought. For now, he remained impassive. Skye, next to him, was a little more readable but not by much. He was proud of her—for one who had not needed to mask her true thoughts or feelings (having been invisible to all but one was a pretty good disguise), she was learning rapidly. Only tiny things gave her away as nervous but cautiously hopeful.

They did not have to wait long. Once everyone had arrived, the Headmistress stood up and signaled for attention. "If I may interrupt your meal, students, there is a matter that seems is not resolved to your satisfaction."

She turned summarily to the man seated next to her. "I turn it over to you," she said and abruptly sat down.

Professor Snape stood up. Granger did not. Again, calculated to convey certain messages, just as his clothing did. He was _not _under anyone's thumb or living on anyone's good will. He was not relying on Granger on the basis of the relationship that was all but confirmed between them. His robes—unrelieved black, but _not _those he had worn to teach. Far fewer buttons, less encasing, less intimidating. Still striking, and, Draco saw ruefully when Snape stood, still naturally billowing with dramatic flair as his teaching robes had done. _He is not changed intrinsically—the black is still as unbending and dark as his old robes. But relaxed, just a little. He _isn't _a teacher and won't be claiming his job back, more's the pity. Less stiff—he'll be more approachable. But not too much. _All that, before he had said a single word. Draco was impressed.

"I know there has been much confusion and…_talk, _since I returned," Snape began impassively, eyes roaming the students. "The Headmistress has assured me she told you all what you needed to know, no more. It seems as if you are not content, and I dislike…rumors. I shall endeavor to give you the truth." Now, he rested his black eyes for just a fraction longer on the Slytherin table.

"I became a Death Eater when I was no older than those of you studying for their NEWTs, during the first rising of Voldemort," he told the deathly silent school. "I wanted power, the ability to control my own fate, the respect of the world. He offered all of these to me. I will not varnish the truth. I participated in crimes that would disgust the hardiest of you. It was only the spreading madness in our leader that finally awoke me to the realization that what had been promised had never materialized, that I was doing things that I should have found repugnant. That was when I chose to make my own path." He paused, and it seemed as if he were looking each student in the eye—never mind that it was impossible, that it was a speaker's trick Draco himself had used multiple times in the past. It was _very _effective.

"I went to Albus Dumbledore as my best chance, and I offered information. It is a position I have been in since then, until now."

_He's good. He's _really _good._ Draco couldn't believe it, but already many of the students were almost-convinced, almost ready to believe in Snape. _If I didn't know better, I would suspect some sort of manipulative magic or a potion slipped to all of us. _The man was skillfully winning over students from _every _House, background, and prior affiliations, a supremely difficult task indeed.

"Albus Dumbledore requested—in no way I could renege—that I would not risk my valuable position even to the detriment of his own life. It was not I who murdered the Headmaster, though I was guilty as an accomplice for I did nothing. I will regret his passing until my own." There was no doubting the absolute raw sincerity, the most Draco had ever heard from his godfather. _He's _using _bare honesty as a _tool, Draco realized with shock. Absolute truth and bared soul in a dignified fashion: the earnest emotions would win the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, the subtle way in which he picked out his words would appeal to the Slytherin and Ravenclaw's values of intellect, analyzing, and pursuit of respect and power. And all done in a way that would blend it all so that any student from any of the four Houses would be drawn in and then made sensitive to the other 'lures', mingled until they were made to understand each other—and Snape—in ways far past a simple stereotyped House. And all equally shocked by _Snape _displaying emotions and telling the basic truth.

_There _was a true master of manipulation. Draco was awed and Snape hadn't even finished.

"I continued gathering vital information," Snape said, deliberately vague. "It was in the course of this duty that I came to know Professor Granger in a professional capacity. She was assigned to make contact with me and pass on information. She proved herself to be competent, subtle, and quick to grasp reality." A look Draco couldn't comprehend, too quick to catch, flashed over the man's face. "Suffice to say that eventually in the course of my position, I was discovered and subsequently aided by those I had given information to over the years, and this is the state of affairs currently."

Now the look he favored them all with was just a touch acidic, not enough to be considered an insult or challenge but rather a little shock and reminder that he _was, _after all, still Severus Snape.

"Hogwarts has offered me sanctuary. I shall remain here until the end of the school year. I am well aware of the…vivid speculation of the relationship between Professor Granger and I. I will not repeat myself. It is none of your business and anyone who dares to indulge in such foolishness will be…reprimanded." He sneered. "If you wish you address me, you may continue to call me Professor or Sir. I shall be assisting Madame Pomfrey in the Infirmary should you be unfortunate enough to injure yourselves."

With that, he sat.

Before they could catch their breath, Granger stood up herself. She'd remained silent for Snape's speech, but it was clear that she was going to have her say as well.

"One thing more," she addressed them at large with casual confidence. "If you have serious concerns or important questions, you may come talk to either Severus or I. We will not turn you away, although I cannot promise we will give you the answers you are seeking. But if all you wish is to satisfy shallow minds and malicious or idle curiosity, rest assured that there will be consequences." She smiled calmly, and she too met everyone's eyes with no hesitation. Now her voice became the same sort of warm, 'teacher' sound that she had most employed this year. "We have all seen things, experienced things that no child should have and even the youngest of you are forced into accelerated maturity by this war. But by that same mark, _we _will be the ones who bring it to a real close. We did not start this war, but it has given us all the tools to endit. We understand better than anyone else the need for unity and we demonstrated our own capacity to learn that lesson. I am asking all of you to remember that Hogwarts stands only if every single student, teacher, ghost, portrait, and house-elf will stand together as individual stones to build the castle as our sum total. If we do not—the castle falls. Hogwarts falls. _We are Hogwarts. _Leave behind your personal grievances. Hogwarts needs your unity."

_And _that, _my friends, is the power of a _great _rallying speech. _Draco found himself on his feet, cheering along with the rest of the school, stamping his feet and shaking his fists in the air. Skye was screaming, eyes afire. Everywhere he looked, students were shouting, rallying, on their feet. Even his Slytherins. His heart beat fast, his blood sang with adrenaline, and for one long eternity it was as if Hogwarts itself had opened its mouth and roared a battle-cry to charge to victory.

_Yes. Yes! That's why I'm fighting, _Draco thought. All the unsettledness, the reasons bouncing around inside of him he'd been unable to put into words, to explain to his fellow Slytherins or even to himself, coalesced into the speech Hermione Granger had just delivered. As if with one mind with the rest of his classmates, he shouted "_Hogwarts! Hogwarts!" _over and over, until the stone of the castle shook and rang with the rallying cries of a school truly united.

**-break-**

They were both awed and eager, so much an awkward blend of hardened soldier and starstruck child that she wanted to cry. They treated her with every bit of deference that she suspected Harry had been given when he had first entered the Wizarding World, but they also worked hard, harder than she'd ever seen them work and when she ended class early they used the extra time to question her. Relevant questions, questions she herself had thought about. _Is Voldemort going to attack Hogwarts? What about my family? Can I tell them? How can I help? _Each one broke her heart a little further, even more so because they came from the first to third years she taught, and all of them too young to be included in the DA or personally experience the horrors that their older peers had gone through when Harry himself had started Hogwarts. For all the escalation of the war, the death tolls that rose outside these walls, _inside _Hogwarts no real threat entered but that of bad news this year.

The sudden burning warmth in that particular spot in her mind told her that Hogwarts was both overjoyedand reaping the benefits of her speech already. It had only grown steadily since it had flared into being as she spoke. The castle was perhaps the most unified it had been since the term of Headmistress Dilys Derwent.

It had been what Hermione had planned, she and Severus. In those recovery days, in between naps and visitors and reconciliations and the Order meeting, they had discussed, soberly, how they should confront the school. Minerva had offered one piece of the puzzle, to let the students think that Severus had not killed Albus and had been bound to keep his spy's position at all costs. The rest of it had been an exquisitely choreographed song and dance. Severus first, establishing his own authority and recreating himself with a carefully mix of mostly truth and some falsehood, to reestablish himself as a sympathetic character, fully human but still with the personality that made him Severus Snape, feared Potions Master—and a person not to be trifled with. That too would give the rest authenticity, for if they created an entirely new persona of 'good, kind, put-upon Snape' it would never be swallowed. _And it tells any potential moles that he is untouchable. The Dark Lord may well choose to give up one of his very few student spies in an assassination attempt, but Severus' formidable self should be an excellent deterrent, and Poppy is everywhere at once in the Infirmary—it's probably the safest place in the castle, barring the personal quarters we've warded to kingdom come, Severus and I._

Then Hermione, who would take the local reaction—accepting Severus back into the fold at a higher trust-level than even before—and apply it to the global, accepting each other as allies and equals fighting for the same one goal. Take all the shock, uncertainty, the planted seed of trust, and urge it into accelerated growth in school unity, forging a single weapon pointed at Voldemort's heart out of the students and teachers.

And it had worked. Hermione's heart had been in her mouth the entire time. It was such a delicate, subtle balance that was needed and if one component was off, nothing else would be effective. But it hadsucceeded, and now students with old eyes and young faces were coming to her to ask her when the battle was happening, how to protect their families, how they could fight for Hogwarts. _Merlin._

It wasn't just the first to third years. _All _of them were responding, thinking, asking. Everywhere she looked, students were discussing war and protection in serious, low voices. Students were coming individually and in groups, both to her and to all the other professors to ask those questions and offer their help and their wands in battle.

She told them all the same thing. _Don't do anything foolish and dangerously heroic. Join the DA if you're not already in it and are of age. Join the junior DA if you're too young, so you can learn how to protect yourselves until you can get help. Tell your families to get the very best protections, or flee the country quietly if they can. _Go _with them if you know you just can't fight. Better another smart survivor to come back and rebuild than a dead body to bury at the end of it. If they want to fight, tell them to contact the Order of the Phoenix and start brushing up on their defensive and offensive spells. The final battle will be on Beltane. Prepare. _

With Severus outed as the spy, there was no point in pretending that they did not know that war would be coming to Hogwarts on the day where love and new life should have been celebrated instead. _Like anything else associated with Voldemort, Beltane has been perverted from it's true intent. _It was an ancient ritual, stemming from a time when wizards and witches had lived the same cultures and traditions as Muggles, before the schism had become so wide. Beltane, which began the last eve of April, was when fires were built for lovers to jump over to increase their chances of creating life, or for cattle to be driven through to ensure fertility in the coming year. Now, it would be death coming, and the ancient fertility rites would be rites of sterility instead.

When the day was over, she was as drained and empty as if she'd fought the battle that day. Severus too appeared to be as deeply disturbed as she was, for he too was silent and held her tighter than he was wont to do when they sat before the fire, doing nothing but staring at the dancing flames.

"They are still children," she said hoarsely.

"You cannot deny what you yourself spoke this morning," he replied though his face was as strained as she. "If we are to have any hope of winning, they must fight, and they must fight with all the passion and purpose of a feverish fanatic, because that is what they will be facing."

"It makes me feel so sick, manipulating them like this," she whispered.

He held observed her dispassionately. "You gave them more of a chance to survive. They'll have better odds fighting with the same fervor and unity _you _gave them. That is not manipulation, that is good teaching and brilliant leading. If you had not done what you did, some would fight—and most would die like the gaggle of students and children they should be. Others would flee, but there would be no home to come back to and nothing but guilt and fear in living."

She held on with all her might to his hand, and kept staring at the fire. _Plain truth, which is why we did what we had to, _she told herself. But she still felt sick.

**A.N.: Tough stuff to write. Hope I did a credible job.**


	98. Chapter 98

**Disclaimer: **_**shhh…they don't know I temporarily borrowed HP & co! **_

April was a haze of training, grim faces, and fierce determination shining in every face young and old. Minerva stopped all pretenses of keeping up a normal school life. Classes could be retaken. Saving lives was more important. Everyone found a new schedule three days after Hermione's speech had roused reality in them. Classes became expanded versions of DA sessions, more structured and tailored to more specific groups. They lost some students—over three-fourths of the first and second years, a scattering of the rest as panicked families became aware of what was happening and took their children out to flee or hide as they would. Minerva sent a personal message to each family, explaining the unexplainable, why they had taken young children in a school meant for instilling intellectual growth and wisdom and transformed it into a training camp in how to live and kill or incapacitate. Hermione did not envy her that task.

But there were others whose families did not pack up to disappear—and Hogwarts gained more fighters as _those _families trickled in to train with their children, determination, stubbornness, and a little trace of fear on all their faces. Hermione admired those parents the most, for they risked all and more for something both they and their children believed in. She only hoped that those families would survive intact.

Mornings saw all of them, first to seventh years, taking part in a professor-led activity of the day. They ranged from the deadly serious to the downright silly. Minerva taught them some basic Transfiguration ideas that could help save their lives, like turning anything into a wall or mirror between them an enemy's curse. Sibyll taught them all ways of aligning their chakras by drumming in a meditative, rhythmic pattern.

Then they split into age-and-skill based groups to train and drill, both offensive and defensive tactics. They were brutal sessions, involving both physical and magical practice and conditioning which had come as a nasty shock for those who had not already been in the DA. By lunch, they were all exhausted. Lunch had been extended, giving them all enough time not only to eat but to recover and have a little free time. It was the perfect time to go to a professor or Order member that had been brought in to teach and train them to ask a question or request help in some spell or move, or to simply relax with friends and forget for a bit that there was a battle coming.

In the afternoon, a random and constantly shifting set of groups would be pit against one simulation or another. No two days would have the same students together. The uncertain skill level of those around them quickly taught everyone how to assess each other on the fly and also react and collaborate completely in the moment. They would need ever bit of talent at sussing out both ally and opponent on the day of battle, and every scrap of ability to think on the move and work together seamlessly to defend themselves against any situation. Those groups were subjected to a variety of simulations, everything Hermione, Severus, and the leaders could think of to throw at them to ready them for what they might face, from Dementors to werewolves to fighting members of their own family. All of it simulated, all of it extraordinary spellwork that Hermione could barely believe she and the other leaders could actually create.

Sometimes special sessions took the place of that. Twice a week, Poppy and Severus lectured, demonstrated, and forced students to practice basic healing, the last-ditch ways to keep a body alive from emergency Muggle CPR to _Episkey. _Once, Sinistra and Severus had taught the basics of meditation and the beginning of Occlumency-study, enough for anyone suffering nightmares or panic attacks to reduce them and induce calm.

By the end of the day, students and teachers like were spent mentally, magically, and physically—and oftentimes, emotionally. Minerva advised all her professors to remind students that their doors were open for anyone who needed to talk, cry, or rant. And Hermione found that more often than not, students were showing up at her door, and found something else out: she and Severus made a _good _tag team.

They were smooth, able to play off each other's attitude, and give the student a fair balance of comfort, lecture, and a lift in spirits.

It also meant that neither one of them were sleeping much, since most students were the most desperate to talk in the middle of the night after a nightmare or after lying awake paralyzed with fear of the future. But Hermione noticed something else as April marched on.

Severus was not getting any peace, even in the hours he could sleep. She always fell asleep before he did, woke a little after. She sometimes woke in the night to find him gone, either brewing more healing potions—the elementary ones, for his hands still shook enough to make brewing the master-level ones a risk—or planning a new type of simulation to throw at the students, or simply sitting in the living room, staring at the fire. And always, when he sat there, he unconsciously clutched his arm, the arm where the Dark Mark lay dormant.

Or not so.

It was a little over a week when Hermione opened her eyes and saw that once again, Severus was not in bed. Quietly stealing out, she paused as she saw him brooding, gripping his arm. And instead of going to sit with him silently or just leaving quietly as she had before, this time she tried something else.

"Sulk, sulk, sulk. I've had enough. Severus, you are going to trigger a relapse of the Cruciatus aftermath if you don't get more sleep," she snapped.

He jolted, and Hermione reacted just in time, throwing up a protective shield around herself. The curse was dark and potent by its malevolent feel, and it crashed into her _Protego Maximus _with an audible explosion, sizzling along the edges of the protection and hissing angrily for the space of five long breaths before it finally spluttered out with a final screech.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Her…mi…one," he whispered as if he couldn't believe that it was her standing there, that she was watching him with devastated and wary eyes, ready—if unwilling—to neutralize him.

He stood partially behind the sofa, wand gripped so tightly in his hand his knuckles were white. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily.

And his Mark was writhing.

She had not seen it move since they had escaped from Prince Manor, and had not even given it a passing thought. Now she watched in morbid fascination as it oozed like something out of a horror movie, the snake gaping in silent laughter and the skull grinning just as horribly. _Oh gods, _she thought in numb terror. _Oh Merlin, the Mark—Voldemort—Severus!_

And then, just as suddenly, the snake flicked out a tongue and froze, once more rendering the Mark just an inanimate and gruesome tattoo. Severus staggered, and almost went down on his knees, and he was shaking now harder than even the tremors after a full day's work assisting Poppy with those injured while training.

_Severus, _she cried mentally, but she didn't dare go to him.

He dropped his wand and looked up slowly to meet Hermione's agonized gaze, and his own displayed overwhelming despair and horror. "No," he whispered. "Hermione…please…I'm sorry, I don't know…I don't remember…"

Nothing of his collapsing demeanor signaled the likes of another attack or a trick, and she finally allowed herself to rush over to him just as his tremors became a full attack.

"Severus. Severus," she said as a chant and plea as she caught him before he fell, controlling their descent to the ground. "Merlin…Severus…" she felt tears and hysteria call, and ruthlessly forced the latter back though the former would not be unchecked and poured down her cheeks as she Sleep-spelled him and ran to the fireplace to get Poppy.

Poppy, ever efficient, had Severus settled in a matter of moments. "A combination of shock and emotional turmoil triggered a relapse, although he should recover in a day or two, if it was just that I was contending" she told Hermione. "But I need you to take a look at this." She lifted Severus' left arm.

Hermione stared, a lump rapidly forming in her throat and burning all the way down to her churning stomach. The Dark Mark—the tattoo had come alive again, and it was growing. Not just growing, it was _stretching, _an insidious writhing snake that seemed to get longer and thicker as it laboriously moved up Severus' arm. It twined around his prominent vein, black and terrifying like a live thing, and Hermione _knew _with sick certainty that if that snake reached Severus' heart, he would die. Or, if it went to his brain alternatively, Severus might as well be dead. If that snake could take over Severus' mind, it would not be him anymore—it would the Dark Lord with Severus as unwilling host. And Severus would wish for death before becoming a tool to bring down his own side.

"Can you…can you purge his body of it?" she asked hoarsely.

"No." Poppy was drawn and as fully frazzled as Hermione had ever seen the woman. She swallowed. "There is…I've done all I can, but it's so insidious…"

Hermione looked down at Severus, who lay so quietly, asleep now thanks to Dreamless Sleep. His face was just a little puckered, as if he were experiencing a particularly distasteful—or painful—dream. The deep creases in his forehead usually disappeared when he was asleep, Hermione knew. They had not smoothed out now.

"Is there _nothing _else you can do?" she heard herself cry, her voice sounding alarmingly high.

"I've done all I can, Hermione." Poppy blinked rapidly as if holding back tears of her own. "Nothing I've ever heard or seen has come remotely close to _this. _The Mark is linked with Tom Riddle, and I can't break it or banish it. I can barely build the shield that _will_ last half an hour to keep it localized to the arm. I have to keep replacing the shields as they fall. Stasis doesn't work. I think that even cutting off his arm wouldn't work at this point. The Dark Mark is centralized on the tattoo, but it binds the entire _person. _When I looked with Healer's Sight, it was like a viral disease network through his entire body bound to his very self, and rooting it out…might just well kill Severus. Cutting off his arm might buy a little time, but it would just grow back somewhere else. Severus might have been able to construct a solution, but…"

Hermione jerkily stretched a hand to stroke Severus' head, his face. "Keep him alive," she said distantly, and left. She had someone to find.

Hermione went to the Slytherin Dormitory. Thankfully, everyone was sleeping the sleep of the virtuous exhausted and there were no late-night wanderers searching for reassurance from a professor. The White Witch took one look at her and crisply directed her to an empty classroom not far away where they could talk in private, containing an unoccupied painting of a grassy pasture.

"May I hazard a guess that you wish to ask of me the favour I bestowed upon you as a Child of Hogwarts?" the woman who called herself the Morrigan posed.

Hermione nodded. It felt as if there were a hard, cold shell around her, separating her from what was happening. She was thankful for it, and suspected from within that glassy cocoon that without it, she might be screaming on the floor, mind gone mad with fear and grief. "You are correct, lady," she acknowledged. "I would like to know several things before I make any choice about such matters, if it would not offend you?"

"Of course not. I can hardly condemn you for displaying the characteristics of caution which the House I guard espouses."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Severus' Dark Mark—it binds him forever to Voldemort, doesn't it?"

The Morrigan's features were opaque as she answered. "Yes, and in far more ways than anyone but he knew. It is a…controlled virus in his very life force."

"It allows Voldemort to…subvert Severus," Hermione said slowly, beating back her wailing heart with the grim knowledge that she could not just break down and gibber at the painting.

"It is a weak point wherein darkness may insinuate itself," the Morrigan agreed. "Though it may not _command, _it may…exploit and multiply itself, and in the most vulnerable of moments even win ascendancy. My raven is far too strong-willed to be overcome by such magic, but in the times when both body and mind are tired, it is easy to be lulled into letting down your guard and in such a case, one instant may be all it needs."

"So it _is _Voldemort, and he _is _trying to hurt Severus through the Mark," Hermione said. Both horror and heartbreak were plain in her face, but even more evident to a goddess limited in powers though the Morrigan was. The hearts of mortals she had chosen to favor were always plain to her, and this child—for infant she was to the Morrigan's centuries—was bleeding inside both for herself but even more so for her beloved.

The Morrigan remained silent. She had seen centuries of similar heartbreak, as lovers parted with each other for the battlefield and death came calling to the blood-soaked plains where armies clashed. She had _been _harbinger of death many a time, and still this raw mortal emotion remained as potent to her mind as her own grief, her own suffering. Let other gods scoff at the fleeting nature of human emotions and their lives. The Morrigan gave each their full value, despite how short it was compared to the immortality of hers.

When she sensed that the girl had regained enough control over the inner storm, she spoke. "I am bound so in my powers," she said. "I cannot give life to one already dead. I cannot prevent death if death is indeed come calling. I can give protection, some little token, but no guarantees. Even the little I can see of the future is veiled and changeable. By the conditions of my existence and even more so, by the rules that were written in me in paint-strokes when I was first banished to the mortal coil, I cannot save even my raven from death of body or soul if he falls in battle or if tonight his Mark has done enough damage to kill, if it has extended it's network to his very mind and heart. But I gave you a favor and I can remove the Dark Mark now, purge your beloved of the evil that binds to his body, if you have the faith that it is not too late."

Hermione gulped. There was a depthless anger and despair within the Morrigan's wise eyes and her words, enough for her to wish desperately to back away, turn and run from this unnatural power as fast as she could. It simply did not belong to the heavens and the earth of Hermione's world, and it was endless. Even her fear of losing Severus seemed—not insignificant, but so little of the iceberg that it was dwarfed entirely by this eternal pain. Her icy shell that had allowed her to function cracked a little under the pressure of immortal sorrow.

But the Morrigan had given her the answer she needed, and she gathered a breath and her numbness again. "Then, Morrigan, I ask that you would destroy the Dark Mark and purge every bit that seeks to bind Severus unwilling to Tom Riddle."

"So it is done, child," the Morrigan intoned and held out a hand, palm upturned. There was a hint of…_something…_in her hypnotizing eyes and Hermione blinked and stared, trying to pinpoint what it was. Then the Morrigan's eyes flared bright, bright until Hermione cried out and flung an arm over her dazzled eyes. But before her lids shut of their own volition against the glare of light, Hermione saw what it was that had been in the Morrigan's gaze—triumph. There was a voice chanting, and Hermione knew it to be ancient Gaelic, although how she knew she could not say. A wind pressed around her, and she smelled and heard in it war, of the heat of battle, of great victory and great pain, red fury, sweat, the shrieks of the warriors and the dying, and of ravens circling overhead.

The last cleared the rest of the scene from her senses, and she realized that the unbearable light was gone. In its place was utter blackness so thick that she could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. Not even herself. Scarcely before she had time to come to the horrified thought that this was what death was, the world moved, and she was in a dimly lit classroom that showed no signs of inhabitation or use, with an indifferent painting of green fields and its queenly visitor.

"What…"

"It is done," the Morrigan repeated, this time with finality, and with one last wrench, reality snapped back into place with an audible crack. "Don't worry, child. Your wish is done. Go find your man and stay with him. Sleep."

"Ah…thank you," Hermione managed, still dazed and confused. _She had been asking…for something…and then what? _She couldn't remember, wasn't quite sure what she had been asking in the first place. "I'll…just…be going then…" vaguely she wandered off to the urgings of the White Witch. The portrait shook her head at the very mortal response to the Greater Works, amused. Then she called for a house elf to make sure that her child would not wander off somewhere else, mind still recovering from exposure to such power. The elf promised to escort Hermione to the Hospital Wing and install Hermione in a bed there next to Severus. After a good long sleep, she would be right as rain and her busy little human mind already constructing an unconscious buffer around the memories involving the Greater Work she had been privy too. The human mind was such a magical thing indeed, and it saved the Morrigan the work it would have taken—not that it was that hard—to create the same sort of mental shield to protect the sanity of those she exposed so such sights.

With a sigh of satisfaction at a job well done—and a step closer to the centuries-long atonement that was only just beginning for her, the Morrigan erased any presence of her or Hermione's ever having been in the classroom, and left as well. Ten minutes later, the house elf appeared to tell the White Witch that Hermione had arrived safely at the Hospital Wing, regained enough memory to remember what had been granted, and wept with relief that her man still lived. Knowing the stubborn heart of her raven, truly one of her own, the Morrigan was sure that he would live past the risky night and prosper with his warrior-bride.

It was well.

**-break-**

"Mum's on a rampage," Ginny remarked.

Since Hermione happened to be wearing the fruits of that rampage and had another scarf for Severus' dubious pleasure, she could not help but agree.

"When she found out about Perce, I thought she was going to drown us all in tears and wool, one or the other," Ron groaned. "You know Gin and I went home that one day."

"Yes, and you came back looking so shell-shocked that I decided that discretion was the better part of valor," Hermione teased. She was in the Gryffindor Common Room with Ron, Ginny, and Harry, carefully cultivating the friendship that she, they, and time had wrought so much destruction on.

"She couldn't stop hugging us and sending us up to Perce to see if he needed anything," he said with a shudder. "It was awful, and Percy and his girlfriend kept _smirking _at me whenever I had to check on them!"

_Because it's so fun—and easy—to twist your tail, Ron, _Hermione thought with great amusement. Percy Weasley too had fallen victim to the same unknown entity that had been ignorant enough to let someone slip his Occlumency shields. The difference was that he had been at the Ministry, harder for Death Eaters to murder or abduct without causing a riot and revealing their hand too early. He had been advised of his compromised identity just in time to escape a trap he had been supposed to be lured to, getting out with only a scrape or two. He was currently ensconced at the Burrow and apparently Audrey White was practically living with him in all but name.

"Anyway, she was awful put out at not being told as soon as we found out, but she thinks Percy and Audrey are absolutely perfect and that you and Snape need all the mothering and comfort she can give, so I'd steer clear of the Burrow for a bit," Ron continued.

Harry just grinned at Hermione's groan. "_I _had to go through it when I first entered the Wizarding World," he reminded her. He was gleeful. "Now it's your turn!"

"I may just suffocate in her loving-kindness," Hermione said tartly, sighing in an exaggerated manner. "Worse—Severus might decide to flee the country rather than face Molly Weasley on a mothering spree!"

"She should have just taken up Voldemort as a poor, deserving, needy child," Harry agreed.

"She'd have killed him by the end of the day!" Ron exclaimed.

"Voldemort: Killed by Kindness—I can see the headlines of the Daily Prophet now," Ginny chipped in.

It felt good to laugh with her friends.

It felt even better to return home to her lover, to see him blatantly breaking Poppy's orders to stay in bed. He looked normal—no, even better, for he was carrying himself for the first time that she'd ever known him with an extra ounce of youth and confidence. Freedom from the Dark Mark had never, ever, in his years of hard service, occurred to him as more than a dream. Not after his initial research had fallen through and Albus had asked—and told him—just how needed he was as a spy.

He had berated Hermione for the flagrant waste of her favor with the Morrigan, but she had given as good as she'd gotten and she had the right of it. And more, Severus _was _intensely glad that she had done so, even with the bit of guilt that she couldn't make go away for having been the cause of her 'wasting' her wish. But he stood even taller, his tremors he handled with far more dignity and good humor than she ever thought he would, and his eyes spoke of the wonder of freedom, of being able to walk visibly untainted by his worst mistake.

He raised his eyebrow at the new russet knitted scarf she wore draped loosely around her shoulders, despite the fact that it was perfectly warm inside and the weather outside did not really warrant one either. "How was your visit?" he asked as she sat with a sigh next to him, snuggling close. He was reading for pleasure, one of the rare occasions he allowed himself, and because of the nature of what he had been for so long the best pleasures were not magical, but Muggle. Her worn copy of _Gulliver's Travels _was open on his lap, and she smiled. _Trust Severus to adore Swift, acerbic as he his. He'd probably love _A Modest Proposal.

"It went well. I didn't stay too long because we were all pretty tired from the day," Hermione said cautiously. This was the first time he'd really mentioned anything close to broaching the topic of her reconciliation with Harry and Ginny. "Pig came with a package for us while I was there." She stripped off the scarf with a sigh of relief—she'd put it on mostly for politeness while with Ron and Ginny. "There's mittens too. I don't know why she thinks we _need _them, but they're her way of mothering. Don't laugh. There's a set for you too." She tossed the package she was holding at him. He grimaced, but drew out the green and black striped set of scarf and mittens.

"Dare I hope this sudden…kindness on Molly Weasley's part will vanish soon?" he asked disdainfully.

"Not a chance. Once she gets the bit between her teeth she'll never let go," Hermione informed him a little too happily. At least she wouldn't be suffering alone! _Besides, except for the certain nagging and total disregard of privacy into my life, Molly really means well and I _do _like the scarf and mittens. For next winter. _

"Wonderful," he said grumpily. "At least she had the sense not to knit our initials as a reminder of our own names as she needs to do for the rest of her brood."

Hermione choked, half-way between hysteria and shock. Apparently Severus content enough with her response, as he did not go further with it. "This man Gulliver seems very skilled at getting himself into and out of many tight spots," he remarked instead.

Hermione laughed. "I'd say. I used to _love _the adventures when I was a girl. I wanted to have adventures. And then of course my Hogwarts letter arrived and I soon had a very personal acquaintance with adventuring."

"The Magical world lacks any sort of direct corresponding niche that these books fill," Severus mused. "Fiction has never been popular. It is a sad lack."

"It is," Hermione agreed. "Fiction offers dreams of _what could be. _That might be a reason that the Purebloods—and on a larger scale, this entire world—is so afraid of change. They can't experiment by exploring different types of societies in books, so they are deathly afraid of change."

"And Muggleborns bring change to the Wizarding World, just by being who they are," Severus sighed. "Yes, it could well be a reason for the prejudices that have sprung up over centuries of blood status."

"_Gulliver's Travels _is actually an allegory, you know," Hermione told him, absently playing with his fingers. "Jonathan Swift wrote it as an examination and satire of the British, who were so convinced of their own superiority as they went out to establish colonies all over the world. The society that the supposedly great British traveler-conqueror encounters at the very end is—well, I shouldn't give it away," Hermione hastily stopped herself before she could.

"I'll finish the book as soon as I can and we will have a proper discussion," Severus promised. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that it would probablynot happen before the battle.

"Well, as you seem to be intent on disobeying Poppy's orders to stay in bed, do you think you'll start assisting her again in the Infirmary?" she asked, changing the topic.

"Most likely, if Poppy is smart enough to realize that I need no more bed rest," Severus snorted.

"Good. There are a lot more injuries occurring now." _Because we're getting tougher on all of them. _"And I know that you've already got yourself a small following. Just about everyone you've healed were gossiping about what a good Mediwizard you were and that your bedside manners are a _whole _lot better than your teaching methods. In fact, you might even have a fan club, Severus."

His reaction did not disappoint her. He sneered—a full-sized, Professor Snape one, the kind bestowed on a potions student who was just _hopeless _and had as much ability as a flobberworm.

She chuckled in his face, provoking a retaliation in the form of a particularly cutting remark on how he'd caught more than one lustful pair of young boys' eyes fastened on her at the adult's table or following her every move with worship when it was she who was called on to teach a defensive maneuver of some sort.

_That _soon spiraled into a shouting match of epic proportions in which they vied for the most creative insult to throw at the other.

"At least I am not the star of some little boy's sexual fantasy, wearing black leather and cracking a whip."

"No, you're the star in some little girl's sexual fantasy, tragic and unable to survive without their love!"

They enjoyed every second of the 'fight', the insults getting wilder and wilder as they indulged in a little creative invention like "Big, soft, fluffy teddy-bear led around by a pink ribbon" and "Wild hairy woman raised by the apes." The contest of insults finally ended in a draw, both insisting that _they _had won. They took the squabble to bed and proved that the tie-breaker wasn't _always _a total loss for one party.

**A.N.: Aligning chakras by drumming is a method of self-healing that I discovered on the wonderful thing called the Internet. I, however, do not know anything more than the fact that this practice exists, so my apologies for being simplistic or downright wrong. **

**Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal" is a satiric essay written in 1729 in which he proposes, very reasonably, that the Irish eat their own children to solve the problem of poverty and starvation among them that the English saw as unsightly blemishes and lower forms of life. **


	99. Chapter 99

**Disclaimer: Happy November! Maybe this is the year that JKR will give me HP & co for my birthday…no?...are you sure?...very very sure, as in triple-checked sure?...**

"_Constant Vigilance! _Death Eaters aren't going to wait for you to think of a spell to use! _Always _have a spell ready to use, _anything _as long as it gives you a bit more time for a real defense!"

Mad-Eye Moody was in his element, bellowing and stalking around the edges of the Quidditch field. Today, he'd organized an Auror training program activity, dividing the students of the combined three groups into 'Death Eaters' and 'Defenders'. Their only instruction was no Unforgivables.

The other groups sat up on the bleachers, observing. It would soon be their turn, but rather than switching all at once they would be rotated onto the field in intervals to simulate real battle where some might be fresh and some might be already exhausted from fighting. Along with Moody, Tonks and Hestia also prowled the perimeters, watching the fight closely.

Hermione heard their shouted advice and insults through the curtain of other sounds: the spells, the yelps and grunts of pain, the pounding of her own heart against her ears. She had inserted herself into today's training because she needed the practice, to get back into shape after her recent stays in the Infirmary. Sweat trickled into her eyes, blurring her sight, and she took a chance to swipe the burning salt out of her eyes. She was lucky—no one had seen to take advantage of her. But there was another problem with this sort of disorganized melee, and one she suspected was the lesson for today. _When the real battle happens, it will be disorganized. Messy. _She had fought before—she remembered how frenzied and scattered battle was in truth. Most of these students would be learning that today. _And in situations like this, you are just as likely to get hit by friendly fire as enemy fire. _

It was friendly fire, in fact, which finally took her down, though she managed to stay for almost the full round until her group was rotated out. Colin Creevey's stray Stunner meant for Hannah hit her full in the back unawares, and when she opened her eyes again she had been dragged to the 'injured tent', a marked out spot where the students who had volunteered and shown aptitude for field Healing had dragged her.

"Broken leg and concussion—for the abrupt landing on the hard surface, and probably some bruises and nicks from being tripped over or stepped on before we could get to you," Justin Finch-Fletchley informed her with a rueful grin. "You're out of commission for a while for that concussion."

He didn't mean that she _had _one, simply that those were the likely outcome if she _had _been in a real fight. The field Healers were using this as their own training session to dash in and out for the 'badly injured' and 'diagnosing' the most probable injury that might occur. And Healing those who actually had injuries, of course. Hermione sighed. "I almost made it the entire time," she whined, hearing Moody bellow for her group to switch out with the incoming one.

"Better luck in the real thing," Justin half-joked, laughing at his own morbid humor.

Hermione grimaced, but laughed too. After all, if it weren't for a little humor morbid or not, neither she nor any of the others would make it past Beltane with their sanity intact.

She did indeed guess the reasons for this exercise correctly. When all the groups had rotated through twice—she rejoined half-way through the second round, her concussion and broken leg 'healed'—they were given a stern lecture on friendly fire and it's deadliness.

Severus had been instructing today as well—he and Poppy were observing the field Healers. He had outright smirked when he saw her being 'treated' by Justin, and she had to work to keep herself from hexing the taunting grin off his face. As expected, he was insufferable that night, remarking on old women who let themselves get sloppy and out of shape.

Her relationship with Severus was a source of never-ending avid interest to the school. No one dared, after both she and Severus had delivered their respective threats, to whisper about it in her presence or even rumored presence. However, she was not blind nor dumb—a bombshell like this, even without the added mystery of Severus Snape's part in the war, would have electrified both students and professors alike. Half the students pretended as if absolutely nothing had been said, pointedly not seeing and hearing Professors Snape and Granger emerge from the same quarters, greet each other in the hallways, and banter with each other during meals. The other half acted as if both she and he had grown a second head and wings—that is to say, both repulsive and fascinating. _That half—heck, all of them are judging us privately—and I doubt we come out smelling like roses. _It was an unpleasant circumstance, but perhaps one that would have happened anyhow. Severus wasn't fondly remembered as a teacher, and most of the students now had not been old enough to see their professors as real people with lives outside of the classroom when Severus had abruptly…left his employment. Very few, teachers _or _students, could look at the relationship between Hermione and Severus without something akin to shock and a modicum of disbelief and yes, disgust. _No matter that not even my own closest friends see me as the same age as them anymore but rather as one of 'the adults'. No matter that Severus isn't the same and they really shouldn't let old prejudices color what they think or see now. No matter that in a world where wizards and witches live well past the century-mark in their lives, the difference between Severus and I is fairly negligible. And no matter that Severus and I have been as discreet as we possibly can without denying our relationship entirely. _Hermione grit her teeth.

_And which response is worse, avoidance or horror, I don't know. _Ron had been a wonderful source of support, going as far as awkwardly greeting Severus when he saw him, and Minerva and Poppy were staunch allies. But the rest—even the other professors, even Harry and Ginny, were profoundly affected and unable to hide it. _Not well, anyway. Not to two spies. _

But they had known, hadn't they? She and Severus had known from the beginning that this was the likely response—in fact, better than their expected outcome. They'd quelled the outrage and the majority of the malicious gossip-mongers, if not all of them. The Daily Prophet hadn't even picked up on it, miracle of miracles—no one had written home about it, no one had given the paper a tip, and one and all they had chosen to focus on the bigger problems they faced. It was better than they could have expected, and still Hermione wished that she didn't have to face the odd stares and sudden hushes wherever she walked.

The next morning, however, brought something else for the students to whisper about. The paper reported the first real news they'd had of the Death Eaters since Severus had returned to Hogwarts.

"Looks like Voldemort decided what he needed for a new advantage against us," Hermione remarked bitterly.

It was the third breakout of Azkaban, and the worst. All the human guards dead or missing, all prisoners on all levels taken, not justthe captured Death Eaters. The Dementors too had disappeared—gone over to Voldemort's side, no doubt. "What could he want with the Kissed prisoners?" Filius asked in bewilderment. "I can't imagine it would be easy or worth it to guide them out of Azkaban. They can't fight!"

"Yes they can," Severus said quietly, eyes fixed on the moving picture on the front page of the news. It showed the island prison, empty and uninhabited as it had not been since it had been discovered and put to use as a prison facility.

"He'll either have one Death Eater Imperius them and any unwilling prisoners and use them as shock troops to thin us out without any harm to their own side, or he will kill them and use their bodies to make Inferi."

Hermione shuddered, Flitwick looked aghast, and Minerva shook with anger. "Filth," she finally said in a low voice. She Vanished the Daily Prophet with a crisp, angry flick of her wand. Her mouth was set in grim, furious lines and her eyes were as hard as flint.

"Calm down," Hermione murmured to the Headmistress alone. "The students are scared and worried. You need to present a good front to them or they'll fall apart now."

Minerva accepted the truth and exerted iron control over herself, and when she looked up again she was able to continue eating as if nothing were wrong. Seeing her nonchalance, the other students too began to relax. Hermione noted with approval that Draco and Skye were already bolstering the Slytherin table with a running sarcastic commentary on Ministry failures to improve the 'impregnable prison' Azkaban. _And it looks like Harry, Ron, and Ginny are already doing the Gryffindor version of bucking up spirits by jokes about making Azkaban into something else like a resort island instead. Luna and Ernie are loudly discussing how many Wrackspurts it took to convince all the prisoners to leave, and Hannah and Justin are just plain encouraging the Hufflepuffs. _

Frustration and fear turned to awe as Hermione watched leaders emerge in each House to comfort and bolster the others, watched as the other students visibly pulled their scattered courage back and took confidence in their friends and peers, and breakfast went on as normal. _It's really working! We're really one entity! _Hogwarts purred with extreme satisfaction in the back of her head, with a little tingle as if to tell her _Thank you. _She wordlessly told the castle that it had not been her but the entire school that had pulled it off. And she believed it.

_Look at them—seven years ago, a Gryffindor wouldn't be caught dead within twenty feet of a Slytherin unless they were fighting. Hufflepuffs were so discouraged by the animosity that they buried themselves in shallow pursuits. The Ravenclaws were barely even a part of the school, they had retreated into themselves so far. Now—_as breakfast ended and the food, tables, and chairs disappeared to leave space for today's 'school building activity', Hermione saw them freely mingle, going to friends in other Houses to greet each other. Perhaps the Slytherins remained a little insular, and perhaps the Gryffindors remained the loudest, crudest group of students. But there was no tension like there would have been seven years ago when Harry and Draco had been instant enemies based on their projective Houses.

"Whose turn is it today?"

Hermione didn't know, but Septima Vector answered before she could shrug her shoulders. "It's mine," the Arithmancy professor said, turning away from her own conversation to address Severus. "And Merlin, but did it take a bit of planning!"

Severus gave her an arched, enquiring look. She smiled. She was one of those still uncomfortable around Hermione and Severus, and it showed a little in her nervous fidget as she talked. Still, she was making an effort, and Hermione appreciated it.

"I'm, ah, not used to dealing with so many children," she admitted. "I don't get the students until they've turned into actual people…"

Hermione stifled a laugh. _That sounds scarily like Severus. _"So those under fourth year aren't real people?"

Vector blushed. "No—I mean, they are, but they don't make sense to me when they're so young. It was difficult trying to find an activity that everyone could participate in."

"It is indeed," Severus cut in smoothly, cutting a quick glare at Hermione. She grinned unrepentantly. _It's my two worlds. I can't help it if Ron-like humor finds its way out of my mouth in Severus-like snark. _Besides, Severus was enjoying watching Vector flustered as much as she was.

"You found an appropriate activity in the end, I presume," he continued politely. Politely enough anyway. Hermione supposed she was the only one hearing the underlying thread of sarcasm in Severus' remark.

"I finally dug out one of the gifts Albus gave me for Christmas one year," she sighed. "A book of activities for children—he always did like sending entirely useless gifts. That was my first year teaching, when I told him I never wanted children because I would never know what to do with someone who couldn't reason like an adult and write out a basic formula. He—" she froze, flushing even harder as she realized that she had brought up a potentially touchy subject. "Uh…"

_Merlin, stop talking or you'll put your foot into it even further, _Hermione thought, highly entertained though a little sympathetic. This time it was she who shot Severus the glare. He glared back and peeled away his impending snarl, replacing it with blandness instead.

"Albus would have enjoyed having the last laugh at forcing you to finally open the book," he said, not gently but without any trace of having been offended or hurt. "His Christmas gift to me one year was a plush bat, which he claimed reminded him of me. It took me six months to work out the spells he had put on the damned thing to keep it protected and always return no matter where I Banished it."

_What? _

Hermione broke the awkward silence by bursting out in laughter, and soon the entire table had relaxed enough to allow themselves to chuckle along. "We…always called…you the..." _gasp, "bat of the dungeons," _Hermione choked through her giggles. "You never told me that you owned one!"

"And if I hear this story circulating among the students, I shall have one again," Severus said darkly, eyeing her. "One with bushy hair and an annoying tendency to show up where she is not wanted."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "I'll make your life miserable if you do," she promised darkly. "Just think, guano in your almost-finished potions!"

"On second thought, I shall make you an inanimate object instead. Perhaps a comb, or a toothbrush reserved for student detentions?"

"You pig," she hissed.

"Shrew."

"Hyena."

"Vulture."

"Slug."

"Hmm?" From the far end of the table, Horace turned around. "Yes, did someone call my name?"

Hermione didn't bother hiding her amusement. Severus sneered, and the avid listeners around both Hermione and Severus watched with great amazement and bewilderment. Her parents were both red in the face with laughter, and Sybill had just choked on a biscuit, spraying crumbs into her tea in a very comical fashion.

_Mission: Relax the Professors, accomplished. We're good. _She smirked victoriously.

**-break-**

"Miss Lovegood?"

Luna looked up and saw Headmistress McGonagall standing a prudent distance away from where she and the girls had just finished creating a mini-hill where flat ground had once been. Hermione was their 'leader' for this group exercise—mainly an observer to make certain that no one was hurt. Luna suspected that Hermione had volunteered specifically because she didn't trust women's magick and wanted to keep an eye on it.

"Why don't you girls take a break," Hermione suggested. If she was nervous around such primal magic, she didn't show it at least. She stood the minimum prescribed safe distance away next to the Headmistress.

"There's a visitor for you," the Headmistress told Luna as she walked over. _A visitor? _Luna never had visitors.

The other girls were already making themselves comfortable on the hill they'd created, so she trotted along beside Headmistress McGonagall back in the direction of the castle. She racked her brain for _who _could be visiting her. _Maybe Newt Scamander decided to bring me his answer to my owl about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in person? _

But when she got to the Headmistress' office, there was a very different—and much more welcome—sight by the fireplace.

"Daddy!" Face lighting up, Luna launched herself at her father.

"Little Lulu, how are you?" he swept her up effortlessly, hugged her tightly, and lowered her back down again. Then he peered into one eye, then the other. Used to their routine, she obediently opened her mouth and let him peer down her throat. He examined her corkscrew necklace, checked both radish earrings, and then sighed with relief.

"All clear?"

"All clear," he affirmed. "No nasty Wrackspurts, no Makmiks, no Shuddering Shinnies. You're as healthy as a Nargle at Christmas!"

She grinned cheerfully. "Your turn!" she ordered imperiously. He bent down and submitted to the same checks, after which she pronounced him fit as a Froogalump.

"And Froogalumps are very fit indeed," he said with satisfaction.

"What are you doing here, Daddy?" she asked curiously. "Aren't you usually writing tomorrow's feature at this time?"

"Ah…well, sweetheart, your old dad's going to be staying for a bit here," he informed her. He rubbed the top of her blonde head absently, waving towards the two small briefcases and a covered birdcage she hadn't noticed on the floor until now. "I packed up all the paper-printing things from the office, some of our stuff and Mum's boxes. And the pets too, couldn't forget them. Your Headmistress is giving me a room here until May 1st. The Quibbler's in full wartime business again, Luna."

The last time the Quibbler had been in full wartime business, it had been when Luna was not born yet and the first war was escalating. She'd heard stories of how Mummy and Daddy had run their little independent paper, printing article after article of truths, truths about what Voldemort was doing, truths about who he really was, truths about who were the Death Eaters and sympathizers that the Ministry had never caught—because they _were _the Ministry, or gave far too much money to ever be prosecuted.

It had not made them liked.

"Full wartime business?"

"Full wartime business. Headmistress McGonagall has already promised an interview with me about Hogwarts' part in defending the world, and someone I can't disclose has promised me a very nice article about the ineffectiveness of the Ministry of Magic. I thought it would be safer here though."

"That's true," Luna nodded. "Daddy…on Beltane…"

"I won't keep you from fighting, Lulu," he said gently. "I know they need you too much. I'm not much of a fighter, Merlin knows it was your mother who saved us all the day the Death Eaters came calling in the first war, but I can fight the same way we did that time. People need to know what's going on, and they need to know truth without any Ministry lies. Scrimgeour's a nice man—had him over for tea one day—but he's too much of a politician to not control what the Prophet publishes for the public. I'll be there fighting too, on Beltane, but with my own eyes and my own recording."

"I love you, Daddy," she said simply. Her father had always seen clearer than most people she knew. A lot of people wouldn't have seen the need he saw.

"Come now, little Lulu, why don't we go find my room and let the Nargles and Flutterbyes out for some fresh air?" he said, hoisting up his briefcases full of shrunken possessions. Luna picked up the covered cage where the Nargles and Flutterbyes had been placed for transport, and followed her father out of the office to where Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for them by the gargoyles.

**-break-**

"We need to find a way to neutralize the spies in our midst," Severus informed them flatly. His tone brooked no decision.

"They're just students," said Remus hesitantly.

"They're spies. Not only are they reporting every move we make and the numbers and power we have to bring to bear on Beltane, they are liabilities for as long as they stay freely active. Have you forgotten what one_ student _did to Miss Patil last year?"

Parvati had died under Evangeline Cain's wand. Remus stiffened and said no more. No one else protested. "What can we do?" Minerva asked in her own straightforward fashion.

"We've left them in place for this long because we were maneuvering for them to get faulty information," Hermione took over from Severus without a break in the flow. "Better the spy you know than the one you don't. You can control the spies you know about. You can't if you don't know who they are, and I can guarantee you that the D—that Tom Riddle would do everything in his power to sneak another agent back in so that he knew what was going on."

"Why are we taking them out of the picture now, then?" asked Aquila Avis.

"It's gotten impossible to control the real information that could give them an advantage. At this late stage with so little left to go till Beltane, he's not going to bother inserting another spy into Hogwarts if we don't make a big production of revealing and throwing out his spies now." Severus felt a tremor-cramp threaten in his left leg, and willed it to go away. Now was not the time to have one of his blasted shakes. "If we merely tuck them away for safekeeping where they cannot harm anyone nor betray us, I am fairly certain the Dark Lord will do nothing about it. He becomes singularly focused and obsessive in a very small scope the closer his plans come to bear fruition."

Fields nodded thoughtfully. "How will you neutralize them? Lock them up?" she enquired.

Minerva was the one who replied. "We intend to dose them with Draught of Living Death," she said.

Ylba, silent until now, nodded regally. "House elves is making sure they takes it. House elves belonging of young masters and mistresses _especially _is making sure."

"Nothing short of the antidote will release them from that, and the castle's promised to hide the sleepers, the antidote, and the one person to monitor them and care for their wellbeing so that the strongest spells wouldn't reveal them."

"Who's the volunteer for _that?" _

"Slughorn has already agreed, both to brew the potion and its antidote, and to monitor their condition," Minerva replied.

As if mentally connected, Hermione and Severus sneered at the same time. _What a way to get himself out of battle. Coward, _Hermione thought. _Still, at least it gets him out of the way and renders him actually _useful.

"We're fairly certain we have the identities of all the students who have been recruited to pass information," Hermione said quietly. "No guarantee though, so we all have to be extra careful in case we missed one."

"On another note, before I abruptly left his service, I was privy to the rumors of what exactly the Dark Lord was going to do to bring down Hogwarts' wards to enter," Severus inserted smoothly, bringing up the next point on their agenda. "Blood sacrifice."

"Bloody hell!"

"Astute if crude, Mister Weasley," Severus agreed with ironic grimness. "I know little of blood sacrifice, all of it…unpleasant."

"It is, however, a more well-known subject in the Eastern way of magic," Li cut in gently. "Both the willing and unwilling surrender of blood and life force, or _qi_. We have studied it in far more forms than our Western brethren."

Li studied their faces intently now. Hermione stopped breathing, knowing that he was about to tell them something important.

"When Albus asked me to come to Scotland to aid him in the defeat of a black-magic practitioner, I was uncertain of whether I wished to involve myself deeply in the affairs of a world I was not a part of, despite my good friend's part in it," Li told them solemnly, black eyes fixed on them all. "It was the last thing he told me that convinced me of the necessity. He told me that he suspected that Tom Riddle had dabbled in blood sacrifice to the effect of his survival beyond the death of his physical body."

Everyone was alert now, hanging on Li's every word.

"I have spent the better part of this year and last probing carefully, searching for the answers to this question of exactly _what _Tom Riddle did to himself to survive and to ensure it does not happen this time, and I think I have the closest we may ever come to an answer without actually asking him." Li smiled a little ruefully.

"Forgive me if I lose you in the process of trying to explain this," he said with honest candor. "All of this is highly theoretical. You all know that our magic is essentially a part of us, and if it is taken away from us we eventually die. Squibs and Muggles who do not have magic need not fear death, because their body was made without the need for our magic to support a part of our living process. We call this overall system of magic in our physical life, life force."

Li paused. "Life force, you have already heard before couched vaguely in the knowledge that Severus brought us, is naturally regenerated in all of us. We regenerate it faster and in larger amounts in our youth. You know of Damascus Malfoy and the plan he has to grant a physical immortality to Riddle by stealing life force from young witches at a rate in which they will live to regenerate enough life force to then be taken and used to support life and youth in Tom Riddle. It is a very efficient and sophisticated ritual. In his early years, Tom Riddle tried something in a different vein, but still dealing with life force. He used brutal blood sacrifice to tie his own life force to the natural energies of this world. That meant when he died, his life force—and thus his spirit—did not pass on, but lingered unnaturally, held fastened to this world by the vile magic he had done."

Hermione tried to think of the sheer amount of work—and death—it must have taken, and shuddered. She was not the only one, and Ron was looking positively sick now. Harry's eyes were flat with unsuppressed disgust.

"He did not get far along enough in his plans to find a way to anchor his physical body to life, however, and so when Lily Potter cast her own willing blood magic around Harry, death backfired on him and he found himself in his half-existence. This time around, when he regained his body he searched for a way to keep his mortal shell from perishing, and Damascus Malfoy offered the perfect way."

"This is very enlightening," Danielle spoke up, "but I still don't understand how blood sacrifice will bring down the Hogwarts wards. The school wards are even more complex and intricate than the ones the Ministry has."

"Ah, but this is the third reason why we wished to get the student spies out of the way," Li said sadly. "I suspect that they will combine all they know of blood sacrifice and life force theft at the wards. If a current Hogwarts student should die, willingly rejecting the unity and the safe harbor that Hogwarts offers, if he should do this _within _the school grounds or castle and spill his blood and offer his life force to his master, his master may corrupt and erode those wards till they fall to shards. With that kind of taint, it would be like removing a single stone from a critical part of the wall, causing it to collapse."

"Merlin," someone whispered.

_That's…so wrong on so many levels. Who could have this kind of fanatic devotion to do this _willingly? Hermione wondered, sick at heart. Unable to help herself, she ran through the list of students she knew were reporting to their parents or relatives for the Dark Lord. She could think of no one who might fit the bill.

"If this happens despite all we do to prevent it, the wards will fall and it will be to their advantage for we will be fighting a battle in which Hogwarts cannot support us," Minerva told them seriously.

_No wonder Ylba seemed so insistent that the house elves that were owned by the student spies would be especially certain to practically poison their bonded owners. A death-like coma and potential betrayal of their owner is particularly better than watching said beloved master or mistress die like that, when they are charged with protection of those children._

"If we _can _prevent this from happening, the battle will happen in a very limited location predetermined by our strategy team, where the wards of Hogwarts will create a space for them to enter and fight, but it will be to their disadvantage, herded to a tactically bad location for them. Even if they make it past the wards on the grounds, the castle itself will be able to fight with ferocity to keep intruders out." Minerva stared at the few skeptical faces sternly. "If you think moving staircases and trick stairs were a trial when you attended school, you would not fare well against a wakened, roused, and unified Hogwarts," she promised almost viciously.

Hermione enjoyed the way they retreated, and put in her own two knuts worth. "The castle is a sentient being, and it _hates _anything that threatens its unity and the wellbeing of its students and teachers," she remarked. "Furthermore, since it may be sentient but it certainly isn't _human, _it has no compunctions, guilt, or hesitancy at killing that which is in the way of its wholeness."

_That _made them blink, and Hermione delighted in both their expressions and Severus' small, approving smirk.

"So, we get the student spies out of the way. What else can we do?" Hestia asked, directing back on topic. The meeting continued on in that fashion, and Hermione immersed herself in the minutiae of planning a full-scale battle.

**A.N.: More planning, more training. What did you think?**

**Also, I just wanted to take a moment to thank all my readers and reviewers. For those of you who have stuck with me through weeks and months of writer's block as well as those more recently coming to this story, I'm truly grateful for all of you. If you reviewed, thank you for taking that extra moment to make me extremely happy. If you reviewed anonymously and I couldn't reply, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it as much as I do the reviews that are signed and that I can reply. So thank you, all! **

**Remember to buy your tickets for the HP7 movie part I, and though it's a couple days off yet, Remember, Remember the Fifth of November! (For all you V for Vendetta fans…)**


	100. Chapter 100

**Important Announcement!:**

**THIS IS AN EDITED REPOST OF CHAPTER 100. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, forgive me for my unfortunate faux pas. If you don't know what it is, that's okay too, but to those who noticed it- my everlasting, fervent thanks for reminding me! This is a repost and even if you've already read the chapter when I first posted it, please reread it because I did add what—or, more like who—I forgot the last time. A thousand apologies, everyone!**

**Disclaimer: I was hoping for HP & co as a birthday present THIS year. But I guess I'll just have to wait and see if it's a Christmas pressie instead. In the meantime, this is all JKR's, and all praise goes to her. **

"Master?"

Severus looked up from his patient—a Hufflepuff student who had gotten in the way of a jinx that seemed to be causing his nose to swell in size rapidly—to where Mippy had appeared, wringing his hands. "Drink," he ordered the visibly cowed boy, thrusting a potion at him. It was one of the more common jinxes students tossed at each other, and he already had a pre-made stock of a general antidote for any body-part in question that was growing. The boy sniffled loudly and had to feel for several moments to find his mouth under his gargantuan nose. Finally, the potion was swallowed and the nose instantly started shrinking to its usual size.

"Yes, Mippy?" he turned from his recovering patient, stepping away so that he could lower his voice and not be overheard. "Has it been done?"

"All of them is dozing nows, Master," Mippy confirmed. "Professor Sluggy is beings with them now."

"Good." Severus nodded his approval. "So you and the other elves were able to dose their drinks with Draught of Living Death. You didn't miss any?"

"No, Master," Mippy assured him. "Alls Mistress is saying is all sleeping sound."

"All, Mippy, not alls," Severus corrected absently. "Mippy—is Prince Manor still barred from your entry?"

Mippy nodded, ears flapping miserably.

"Do you know why?"

"Is because…Mippy is betraying Master," whispered the house elf, close to tears. "Mippy is leaving Master behind when he is needing Mippy. House is angry, angry at Mippy. House refuses to allow Mippy in."

Severus frowned. "That makes no…are you saying because you _saved yourself _out of common survival instinct, my _house _won't let you back in?"

Mippy nodded slowly. "And is bad magic," he added. "Bad magic convinces House that Mippy is not Master's elf anymore."

"Then…but Hermione told me that the manor recognized her and approved her as Mistress of the house, which let her take down the wards," Severus murmured almost to himself.

"Mistress is Mistress. House knows Master, even above bad magic and trickery," Mippy told him. "Master loves Mistress and Mistress loves Master. Even bad magics cannot go against Mistress, if Master has named Mistress the Mistress."

"I'm sure that the Dark Lord has already cut me off from the Pureblood line he gave me for killing Albus," Severus protested. "Neither Hermione nor I should be able to command the wards!"

"House chooses," Mippy said with some surprise. "House always chooses. Does not matter of family, only of heart and blood. House recognizes Master as Master. If Master wished, Master could make House kick out all but him and Mistress."

Severus was silent for a good long while. Mippy shuffled from one foot to another, subdued still though weeks had passed since his 'betrayal' which Severus thought was ridiculous. Finally, he looked back at Mippy. "If Prince Manor recognizes me as the Master of the Prince line, then as the Head of the Prince family my first order is that it recognize you, Mippy, as my true house elf and very good friend who was smart enough to save himself so that he could bring me help," he said firmly.

He felt no change, but Mippy suddenly brightened as if a light-switch had been turned back on. "Master is good, so good," he gushed, throwing his arms around a startled Severus. "I can feel House again! I can feel elves again!"

_Oh dear. Has he really been cut off so badly? _It sounded almost as if Mippy had been living in a half-owned state, still bonded but cut off from his bond. _Like exile. _Severus didn't know much about how the old Pureblood families dealt with their own elf ownership but he would bet ten galleons that a house elf in disgrace might be exiled in this very fashion, that it was built into the owner's prerogative.

"Mippy, I never blamed you. I told you in the hospital wing that I was very grateful that you managed to get out and get help, and that you even tried to come back for me," Severus reminded the elf impatiently. "Damn it all Mippy, stop this hysteria at once!"

Mippy instantly stopped, and suddenly the old house elf—the one that he had become friends of a sort with—was back. "Certainly, Master," he chirped. "Mippy thinks you should order all the riffraff and snakeys out of the House so I's can clean the stink of rat and roach out of the rooms!"

"Of course, my dear elf. Of course," Severus shared the manic smirk that was breaking out on Mippy's features. "By my power as Head of the Prince bloodline, I order that _Voldemort _and any bearing his Dark Mark be removed from the premises. Immediately. They should not be allowed in, in whatever form they bear." _That takes care of any Animagaus forms they have. Especially Pettigrew, _Severus thought in satisfaction.

This time he did feel a sensation, almost as if there was a tickle at the back of his head that he couldn't physically scratch. It was separate from his Occlumency walls, almost as if they were within his walls but dampened by them. The tickle felt…approving? How could a tickle in the brain feel approving, Severus had no idea.

"Perfect," Mippy squeaked, dancing a little jig. "With Master's permission I is cleaning the House top to toe starting tomorrow!"

_Oh, why not? _"You may as well," he told Mippy. "Get it absolutely cleaned of any dark magic, traps, or filth that the recent inhabitants have left behind. And—" with a sudden brainwave—"if you can finish fast enough, tell me and I'll put it under a Fidelius and there'll be one extra safe house for those who need to use it. There will be young children who need to leave right before the battle on Beltane. It's safer to have them at Hogwarts right now since they're getting training for defense in case the worst happens and everyone needs to run, but they shouldn't stay to fight, no matter how much they want to."

"Mippy will let you know right aways," Mippy promised, and disappeared with a little _pop _that sounded decidedly more cheerful than the dull, muffled _pff _he had appeared with.

**-break-**

The last week of April was a study in how to keep student spirits up, for with Voldemort's acquisition of the Dementors the attacks increased. He could send them out with little to no risk to his Death Eaters, and he did so with frightening acceleration. Until now, Hermione had not appreciated the complexity of the Patronus charm, and how few people actually bothered to learn it.

Now she did.

"That's the eighteenth victim the Dementors have kissed," Tonks growled, tossing down the news in disgust. "At least this one didn't have…family," she finished, glancing at the sea of students who were quietly discussing the latest victim amongst themselves.

"That does not make it much better," Pomona Sprout said heavily. "Caius LaRue was a brilliant, gentle Herbologist with no political ties, no controversies, and no interest in war. The only crime he committed was associating freely with anyone regardless of blood or opinion—he had friends everywhere on the political spectrum. That he was attacked and Kissed means that _anyone _with so much as an acquaintance with a Muggleborn is a target."

"And too much fear breeds paralysis," Severus concluded darkly. "The Da—Tom Riddle is effectively infiltrating society just by making them too afraid to fight back, to have their own opinion, to even consider a Muggleborn as someone to associate with. It will be a hard struggle to regain any sort of integrated community of mixed blood. Fear will make even a principled man act out of character. If there isn't a shunning going on right now out there, I will eat my own boots."

"I would love to see you eat your own boots, if only to prove that humanity wasn't so easily herded," Minerva said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I agree with you, and news from outside of Hogwarts lives up to your grim prediction. There _is _a shunning of any Muggleborn or mixed bloods already."

"How are the sleepers doing?" Hermione asked, willing to change the topic.

Minerva shrugged. "The potion appears to be holding them well. Horace reports that all five of them are healthy enough for being in essentially a coma, though their muscles will be weakened when they wake. Their elves, who were the ones they sent out with reports to their families, have voluntarily placed themselves under Hogwarts' elves guard and are staying within their hiding place as well."

"No problems with holding them there, then," Hermione said with relief. "I really don't want to risk a bloodbath that they might…initiate."

"Certainly not, and Horace knows very well that if he fails, he will likely not survive the experience. He would be the first target should a sleeper somehow get an antidote."

Hermione cast aside the Prophet for the second newspaper that was now being delivered daily as well. The Quibbler today featured the unfortunate Caius LaRue as well, but the surprisingly pithy article was far more erudite than the sensational embellishings of the Daily Prophet. Luna's father had written a serious mini-biography of Caius LaRue's life and accomplishments and an extensive grim commentary on the Ministry's silence over just _how _they had lost control over the Dementors. Threaded through the feature was a subtle undertone of encouragement, suggesting to readers that they could not count on silence and inaction to keep them safe—that the only way to ensure their safety was to be in the _center _of action, fighting back against the dark forces. The Patronus charm was listed at the end as the best means of fighting off Dementors.

Mister Lovegood—whom she saw lurking in hallways, classrooms, and practice areas always watching with the same odd otherworldliness that his daughter had perfected—sat with the teachers for meals but otherwise seemed preoccupied. No small wonder, as he was writing and printing at a furious pace, aided only by Luna and Colin and Dennis Creevy. Hermione had never appreciated the effort and work that went into producing a full-length newspaper every day. Even with the actual processes of printing far sped up by magic, it was a lot of work. Especially when you went from a once-weekly publication to a daily one.

Mr. Lovegood was already scribbling away, absently drinking his juice as he scrawled down something in a vivid turquoise ink. A flood of owls had arrived for him this morning as was his custom, and he had three letters spread before him in reference as he wrote. She winced automatically when he dripped juice on his parchment and nearly dipped his quill in his plate, but somehow he kept from utter disaster and kept writing, lost in his own world.

"-would be best, don't you agree Hermione?"

She came back to herself. "Sorry, pardon? I didn't catch what you were saying," she said, embarrassed.

Severus raised an eyebrow but repeated himself. "I was informing Minerva that Prince Manor would be a good safe house once Mippy has it cleared of…it's previous occupants' leftovers. I thought it would be best if Minerva would be the Secret-Keeper if we place it under Fidelius, as both you and I are more likely to…be incapacitated after the battle and perhaps unable to disclose the location."

_We're more likely targets to be made dead or very, very injured, he means. _"Of course," Hermione agreed, saying none of her thoughts.

Minerva eyed them both with a shrewd look, but said nothing except to agree to be the Secret-Keeper.

**-break-**

Lionel Jordan considered meeting Professor Granger the luckiest stroke of his life. He knew this because it had been she who had encouraged him in his inventions and she who had put him in touch with his idols, the two greatest inventors _ever, _Fred and George Weasley. Okay, so his brother was friends with them, but until Professor Granger had owled them, they hadn't known anything about him except for that he was Lee's baby brother.

_Now _he was their fellow mischief-inventor, and he was helping create lots of the coolest devices ever, for battle. Real battle too, not like the little scuffles and squabbles you got into with your enemies at school. He corresponded with them regularly, volunteered himself eagerly as a test subject whenever he could (and whenever the Headmistress allowed the twins back into Hogwarts on secret visits) and Lee had finally accepted that Lionel was _not _a baby anymore. It had taken long enough! His older brother was soooo protective.

Lee wasn't at Hogwarts anymore either, which helped. Lee was working in an entry-level position at a radio station on the Wizarding Wireless, and doing so well that his boss had already hinted at a promotion soon. Lionel wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he listened to his brother's radio station all the time, even though Lee himself wasn't talking on air or anything. He wasn't high enough on the totem pole yet to have his own segment on the station.

But anyways, Lionel was finally out of his brother's shadow and making his own way in the world and he had Professor Granger to thank. So when she just as good as declared that she was…well, _seeing _Professor Snape—_who hadn't really killed Headmaster Dumbledore!—_Lionel took all of one minute to be squicked by it, then took a deep breath and began making good on his debt to Professor Granger. Some of the nastier students accused him of having a crush on Professor Granger, which he denied vehemently (okay, maybe she was kind of pretty and a whole lot awesome and kickass, but she was most definitely _off-limits _and _old _besides), but he continued to defend her honor to all the stupid gossipy people he happened to overhear.

When two of the most hateful gossipers vanished suddenly, therefore, he was a bit worried. Had Professor Granger somehow caught them talking about her? Or worse—had Professor _Snape? _Lionel didn't think either of them would actually, you know, kill anyone who spread rumors and said bad stuff about them, but…well, both the professors _always meant what they promised. _It took him several days to work up the courage but finally he went to Professor Granger.

She looked tired when she opened the door at his knock, but smiled when she saw him. "Mister Jordan! How can I help you?"

He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, to his horror, something big and dark loomed up behind Professor Granger. _Professor Snape! _His heart started to pound loudly and he swallowed.

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Professor Granger said with concern. Then she said something even worse. "Why don't you come in and tell me what's wrong?"

Lionel froze. Professor Granger stepped aside, and Professor Snape moved slightly away too, though even those innocuous movements irresistibly brought to mind a watchful, stalking great-cat. _I am not a mouse. I must live up to Fred and George Weasley's bravery, _he repeated to himself in his head. Slowly, watching Professor Snape out of the corner of his eye with great caution, Lionel entered the lion's den.

The irony of considering it a _lion's _den wouldn't strike him until he escaped, slightly breathless and giddy at having conquered the formidable and downright _scary _pair of Snape and Granger.

Little did he know, when he finally returned to his common room and babbled his tale to a group of admiring peers, said pair were finally allowing themselves the laughter they had held in his entire time there.

"Oh Merlin, I thought he was going to pass out when he saw you," Hermione gasped, tears running down her face as she clutched at her sides.

"Worse—when you asked me to fetch some tea for him," Severus smirked. "He must not have heard that I only poison those who are worth the effort and the potion to do so."

Hermione swatted him. "Poor Lionel. He really _was _brave, bearding us in our lair like that," she remarked. "I had no idea that _I _was that scary."

"You, Professor Granger, have a healthy reputation as second-worst professor of all time," Severus said severely. "Needless to say, I am the first."

"You won't be able to fit in bed with a head that big," Hermione retorted. "I like Lionel. He didn't seem scared of me when I first met him though…"

"You didn't have almost a full year of teaching Potions and handing out detentions like candy when you first met him. Nor did you have a former Death Eater and old bat of a Potions Master lurking menacingly behind you."

"I suspect it's the old bat of a Potions Master that holds more weight in his mind," Hermione said, wiping the tears of merriment off her face. "I hope he's convinced by the answer we gave him."

"That those students were sick with a contagious illness and were being quarantined for our safety? I think he bought it. Both Misters Jordan were extremely easy to convince. It is how the elder Mister Jordan found himself participating in far more pranks than he planned—the Weasley twins are very good talkers."

Hermione shook her head. "I won't contradict you there."

"Not to mention, the young Mister Jordan was also in awe of you at this moment because he has a bit of a crush on you."

"What?" Hermione yelped, sitting bolt upright. "No he doesn't!"

"Oh, but he is," Severus taunted with a superior glint. "It was very obvious. He probably thinks the sun shines out of your a-"

"Severus!"

"-aura," he finished smoothly. "Did you not see the way he blushed whenever he looked at you, avoided your direct gaze, stammer a little, and shrink back whenever I moved closer to you?"

"But…but…I thought he was just shy, and scared of you," Hermione cried.

Severus lifted his eyebrow with a cynical stare, and Hermione sighed. "Merlin…how am I supposed to handle _this?" _

"You treat him especially vilely and give him detention with Filch for no reason at all," Severus said promptly. "If that doesn't work, a snide remark or two about his…unfortunate looks or brain capacity should do the trick."

"Like the one about my teeth?" she shot at him.

He shrugged. "Something along those lines, yes. It forces them to hate you far more than they like you."

Hermione sniffed. "_I _didn't have a crush on you."

"One must keep in practice," he muttered, but he shifted uncomfortably. At her frosty silence, he groaned. "Woman, must I apologize—_again—_for an unpleasant comment I made without thinking, when you were not even my favorite student let alone a friend and lover?"

Stare.

"I'm sorry."

He sounded so put-upon and pitiful that Hermione couldn't hold back any longer. At her first snort of humor, his eyes narrowed. "Did you just dupe me?"

As her giggles intensified, he sighed. "I _have _just been had. Beaten at my own game. I'm getting old."

"It's okay, I had a good teacher," she finally reassured him through bursts of laughter, patting his shoulder.

"You had the _best _teacher," he corrected with great ego and confidence.

"The best," she agreed, and followed up with a kiss that showed her agreement.

When they broke apart, he laid one hand on her arm. "Hermione. I might have meant my comment to be a hurtful insult all those years ago, but today I repeat them with the truth in my mind. _I see no difference. _You are always beautiful, whether or not your teeth are slightly bigger than ordinary or your hair untamable. There is no woman to your like, and I would have you no differently."

Hermione beamed brilliantly, and her eyes shone brightly with brown warmth. "You're such a charmer, Severus Snape. It's no wonder you managed to weasel your way out of death far more than any other man," she muttered, but her voice was soft and her smile affectionate as she leaned over to embrace him.

**-break-**

The Morrigan trailed fingers down the solid top of the table she had seated herself on, surveying the young faces that she had called before her this night. She allowed herself the near-unnoticeable shudder of delight she felt as her corporeal body felt the three-dimensional world once more. It had been far too long since she had been trapped in the flat static of paintings. Only this year had she been freed by the actions of her children, the children that stood before her now. _And by their hand, they have given me the first step to true freedom. _She was grateful to them for that, though she doubted any but her sister-in-spirit Luna knew of the significance of the role they had played. It would be a century before the next step could be carried out, the next key to unlocking the prison she had been shut in by her erstwhile lover and sometime enemy Cuchulainn.

As mortal hand, urged by the spirit of the great warrior, had turned the key in the lock and shut her into this world of shadow and restriction, so it would be by mortal hands that the keys would once again be placed in the lock and turned to free her.

_But not for another century, and these children need my aid now. Or rather, their aid must needs go to saving the castle that in turn supports them. _It was why she had made them children of Hogwarts. She had played her cards right, and won their unwitting help in freeing the first of her restrictions. Cuchulainn must surely be furious. There was no locking away a goddess without setting a set of conditions by which her freedom could be bought. He had endeavored to make them impossible and yet she had succeeded in the first step.

Each of these children were so different, and yet so much the same that their differences paled beside their likeness, all different aspects of herself.

Severus, her first-chosen, the strong hand who would strike the necessary blow though he pierce himself through to do it. He was the honor in dying for justice and the good. Warrior and raven, watching and walking through death unflinching at the will of one higher than he and yet answering to none but himself—the general who sent his troops against the enemy without hesitation but with a heavy heart of grief at the death he wrought.

Hermione, next-chosen and the stubborn mind who would see the truth however ugly and fight for it though it cost her her innocence. She was the queen who took up sword to keep that truth from being hidden by darkness. The prophet who would be stoned for her unwanted knowledge, still traveling onwards to spread light to the blind world.

Draco, the heart, though he might balk at hearing such a description of his character. Not the pretty hearts and commercialized, petty little feelings, but that which had inspired countless bards and poets, uplifted the lowest of men and made beautiful the plainest of women. He was the true lover, the soul that blazed with passion fire-bright and enduring, though the heat might sear and scar, leaving naught but the ash of himself behind.

Luna, sister-in-spirit to the Morrigan. The goddess called her sister rather than child, for she was the wise soul who fought the little battles within each man and woman's heart. Luna was the dream-warrior, a trumpet-call for every man to look within himself and seek the best parts of himself to restrain the worst. She was the purest, best aspects of any mortal, and she fought as fierce a battle as any other warrior to beat back the tempting evil that dwelt in all men's hearts.

Finally, Nymphadora—Tonks, as she adamantly preferred, the brave-hearted who would fight for her parents, her lover, her friends, her students, and her world to bring safety and peace to all. She risked all for the chance at making it a better place for those she loved to live in. She was the common soldier, marching into battle with the hope of a new future that she could ensure for her children. Courage, knowing that she charged straight into the maws of battle and yet ready for it because of those she loved and fought to protect.

Yes, these her children were the best of the best, and their differences were negligible in the face of their similarity.

"You are wondering why I brought you here," she said in her ringing voice. "I have a story to share, if you would listen."

As she expected, none of them protested being brought out of their warm beds in the middle of the night for something as trivial as a story. They sensed something more in the workings. She smiled, proud of her chosen.

"Once, long and long ago, it was given to me a vision of things to come in the distant future," she said softly into the silent room. "I saw with the eyes of a raven the armies of two sides meet in battle. I have seen many such visions, for this is my domain. But this war was different, for it was fought on the grounds of a school and it was not men and women trained to the sword and wand who did combat to death, but children against adults whose hearts had turned away from what is good and right. I saw, and my heart was wrought with grief for the unworthiness of such an unnatural slaughter."

They were hanging on to her every word, and she knew the fierce sorrow and anger in her tone struck at their hearts like blows of a knife. She went on. "I resolved to spend all I could to prevent this unnatural vileness from occurring, but it was not in my power to change what I had seen. So I turned to other ways, and here my good friend aided me in my search for Hogwarts had too seen through my eyes and felt the pain of its own sundering approaching. Thus it was that the castle gifted me with the permission to seek and find those who would be strong in power and fierce in spirit who would hold the very magic of this place together when the time came and the dark shook the very foundations."

Tonks made a smothered noise, Hermione a small gasp. Severus was stoic—he perhaps had the best idea of what he had been called to do, for he had been first-chosen and she had dropped enough hints over the years to him. Draco's eyes widened, though he made no other gesture, Slytherin enough to contain his own thoughts. And Luna was calm, serenely so. The Morrigan lifted her palms up, meeting each of their eyes. "It is easy to guess from here, is it not my children?"

"You want _us _to…keep Hogwarts together during the battle?"

"She wants us to _anchor _Hogwarts at each cornerstone against attack," Severus corrected his beloved, dark eyes fixed on the Morrigan's light ones.

"Yes," she affirmed. Her faith in the quick wit and understanding of her raven had not been misplaced.

"What does that mean?" Tonks asked tentatively, voicing the confusion of the other three.

The Morrigan gestured to Severus to go ahead with his explanation. His would probably make more sense to them—she did not wish to try to frame the infinity she knew of the creation of Hogwarts in mortal terms of understanding. Instead, she listened as her raven slipped automatically into his teaching tone, smiling a little at the familiar cadences that had been cultivated to pierce through the din of a classroom in full uproar, no matter how softly voiced it might be.

"The legend of the creation of Hogwarts was that the castle began as a simple fortress, but when the Founders decided to make the home they had been living in into a school for children, they knew they needed more space. Yet the ground around them was treacherous, the fortress itself as big as it could be in the style it was built and stay stable, even with magic. It was Rowena Ravenclaw who proposed that each of them would establish a cornerstone imbued with their own magic to set a new foundation from which the fortress would rise and grow into Hogwarts castle, a living, sentient House that would take from the Founders the power and the intention it needed to think for itself and protect itself even after the Founders died. We do not know the truth of this story and there are other versions that claim other methods of creation, but this is the most well-known."

"And such is the understanding of Hogwarts castle as it stands today," murmured the Morrigan. "There is more to the story, of course. There is always more than the words handed down generation after generation, but that which is lost to the mists of time shall stay where it belongs in the past. Your Founders were the first children of Hogwarts, and the first to hold the cornerstones in the birth of the castle's sentience. They held it again, a second time, when the villagers stormed the castle with fear and hate in their hearts for that which was beyond their understanding. It was then that the one known as Slytherin lost his only daughter, the apple of his eye, killed on the very steps of the castle as she tried to plead with those who had come to burn the magic-workers. A broken heart cannot hold a cornerstone and so Slytherin left to disappear into the night and of his life I will not speak. After three students including Slytherin's daughter had been killed, there were no more unnatural murders on Hogwarts grounds and the cornerstones held.

Now the battle is once again approaching the steps of the castle, and the children of Hogwarts must hold the cornerstones that the castle not fall and burn and with it, its students."

Ah, the emotions the mortals possessed! It was fascinating—and the Morrigan found herself envying that humanity might be so easily moved by a tale. _Not a tale, _her mind whispered as she looked upon those before her. _The truth. _And indeed, it was the truth that shook them profoundly. Her raven's eyes were dark with shock even as triumph and pride lifted his head for he was of Slytherin and had fought long and hard for his own House that they might not suffer the prejudices of the rest. To have confirmation at long last that their Founder was no bigot must have been a celebration.

Hermione, her little lore-seeker, was already recovering and the Morrigan could see the wheels churning in her brain. There would be questions, a thirst to know more, the drive to shout the truth to the world. Luna was blinking slowly, her large eyes even wider as she took in the news. Draco vaccilated between his own evident pride in his House, and astonishment as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing for the truth had been far distorted both among popular legend as well as in the pet theories and assertions of the Pureblood elite. And Tonks…well it would have been polite to say she was flabbergasted. She looked as if a bludger had hit her. _I suppose it is a lot to take in for a mortal, _she thought ruefully.

As usual, Severus recovered first and he was the first to pose the question that was springing to their minds. "What is required of us to anchor the cornerstones?" he questioned.

"A ritual, deceptively simple," the Morrigan answered. She brushed her fine skirts and stood, taller than them all—even Severus. "You will agree to holding the cornerstone, and Hogwarts will latch to your mind and your will. You need not consciously hold it—you may fight as you have chosen," she assured them, with a knowing look at both Hermione and Severus in particular. "Simply allow Hogwarts free access within you, and it will both use your physical life force to anchor itself as well as warn you if there is grave danger to its foundations, that you may be better-informed and better-equipped to fix it." She hesitated for the first time. "There is danger too," she informed them quietly. "Because there will be no barriers between you and Hogwarts, if the castle is harmed you too may feel pain, even injury. If the castle begins to fall, it will draw on you and your power to heal itself and destroy the intruder."

"Leaving us with magic drain," Draco concluded quietly.

Tonks shuddered. "Or worse—if it's sudden and we're in the middle of a fight…"

"You will lose consciousness, perhaps, and be easy prey on the battlefield," the Morrigan agreed.

"It's not just that. If we do survive and if the drain is too much, we might still die from the permanent loss of magic, right? Just exactly what happens if the D- if Riddle bound others to himself with that ritual to drain life force, and chose to drain them of all their life force," Hermione posed shrewdly.

"Yes."

"It is a lot to ask," Severus said without a hint of emotion. The Morrigan read his unreadable expression easily, for she was not human. He was uncertain, a little fearful, and his first instinct was to protect his magic for it had defined him for so long.

There was silence from the others, and Morrigan let its quality weigh the significance of what it was that was asked of them. Human moments passed, one by one—she, who had no allegiance to the passing of time, did not heed them. It was Luna who broke the silence.

"I will do it," she said in a soft musical promise that had the other three stirring and turning half-incredulously to look at her. "Hogwarts needs us," she said simply as if it were a full explanation. 

"Aw, what the heck. I'm in," Tonks said abruptly. Her face had gone through an interesting variety of expressions, ending finally on somewhere between resigned and determined. "I guess if Hogwarts really does need us, it's just another fight and we've been gearing up to fight _for _Hogwarts in the first place. Besides…" she looked directly up at the Morrigan, daring to meet her eyes. "I owe you one, for Remus," she finished in a quieter tone.

"No, only that it was a favor I had gifted you freely with," she reminded Tonks. But she was oddly touched by the sincere gratefulness in the woman's guileless eyes.

Draco looked torn. No doubt because his heart was currently sleeping in bed, unaware that he had slipped out silently for this most unusual request-order she had issued to him to come alone. There it was, that need for his love to be present, to guide and affirm his decisions, actions, choices. Not a dependence, so to speak, but rather…an interdependence among two tightly woven individuals who were better together than apart and chose to assert themselves first as a pair before themselves as separate souls. It was a different bond than that of Hermione and Severus, both of whom would instantly assert themselves as independent entities before the fact that they chose to entwine their lives and hearts…no better or worse a bond after all, simply the matter of the soul's need. Still, if need be Draco too could exist successfully and firmly as himself. "I will do it," he promised, voice pitched lower with determination. He swallowed, momentary worry passing over his face. "Whatever it takes."

Hermione had her head half-tilted, and the Morrigan could hear the echoes as she communed with the heart of the castle. _A girl of many talents, _she mused. _It has been many a long mortal year since the castle conferred even the briefest of communications with any human. _Severus was still as a statue, but even now the lovers were conversing for she was looking at him searchingly and he had inclined his body ever-so-slightly in her direction, and his deliberation was such that it seemed to shut everyone out but he and she. _Centuries of love, and still it is as mysterious to me as that which is beyond even an immortal's understanding. _

A second later, the unspoken conversion broke off, and it was Hermione who looked at the Morrigan and answered for them both in her forthright voice. "I think we must do this, and that we are honored to help Hogwarts," she said firmly.

The Morrigan bestowed her joyful pride on them. "It is I who am honored by the choices my children have made," she told them. "On the evening when the bonfires are lit, I shall call for you and ask you to join in holding the cornerstones of this castle against the hordes of darkness that threaten."

"We will come," Severus assured her seriously.

She knew. And she rejoiced with beautiful violence in her heart, the call of battle and death already loud in her ears. It had been long since she had visited a battlefield.

**A.N.: Did you think I'd never tie up the Children of Hogwarts subplot? Don't worry, there were many a time I thought I'd never tie it up properly either….**

**Notes- Cuchulainn is a Celtic mythical hero from the same set of myths as the Morrigan. I took liberties with their interaction for a teensy bit of backstory. **

**So, as it's my birthday I thought you all deserved a proper chapter—a special one since this takes my story into the official triple digits for chapters! The best birthday present, however, will be your responses so review review review! Thanks to all who have done so. **

**Okay so one problem: if you review and leave an email address or website url, there is no way for me to get back to you. Fanfic dot net takes it out automatically so I can't see it at all, leaving me no way to respond to you. If that's you and you REALLY want a response from me, either sign into your account or try writing your email all in words and spaced out or something. **

**For the news of the day- Darren Criss, the absolutely fabulous Harry Potter in A Very Potter Musical (which is on Youtube if you haven't watched it yet), appeared on Glee and rocked the entire show. **

**Also- if you haven't bought your ticket for Deathly Hallows, part I, why are you still reading this unnecessarily long author's note? **

**Thanks to all for reading! Happy 100****th**** chapter to all!**


	101. Chapter 101

**Disclaimer: The new year, alas, does not bring any further developments in my mad quest to possess the HPverse. Therefore, this disclaimer still exists.**

It was April 24th—less than a week from May. April 30th was Beltane Eve, when the fires were lit and ancient rites held. On the first day of May, there would be celebrations of spring and the fertility of the earth. That is, in any other year such would happen. Instead, this first of May held death rather than birth.

For the past few weeks, everything had taunted her—the breathtaking beauty of the sun rising and glowing in the sky with soft pink and peach radiance reminded her that she might never see such a dawn again. The joyous laughter of her friends as she sat in companionship with them after a practice session sounded final and transient, a sound that struck her deep into her heart with a sense that she might never sit casually with her friends again like this. The sweet smell of the brisk chill reproached her with its glacial, peaceful quality that she might never experience in the winter again. The scratch of a quill against fine parchment and the glee of finding a new, unread book in a hidden, dark corner of the library were reminders that the knowledge might be here for centuries to come, long past the days when she herself would be able to access the wisdom contained in these pages.

But most of all, every sight, sound, smell, taste, and thought reminded her the most acutely that one day, her father might be alone in the world and that without Luna or her mother here, he might simply stop looking at the outside world and retreat entirely into one of his own construction.

_Daddy…how will you live without me, if I die? _she wondered sadly, wandering aimlessly within the snug, protective walls of Hogwarts castle. _You never quite recovered from Mummy's dying. Will you survive mine, if what I see comes to pass? Will there be someone who will look after you and remind you to eat dinner, and check your spelling, and go on expeditions with you? _

"I will make sure he does not mourn past all reason," murmured a solemn, feminine voice.

Luna looked up, hand instinctively going to the amulet that lay around her neck. "Will you?" she asked in her high, unaccusing tone.

The Morrigan's eyes were heartrendingly gorgeous in their liquid sorrow, eloquent and shimmering green and aqua. "If that is your heart's wish," the goddess said gently. "You could ask me to keep you alive, you know. As a child of Hogwarts, you have the right to one wish. One desire."

"Wishes are dangerous things," Luna responded seriously. "I could wish to stay alive, but such wishes always come with a price. Tithonus wished for immortality, but not for eternal youth."

"Me only cruel immortality/Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms/Here at the quiet limit of the world…" quoted the other woman softly. "Yes, indeed. There is always a price for the asking of something for oneself."

"Will I die?" Luna asked bluntly, staring with her head tilted up at the Morrigan. "Is the future clearer for you than me?"

But the goddess shook her head. "You know as well as I, sister, that what I see clear I may not tell but little of, and of death, not at all."

Luna bowed her head briefly. The silky strands of her dirty blonde hair fell forward to cover a cheek and an eye. There was a pause—"then I will not ask it again," Luna answered finally.

"Do you wish for your father to be cared for if you should leave him?"

"Yes," Luna said without hesitation.

"Is that your wish?"

"That is my wish. If I die, I want him to remember me and grieve, but not to follow me mentally into a world of his own making." There was no hesitation in Luna's voice, and the goddess smiled with a golden sort of warmth and pride now.

"So let it be, sister. Be in peace. I swear to you by the magic you and I see that your father will remember you, but in love and acceptance rather than pain and despair."

"Then I am content," Luna replied as the glow of colors and symbols danced before her wide eyes. An instant later, the corridor was entirely empty save for a small Ravenclaw girl with long, swaying hair, who stared thoughtfully into emptiness for a long moment before slowly gliding away, sock-clad feet pressing silently against the stone floor.

**-break-**

"Hermione, I hardly know what to say—" Severus protested as he found himself roped into organizing the detritus of life that had accumulated in their quarters.

"Don't be ridiculous. Just be…well, maybe not quite yourself. Be a little less pessimistic and don't make any snide remarks, and you'll get along perfectly fine with them. They're intelligent people, they like debates and arguments and heavy theoretical conversations as a way of bonding. And you've met them already—you rescued them from the Death Eaters. They're predisposed to like you."

"Hermione, I was your _teacher. _I met them in the capacity as the man who ripped them out of a world they knew and loved and thrust them into one of danger and secrets. I endangered their daughter and then started a relationship with her. They are _not _going to like me," Severus informed her with a grating, faux patience that told her that she was being uncommonly imbecilic.

Hermione stopped stacking the scattered books on her work table and put her hands on her hips, staring Severus down. "My parents are reasonable people. They want what is best for me and what will make me happy. You are the best for me, and you make me happy. The only thing they'll do is threaten you if you ever make me _un_happy. As long as you don't cheat, die, or run away, I think we're good."

She finally softened, just a little, watching Severus as he purposefully avoided her gaze. "Severus, I want you to meet my parents," she pleaded. "I love you, and I want to show my Mum and Dad the best thing that's happened to me."

Severus finally met her eyes. "I'm hardly the best," he scoffed, and she heard the aching uncertainty running under his words. "If they despise me, it will be on your head."

"They won't despise you," Hermione said with confidence and left off the useless task of book-stacking to make her way over to Severus and kiss him soundly. "Now, let's go greet the dead, shall we?"

**-break-**

Jane Granger _hated _Floo travel. Perhaps it was because in her youth, her mother had taught her not to go near an open flame—by warning her once and then quietly watching as her toddler immediately seized the first chance to rebel, trying to play with the lighter her mother used to light her cigarettes.

The resulting experience had left only a tiny burn but produced a _very _vivid memory and strong incentive to never go near or worse, touch a fire again.

"Come on, dear. Hermione will be waiting on the other side for us," Daniel urged patiently. They were the last of their little 'family'—as they had begun to call themselves, those living in this particular safe house. Everyone else but Natalie had Flooed on ahead already, and she was just doing last-minute checks of the place they had called home for the better part of two years.

She eyed the fire with a mixture of apprehension and skepticism. "We have to do this _how _many times?" she asked.

"Natalie said twice, with a Portkey in-between," Daniel reminded her. "Darling, they'll be waiting…"

"Right." She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. "Okay. Here goes." She gave her fiery antagonist a fierce glare as if daring it to even singe a hair on her head, tossed a good handful of the powdery stuff they'd been given, and closed her eyes as she stepped into the green flame.

When she finally stumbled out of the second Floo, she was completely disoriented by the rapid-fire travel (apparently a Floo to some other secure location, an International Portkey that took them from the country across the map back to London, and then yet another of the detested Floos to Hogwarts). Luckily, someone had thought about the consequences of so much travel in such a compressed space of time, and there was someone guiding her to a seat and giving her something smooth and glassy—what?

"Drink that, Mrs. Granger. It'll take away the nausea of travel," she heard a familiar voice inform her. She obeyed, and immediately relief flooded through her overtaxed body and head. The bile threatening to rise in her throat subsided, her stomach settled, and the absolutely _blinding _headache and sickening slow swirl of the room about her vanished. She blinked in surprise.

"I would give an arm to have a stock of this on hand whenever I had to travel," she enthused. "What _is _this stuff anyway?"

"Mum!" Hermione, who had been wrapped around Daniel—curse the little bugger of her husband who _never _got motion sickness—flung herself towards Jane, and Jane had just enough wit about her to simply open her arms and let her daughter blur into her embrace.

She catalogued the changes the way only a mother can even as she stroked her daughter's hair and listened to her half-muffled exclamations of joy. _Thinner. Paler. Oh my god, she's all muscle though! If it weren't for the muscles, I'd say that she had been sick. Well, that and the way she's glowing, _Jane concluded as she managed to extract herself enough to hold Hermione out at arms-length to see her child clearly. "Goodness, Hermione, when did you grow up?" she cried.

Hermione grinned. "Oh, you know, yesterday and the day before and the day before that…hmm, maybe I've been doing it since you gave birth to me."

"Mouthy child." She swatted her playfully. "Daniel, she's _your _daughter."

"Mine only when she's mouthy." Daniel shook his head in deep regret. He looked over at the other occupant in the room. "Isn't that like a woman, to claim the praise and give us the blame? Hermione's always _my _daughter when she wants money, or gets too bossy and high-handed, or talks back. She's Jane's when she's gets top grades and does her chores."

"Dad!" Hermione blushed furiously. "Severus doesn't need to know about the minutiae of my ups and downs."

"On the contrary, I believe I do need to know very much indeed," the man—_Severus—_remarked with an extremely sardonic twist of his mouth. Ah, yes, the man that Hermione had mentioned either too often or not at all in her infrequent letters. Jane examined the dark figure carefully. This man had saved her and Daniel the night the Death Eaters had planned to kill them. Just for that she was gratefully, and even more so for all that she had heard from Hermione.

Not to mention that with a woman's intuition, Jane suspected that her daughter had more than a little crush on the man, and that it might be returned. _That _she hadn't mention to Daniel, and she would reserve judgment—and her initial instinct to snatch her daughter away so fast one might be able to see the cartoon trail.

"Where did the rest of our safe house get to?" she wondered aloud, noticing that she, Daniel, Professor Snape, and Hermione were the only ones in the odd office that seemed to have an assortment of sparkly toys whose functions she couldn't even begin to guess at.

"Oh, you were a little while in coming through so Minerva took the rest off to find their rooms," Hermione answered.

"Why don't you show your parents to their rooms?" Professor Snape suggested with a veiled glance at Hermione that Jane watched with interest. "I will…be available should you need my services."

Hermione bit her lip and Jane stopped herself from chiding her just in time. _She still can't remember not to worry her bottom lip, _she sighed mentally. At least it wasn't something worse, like biting her nails.

"You should come too," Hermione said after the second's hesitation. Now there was determination, and—yes, Jane thought, _there will be an explanation of sorts waiting for us. I suspect that Hermione has something to tell us, something important. _Daniel saw it too. Her husband was already starting to stare suspiciously between their daughter and the professor.

With some force of will and a masterful turn of conversation, Hermione managed to herd them all towards their room and she and Jane filled the sudden awkwardness with chatter. Hermione caught her parents up on the state of the school, the impending plans for the battle, and the spirit that was running like wildfire around the students and teachers both. She mentioned—briefly—a risky mission she'd been involved in a month ago, and then quickly backed off the topic as if it had grown fangs and bitten her. All the while, Jane observed with a mother's eye the way Hermione walked with longer strides that fit seamlessly into the pace set by the taller man the professor, the way she would casually look at him for commentary or to include him, the easiness with which she addressed the formidable man. Hermione had never been a people person. She had gotten fairly good at acting as if she were socially functional, but apart from the boys Harry and Ron, Jane Granger had never seen her daughter truly comfortable in her own skin in a social situation outside the immediate family. And more—she didn't just look older, with the hard, lean lines of an adult instead of the baby fat of childhood or awkward angles of adolescence. She _was _older, acted and moved and spoke like an adult full the equal of any elder. There was a casual relaxation built of confidence into her stance, the way she talked, the things she talked about. She wasn't just mimicking the authority that she respected in her life anymore, she was the authority.

_My baby girl is grown up. _Jane felt unexpected tears that had nothing to do with Hermione's current line of discussion prickle at her eyes, and forced them back with ferocity. It would not do to burst out crying right now!

_Besides, it looks as if Daniel might do the reacting for the both of us. _Poor Daniel was silent as a stone, and his mind churning madly, his wits scrambling to realize that his little baby daughter had become fully an adult, and that he had missed it. _We both missed it. Mewed up in the safe house as we were, with her in boarding school most of the year anyway…we missed almost her entire growing up. _

"Mum?"

Jolted out of her thoughts by her daughter's voice, Jane recovered herself with—perhaps not quite the same nonchalance she had mastered on the university debate team, but a fairly decent aplomb. Hermione, however, gave her a sharp look that Jane recognized very well, the _'you were thinking and I want to know what' _look.

"It's a lovely room, Hermione. It isn't as if our accommodations were particularly important in the scheme of things," she noted, ignoring the look.

"We would prefer all our valuable allies and fighters to be well-rested and well-provided for, as the least we can do in paying back our great debt to you," Professor Snape informed her rather formally.

"And Hogwarts is far better at accommodation and safety than the Ministry," Hermione added with a wicked glance at her father. Daniel, who had written a particularly livid letter to Hermione regarding the Ministry's safety and security regulations after the Department of Mysteries debacle, winked appreciatively.

Whoever had prepared the room had done so with thoroughness—everything that a guest could want was laid out with exacting care, from lovely new toothbrushes to pristine folded towels. Hermione must have consulted with the person making up their room, as it was even done up in the same shades of sage and brown as their bedroom at home, when home had been a perfectly ordinary household not too far from their dental practice in a good, child-friendly neighborhood. _Thoughtful child. _

"Perhaps we might let you settle in first," the Professor suggested, gesturing gracefully to the entrance. _Before what? _Jane wondered.

"I would prefer to just…get it done," Hermione said, nervousness written on every part of her. _Get what done? _Whatever it was, it was important and Jane was starting to get a strange feeling akin to the times when she had just _known _that Hermione was more different than just smarter and less social. Jane exchanged a quick look with her husband and wordless assent and understanding flashed.

"Come on in, Hermione, Severus," Daniel urged, entering their guest room. "I do believe you have something to tell us."

"Some tea," Jane interrupted, shooing the odd couple into seats in the sitting area around the fireplace. "Do you have a pot we can brew here, or a kitchen?"

"Mippy."

"What?"

_Pop. _Jane jumped. The ugliest humanoid creature she had ever laid eyes upon appeared out of thin air. Caught off-guard, she stared at the thing. It stared back at her with every bit of evidence of intelligence in its quizzical gaze.

Next to her, Daniel took a long, considering breath.

"This is Mippy," the Professor said with care. "He is the house elf whose service I have the honor of receiving. House elves are magical beings that are most commonly found in positions of service either in old, wealthy homes or immensely old magical institutions such as Hogwarts."

Jane remembered then the passionate descriptions she'd received one particular year about her daughter's latest crusade…what amounted to slavery in the Wizarding World. Daniel did too.

"Yes, I recall," he said in his special tone favoring the ironic. He tipped a look at Hermione. "Hermione gave us a fairly good account of house elves and what they do."

Hermione blushed. To Jane's surprise, the man—Snape—snorted very quietly, and bestowed upon her daughter an almost exact look as Daniel had, down to the teasing note hidden in his features. Daniel was perhaps more expressive and a trifle heavier with his teasing, but the two men were very similar in that instant. Jane began to rethink her doubt about Hermione's taste in men.

"Mippy is pleased to be aiding Mistress' parents," the creature voiced in what could be considered a polite demeanor. It—he?—gave a little half-bow.

"I was just mentioning that tea would be lovely, if you happen to have any on hand," Jane ventured.

"Very good! Mippy is at your service, Ma'am!" He disappeared with the same popping kind of noise as he had abruptly entered with. Before Jane could do no more than take five slow breaths, he was back again. "Mippy hopes Earl Grey is being fine for Ma'am and Sir?"

"Oh, perfect," Jane assured him, staring a little at the brewing pot and the stack of mugs that the house elf had brought back with him. She smiled. "Thank you, Mippy."

"Splendid. Let me add my thanks as well," Daniel agreed.

To Jane's utter bemusement, the house elf turned red, flapped his ears wildly, and did a little jig on the carpet, grinning from ear to ear before vanishing once more.

"I think you've overwhelmed Mippy."

"He has been pestering Irma Pince for stories on Muggles for a week now," Snape said with resignation. "I fear that the extent of Irma's knowledge about the Muggle world—in particular, household help and such, extends to a questionable assortment of books about the station butlers occupy."

"Oh, that's why he sounded like one," Hermione laughed. "I was wondering. Mippy's been beside himself with excitement at meeting you for ages," she told her parents. "I think he may have romanticized both of you as heroes for having produced me."

"Yes, heroes thanks to a random genetic combination," Daniel agreed.

It took a little more chitchat and light talk about Mippy and other house elves before her daughter finally came to the point she had been sitting on.

"Mum, Dad—I really don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to tell you," she said reluctantly. "I'm with Severus."

Jane waited.

"I love him, and he loves me," she continued a little desperately with an expression that made Jane ache to simply wrap her arms around her little girl and let the rest of the world fade. "He didn't manipulate me, you've always told me that age is a number and the heart is what decides even over the mind at times, and this is my choice."

"Hermione."

Snape laid on hand gently on the rigid form of Hermione, stilling her tongue and—like some sort of reverse Midas—turning her back into flesh and blood. Jane herself sat frozen in her seat. For once, she was at a loss for words. How ironic that the one time she had lost her ability to speak, her husband had too lost his glibness for he was as silent as she. _Daniel, _she thought. _What are we supposed to do? They never tell you how to deal with your daughter falling in love in Parenting 101. _

"Jane. Daniel," the dark man addressed them in a quiet, low voice. "I apologize for what must seem to be such an abrupt and unpleasant surprise. I understand that Hermione never hinted at anything, and believe me I am the first to sympathize with the concerns you have. I am not a nice man." He paused, and Jane watched him narrowly, still reeling despite her previous suspicions. It was brief, so quick that she thought she might have imagined it but a flicker of self-loathing and…something…flashed past his face. "I have done much wrong in my life, and hurt—_killed—_many." He swallowed. "When I realized the extent of my foolish wickedness, I did all I could to atone for it but it was your daughter who truly led me out of the darkness I had encased myself in. In many ways, Hermione is the reason I am alive."

"And you propose to repay her good heart with your devotion?" Daniel asked sarcastically.

"Dad!"

"No," Snape said calmly, accepting Daniel's cutting ire. "Some debts are too high to repay. I would not demean her friendship and acceptance by trying to pay her back, Daniel."

"Severus isn't like that," Hermione said fiercely, battle-ready and furious. Jane remembered when her child had looked exactly like that, defending fallen baby bird and shouting at everyone to get away and not to touch the bird because its parents wouldn't accept it back into the nest if it smelled like humans. "_I _was the one that forced his hand in our relationship, not him! Don't you dare insult him—us—like that, Dad."

"I think you had better explain how this…relationship…came about," Jane said evenly, trying not to yell at Hermione for having put that devastated look in her father's eyes. Daniel and Hermione had always been close, and while Jane had often clashed with her stubborn daughter it was Daniel who had been Hermione's main confidant. To have his baby turn on him over another man was breaking his heart as he stood.

"Hermione," Snape murmured gently. She turned and exchanged a silent conversation before she eased back, looking down as if ashamed. Snape took over again. "I know I am the last man you want for your daughter," he acknowledged still in his softer, compelling voice. "I freely admit that I do not deserve Hermione in the least. Besides the sins that litter my life, I am also significantly older than she and was her teacher for many years. I swear to you—by blood, if you wish it—that I never touched or saw your daughter in that way when she was under my authority. I did not take advantage of Hermione—whatever evil I have done, pedophilia is a low I have never and will never sink to. Though I am older, I cannot believe that either of you would condemn me for it. Such age differences have been found even in couples among your world, and with the longer life spans of magical citizens a greater gap in ages is more common. Hermione, as she can and has to me demonstrated, is in all capacities an adult and a mature one at that. If even a hint of childhood remained, I would never have agreed, no matter my own heart, to begin a relationship with her."

Hermione looked up sharply at that, as if she had not known that piece of information. Jane pondered it, and reluctantly felt herself more than half-convinced that Snape was genuine and telling the truth. But where did that leave them?

"I love your daughter," Snape concluded almost too hushed to be heard. "This is what it comes down to, Daniel. Jane. I love Hermione like I have never loved another, and never will again. Despite all my faults, all my flaws, I believe that she loves me as well and I swear that I will do everything in my power to make her happy for as long as I have breath in my lungs."

_Truth. He's telling the truth. Oh God, look at him. Look at them. They're like a picture right out of a history book—a guarded, mysterious man with power exuding from his aura and the young, passionate woman with determination the size of the universe, bu you can see the love practically vibrating between them like a tightly strung wire. But this is Hermione, this is _my child. _How can a man like this Snape—however good his heart is, and I know it must be good because Hermione would never fall in love with an evil man—be good for her? Is it possible? _Jane wanted to scream and cry and throw things. Or perhaps just turn back time to when Hermione had been a tiny bundle of soft and warmth tucked securely in her arms, whose only desires were for food and the safety of Mummy and Daddy. _Oh Lord, where has time gone? It was only yesterday I could protect her from everything, and now she is a woman protecting her man and willing to go against her parents for it. _Jane was well-read enough to know that the more she and Daniel pushed, the more likely it would be that Hermione would choose this Snape over her own flesh and blood. And yet how to love and protect her daughter? She felt her heart shattering slowly, into a thousand tiny fragments as she warred within herself, pulled apart by the love she bore Hermione, her baby. _She can't be old enough already to date, let alone speak about love with that kind of look on her face—the same one I had when I married Daniel! It's too soon!_

Daniel was going through the same struggle, and Jane's own pain and confusion tripled upon seeing his. Instinctively, she drew close to him, sliding her arm into his and unconsciously presenting a united front, husband and wife—father and mother—against anything that might harm their family.

"Hermione, do you love this man?" Daniel asked, finally, tone harsh with suppressed emotion.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "The same exact way you love Mum. You said it was like finding the song that you had heard all your life in your heart when you fell in love with Mum, Dad. That's what it's like for me. Severus…he's everything that I need when I need it."

"I want you to swear—by blood, like those Blood Oaths I know you have—I want you to swear that you will never intentionally hurt my daughter in any way," Jane demanded savagely of her child's…lover. _Lover. How is this possible?_

"Mum—"

"Absolutely," Snape agreed without hesitation, interrupting Hermione. He looked at Hermione. "Let me do this, Hermione."

"It's dangerous and I don't need you to prove anything to anyone," Hermione said stubbornly, chin out and firmed.

"But the rest of us—including me—do need to prove something," Snape replied.

Hermione's face crumpled, and Jane stifled the urge to go forward to comfort her. "Why do you always know how to say the only thing that will let me let you put yourself in danger needlessly?"

"Because you know it is true as well as I," he said and Jane swallowed a lump in her throat at the conviction and the raw emotions that were passing between the couple. She felt her eyes burn, and wished that she could just sleep and forget everything. But it was not in her nature to give up or wish for oblivion for very long, and Jane sought out her fortitude and took a breath.

"Let's do it now."

"It requires an impartial witness," Hermione said, eyes glistening with a sheen that looked suspiciously like tears. "Would anyone object to Minerva McGonagall?"

"Fine," Daniel said shortly.

Snape nodded at Hermione, who whispered some Latin. A beautiful silvery mist issued from her wand, and sorrow and confusion temporarily forgotten, Jane stared in wonder at the large bird that formed from it and drifted slowly down to land on Hermione's shoulder. _Oh, what wonders magic is! _She thought Hermione, and Snape for that matter, looked a little shaken at the magic which was odd. Hermione spoke a message for Minerva to the bird, who cocked its head inquiringly before clacking its insubstantial silver beak and launching itself soundlessly into the air, winging its way effortlessly away to presumably deliver the message.

"Hermione," Snape breathed.

"What?" Jane asked sharply.

"That was a Patronus," Hermione explained, still staring after the silver bird. "They drive away Dementors and can carry messages to others. A Patronus generally takes the shape of an inner facet of your personality or character that is the closest translatable to an animal symbol."

"And a bird means…?"

"Well, I had an otter before," Hermione explained hesitantly.

"A Patronus can also change permanently when one falls in love—real love, not anything else. We cannot trick our own magic, since it is part of us."

Jane looked askance at Snape. "Let me guess," she said scathingly. "Hermione's otter became a bird when she fell in love with you."

"Raven," Hermione whispered.

"What?"

"Raven. It's a raven. Severus can turn into one."

"More magic. Great." Jane snorted. "Tell me, has _your _Patronus changed, Snape?"

"I don't…I don't know," he said.

Jane leaned back. "Do it. Show us." _Prove that you love my daughter enough that your magic that you magic-folk put so much store by will recognize it. _

"Severus…"

"_Expecto Patronum!" _

Jane watched as a second mist of pale silver formed from the tip of the man's darker wand. It seemed to be assembling itself at a much slower pace that Hermione's had, and several agonizing seconds passed as the formless shape restlessly drifted in ambiguous shapes. The suddenly it was a clear animal, and they were staring at a tiny bird with sharp, inquisitive eyes and wings that blurred as it hovered in midair. Without realizing it, Jane was smiling and she realized that her smile was mirrored on all their faces. "Hummingbird," she offered finally when no one seemed able to speak. "Was that what you had before?"

"Doe," the man muttered in a distracted, choking sort of sound. He was staring at his patronus as if he didn't believe he had created it. For some reason, the dazed expression on his face—the puzzled on Hermione's—and the tiny creature itself, flitting fearlessly among so many big humans, made Jane positively cheerful and her heart lightened with something akin to relief.

"Hummingbirds are much better on the symbolic rank," she informed him. "I don't recall much, of course, but I believe that they represent love, inner joy, and the ability to see the good in people. The doe stands for gentleness and nurturing, but also can represent something elusive, rather like Wyatt's hind."

"Noli me tangere," Daniel added. _Ah, the man I married—trust him to remember how the poem goes. _

To her surprise, that seemed to shake Snape out of his trance as much as it brought understanding—and incredible joy that Jane's heart beat faster at—to Hermione's face. "Touch me not," Snape murmured.

"You know the poem?"

"No—but it is the translation of your Latin," he answered Daniel. _Oh, right. Their spells are all in Latin. It would make sense to learn the dead language. _

"You shouldn't have doubted it," he said to Hermione. "It has always been you."

"I didn't doubt," Hermione replied, eyes bright with tears. "But to see it…"

"Yes, well." Suddenly awkward as if he had reached his quota of emotion-sharing for the day, the thin, quiet man who had somehow captured her daughter's heart straightened and became professional. "Minerva should be along any moment—"

"Minerva is here," the woman herself announced, opening the door to their guest room without fanfare. "Good gracious, Hermione, Severus, you couldn't have waited until Mr and Mrs. Granger were at least rested and more able to take such shocks?"

"My fault, Minerva. I just wanted to get it over with," Hermione said sheepishly.

"Well then you can hardly blame them for their less-than-enthusiastic response," the strict old madame said archly. The reproving look she shot Hermione and Snape both filled Jane with the deepest admiration—both her daughter and Snape seemed to shrink under it. _I could have used that sort of _look _dealing with Hermione through the years, _she thought ruefully. _In fact, I could have used it in debates back in university! _

"Really, I expected far better from both of you," the woman continued with an efficient, rebuking tone. "Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger, I can assure you that I reacted with spectacular horror when they first saw fit to inform me of their relationship. In the absence of the possibility for you to be notified, I promise both of you that I made absolutely certain that this was a mutually desired and mutually beneficial relationship." She glared at the couple in question when it seemed as though they wanted to speak. Satisfied that she would have her say uninterrupted, Minerva turned back to the Grangers. "Mrs. Granger—"

"Jane, please. And Daniel."

"Jane, then. I consider Hermione one of my dear friends, despite her youth and the fact that I taught her for six years. She is a responsible, mature woman with wonderful qualities and has slipped seamlessly into the adult world in the past two years. Sad as the effect war has on children, I am entirely grateful that I can depend on Hermione. Likewise, I consider Severus my friend and one I saw too the path from childhood to adulthood. Severus has many flaws and bad qualities as do we all, but I can say of him that he is far more dedicated, far more loyal, and far more self-sacrificial than anyone else I know. He's a good man. I can give my own personal oath that as a friend of both Hermione and Severus, I do consider this relationship something true and good and real—and lasting." Minerva was earnest, and Jane felt her own eyes grow wet.

"Thank you, Minerva," Snape uttered with reserve but conviction. Hermione echoed him.

With the many long years of a working marriage, Jane knew her husband and she knew that many things were going through his mind right now. She also knew that he was about to make a decision. As he opened his mouth, she felt her own voiceless agreement and heard her answer come from his lips.

"From the instant you were conceived, Hermione, your mother and I have wanted everything for you," Daniel addressed their girl. "Security, stability, a good life and a promising future. But the most important thing we prayed for was that you would always find true happiness wherever you were. Even if you had to make it yourself, like campaigning for the rights of house elves or discovering an obscure new piece of information from your books about magic, or organizing the heck out of those boys." Hermione smiled mistily, and Jane aborted her motion forward, checking herself and her impulses once more with something akin to physical pain. Hermione wouldn't welcome being smothered or coddled right now.

"And I guess you've finally found your permanent happy. I know how it feels, like you pointed out earlier, and I know I can't imagine life without Jane." Jane pressed closer to her husband, wordlessly offering support and a glance full of reciprocal love.

"So how can I begrudge you the same happiness?" Daniel finally concluded, voice quavering.

"Daddy," their little girl breathed and suddenly Jane found herself hugging Hermione like she'd needed, wanted to all night, caught up tightly in her arms as if squeezing would make it all better. They surrounded their child, she and Daniel on either side enclosing her in, a little knot of three and for the first time in far too long, complete again as a family.

_No, not complete. We've gained since the last time we stood like this—before Death Eaters changed our lives entirely. We have another son now, and another…son, I suppose, though I doubt Draco views Snape as anything like a brother. _Jane did not let go of Hermione, but she loosened her arms enough to meet the depths of Snape's—no, _Severus'—_dark eyes. "Welcome to the family," she told him abruptly, and then did let go of her family, taking great joy in marching over and snatching him by the arm and straight into a four-way hug.

**A.N.: Happy New Year (almost)! Cheers to 2011, and to hopefully finishing this story in the new year, since my plan to finish in 2010 didn't quite work out. Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. There's not much left, but the next few chapters are going to be absolute Hades to write because they're the most emotionally demanding of the entire story. They're probably going to take a while…**

**Luna references Tithonus, a Greek legend. The Morrigan quotes from the poem "Tithonus," by Tennyson. **

**The poem referred to by the Grangers is Sir Thomas Wyatt's "Whoso lists to hunt," from which the Latin phrase **_**noli me tangere**_** is quoted by Daniel Granger. I took a bit of liberty with the interpretations of the animals for the Patroni, though they are mostly generally correct (even the hummingbird!)**


	102. Chapter 102

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

Suddenly it was the last day of April, and there was no more time left. The sun rose in a haze of grey shrouds and drizzle, barely discernable through the cloaked sky. It rose quietly, as if it knew that it was most unwelcome for bringing That Day closer to hand. With the sky barely light, even the well-lit halls of Hogwarts felt overcast in flickers of shadows. There was, if one stopped for a moment, an uneasy feeling throughout the castle—almost as if its very walls and ceilings were somehow undefined, vague and blurry and not quite there.

There was a current running through the students, of unease, uncertainty, a numb fog that spilled from person to person. From professors to students to the families that had taken refuge in Hogwarts to train and risk their lives on the following day, it was as if they had all been muffled by a blanket that dulled the senses. It stood in odd contrast with the jumpy, trained reflexes that had been beaten day after day into everyone. It was rather like drifting a little, from the sedatives her parents had used once upon a time for their patients for dental operations, but somehow being able to instinctively push it back long enough to defend or attack if startled.

Today was the end of it, where the timeline and all future suspended. No one could imagine life beyond today, tonight. Tomorrow did not bear thinking of, and after…

After might not come, for many of them.

Hermione doubted that anyone would be lighting fires or celebrating Beltane Eve tonight. Or—perhaps they would have their own celebrations after all. Who knew who would survive the coming battle tomorrow? _The war to end all wars, _she thought with bitter amusement. _That's what it seems to have become in the minds of everyone here. _She didn't deny that this would be the battle to decide the outcome of the Wizarding World of Britain, but having spent more time with her parents in the week leading up to tonight than the entire past year, Hermione was fast-recalling the seemingly unceasing violence and wars that had raged across Muggle history. Wizards and witches were people too, and Hermione knew that one day another group of them would be facing another evil, another war to win, another battle to be fought.

Was this the same weary demoralization that had confronted those who had lived through the first of the Dark Lord's reign of terror? Or even those who had survived Grindelwald's war? Suddenly Hermione wondered, if she survived, would she one day be another Albus Dumbledore, forced to watch—and _urge—_children to grow up far too fast and fight in battles too big for them? Would she be Remus Lupin, having lost every single one of his friends to violent death or betrayal, torn apart by the war and by hatred and still fighting the same fight alone?

Would she be Harry, orphaned too soon by the war?

Would she be Severus, grimly clinging on to one goal and sacrificing all to see it come to pass?

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and shook her head violently, trying to somehow fling away all her jumbled doubts and creeping fears and the shadows that wanted to gulp her down into cold dark despair.

She slashed her wand down, ducking instinctively as she desperately pushed away the cold fog that wanted to numb her thoughts and slow her reflexes. Then the rest of her mind caught up with her and she relaxed her hold on the wand that had materialized in her hand. "Sorry," she apologized, standing up. Severus lowered his own wand and shifted out of his own defensive posture.

"It is I who should apologize. We are all hair-triggered at the moment," Severus acknowledged, approaching her.

"Don't I know it," Hermione sighed. "Is Michael Corner okay?"

"Fit as ever," Severus assured her. "He kept saying it was his own fault for not paying attention to where he was going, and that he could have gotten worse."

"He really could have," Hermione agreed absently. Michael Corner had been hit by a dubious curse that had turned part of his body into stone—he had startled Pansy Parkinson in the library by mistake and she had responded on instinct. _We shouldn't have to be so hair-triggered to the point of hexing anyone who startles us. We shouldn't have to blame ourselves for not being observant enough to avoid surprising someone in case of a curse, _Hermione thought angrily.

"He's already asked Miss Parkinson to teach him the spell she used," Severus commented. Hermione smiled reluctantly. The students of Hogwarts had truly risen above and beyond the call of duty. Many of them were even today trading tips and helping each other with that one tricky spell they just couldn't get. Today, the day before Beltane, had been declared a 'holiday'—none of the instructors, from Moody to Minerva to Severus, had even made a token protest when Harry had insisted on it. Hermione agreed, and knew what everyone else was thinking. There was little that could be learned in one day. Tomorrow they were either going to die or survive, and one day more or less of practice or drills would truly affect the outcome. It was better, more beneficial, for everyone to rest and spend the day with those they loved.

**-break-**

She spent her morning in Gryffindor Tower, pretending that she was the Hermione Granger of years ago when her biggest concern had been the next exam and bullying her boys into doing their homework. It was odd, for today of all days everyone else was pretending as hard as she, right alongside her.

"You are going _down_, Harry Potter!"

"Quick, hide me!" Harry ducked behind Ron's lanky figure hastily.

"Hey!" Ron protested, trying to sidestep to avoid being in direct line of fire. "You can't hide behind me, I'm referee—_oof!" _A thickly padded pillow plowed into his stomach and he doubled over. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" he roared, picking up the white missile and looking around for the thrower.

Stifled giggles gave Harry the clue he needed. Grabbing the pillow from Ron, he threw it with unerring aim at the sofa. A quick twist of his wand had the pillow swerving around the armchair, and an audible thump and high-pitched yelp told him he had hit his target. "Got you!" he cried triumphantly, straightening up—

only to eat feathers as he stood up directly into the path of another careening pillow. "Mmff!"

"My back-up is here, thank Merlin," breathed Ginny, crawling out from behind the sofa and glancing up the stairs to the girl's dormitory where Hermione stood halfway down, dusting off her hands with a satisfied look. "You are on fire, Hermione!"

"Duck!" was her response. Ginny ducked and yet another pillow missile soared harmlessly over her head. The red-haired girl whipped around, Summoning the pillow. "Seamus, you are so dead once my minute is up!"

"He certainly is," came yet another voice muffled by the floor. Lavender rose from the dead, sniffing indignantly. "You mussed up my hair with the last pillow you threw at me. Payback time!"

"Harry, Ron, heeelp!" Seamus squawked, dodging from cover to cover frantically as Lavender menaced him with the pillow she'd been partly hidden by.

"Can't, mate, we got hit," Harry said apologetically as Hermione disappeared upstairs once more. "Rules are, if you get hit by a pillow you have to stay down and out of the game for a minute. Don't worry, you've got it, Finnigan!"

Hermione reappeared, hair particularly boisterous, bearing more pillows and a haughty expression. "How Dean Thomas managed to get up the stairs to the girl's side of the dorm I do not know, but he is most definitely down for many counts and will be unable to help you gentlemen," she announced. "On the other hand, I bear more weapons for my sisters in arms."

Lavender grinned evilly. "Oh, this will be so much fun," she declared.

**-break-**

Lunch was underway, and the Great Hall was awash in noise and chatter. If more than a few faces were more worried or reticent than normal, the other half of those students determined to eke out this last day as if it _would _be their last day in the world were doing a fine job covering the slack. In particular, the younger of the children left at Hogwarts were still bright-eyed and brilliantly optimistic in the way only those somehow still innocent are. Hermione half-envied, half-ached for them. If they fought tomorrow, some would most likely—realistically—die or be injured, and all of them would lose that youthful arrogance that life was a guarantee that even a month of war training had not knocked from them.

Severus was conversing with her father and Filius, earnestly discussing the ramifications of her father's newest personal project for after the war. "We technically possess a Muggle Liaison Branch in the Ministry," he was saying at the moment. "I give that title very loosely. The only thing of importance that it accomplishes is connect the Muggle Prime Minister to the Ministry of Magic, and even then it is widely assumed that the position is meant only for 'us' to inform 'them' about what they must and must not accept, cover up, and so on."

"Exactly," Daniel Granger said vehemently. "I tell you, that's how this Voldy-terrorist came from. He's half the product of his environment. The bias was already there, all he had to do was buy into it and half his battle was already won for him with all these misconceptions about non-magical people—goodness, you even have a label for us, 'Muggles' like we're a peculiar specimen of some sort to be classified and categorized."

"I never thought of it that way!" Filius Flitwick exclaimed in some surprise. "The division of being and beast has been a historically controversial topic in the Wizarding World, but I have not yet heard anything on the subject of magical versus non-magical that isn't polarized by the current war."

"The drastic polarization is partly why we have not heard any tempering platforms—those voices have been drowned by one side or the other," Severus mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps after the war, and after the fervor of victory and loss have faded a little, it might be a more approachable topic for the public. I do believe that the term 'Muggle' arose right around the time the initial proposal for the Statute of Secrecy was raised. Anti-Muggle sentiment was quite high then—I would not be surprised to find that the terminology was coined by a Pureblood Separatist."

Daniel shook his head. "This is why we need an efficient and empowered branch in your Ministry to deal with the non-magical world in a fair and equal manner. Really, you are all citizens and subjects of Her Majesty first and members of the British Ministry of Magic second. Even those un…unplottable? Unplottable land and towns of yours and all those people with no passports or official documentation are within the Isle of Britain and in the area claimed by the queen since before this split you're talking about in history," he pointed out astutely. The other two men blinked in surprise.

Hermione turned back to her mother.

"He's been going on about it for a while," Jane Granger noted with a wry smile. "Not that I don't believe just as passionately in all he's saying, but I rather wish I could _do _something about it right now. Or even have time to seriously research all of this, rather than mill around and wait for a vague point in time when it would be feasible to do all of this reform that truly does need to happen in this archaic little sphere."

Hermione laughed a little sardonically. "If we all survive tomorrow, if we win and there is a Ministry of Magic and it's not completely destroyed and decimated by Death Eaters, you mean," she half-joked.

"I see…I see…I see doom and destruction," intoned Sibyll in her best prophetic voice. "Death and eternal obliteration shall come on swift wings…to those who would bring down Hogwarts and the freedom-fighters!"

Hermione smiled at the Divinations professor. She wasn't that bad, really. "Death on swift wings to the Death Eaters," she mused. "I like that."

"You cannot doubt the veracity of Sibyll Trelawney's gift of sight," the old woman exclaimed with great hauteur, lifting her chin high and waving and fluttering her thin fingers wildly. The fringe of her blue shawl trailed over the table and then took a dip into her teacup. Sibyll did not notice, but continued dramatically, "A vision hovers before my eyes—Hogwarts, shaking to its foundations with the cheers and cries of victory of its defenders! The Chosen One and those loyal to the light, triumphant and driving back the forces of dark to throw them into eternal hell!"

"I'll drink to that," Filius called out, raising his own glass of pumpkin juice.

"Aye, a good toast," Minerva agreed, raising her own cup.

"Cheers to the defeat of the forces of darkness and victory to us," cried Poppy Pomfrey, cheeks rosier than Hermione had ever seen and eyes as determined as if she were approaching a recalcitrant patient.

"To the safety and preservation of the lives of those who battle the darkness tomorrow," Pomona Sprout added a little quieter.

"To a better future for our children and their children after them," Jane murmured, glancing over at Hermione as she drank. Hermione met her mother's eyes and something passed between them, unspoken. Then Severus lifted his own cup of tea.

"To the day when no child must grow up too fast, and to the day when love may be allowed to flourish where darkness dwelt," he murmured, almost inaudibly. His dark eyes met Hermione's, and she lifted her chin, stubbornness in every muscle. _I do not regret it, _she thought, staring back at her man, feeling the frisson of their locked gaze skitter down her skin, her nerves, run the length of the table of adults like electricity.

She lifted her own glass, and spoke her own toast, her eyes never leaving his. "To living lives fully, filled with friendship, love, and an inner peace, knowing that we will have done everything we could and whatever was necessary to win those futures, and the futures of the next generations."

They remained staring at each other even as Minerva rose to her feet, raising her cup again, calling the attention of the entire Great Hall. "We drink to safety, to love, and to a life lived fully and well," Minerva said simply. Glasses, mugs, and teacups raised in agreement, and from the youngest child to the oldest adult, those who had gathered to take an active stand against the darkness and fear drank a toast to life.

**-break-**

Seamus slipped out of lunch early, unnoticed by any of his friends. It was easy enough for someone who had been training his body to move with the grace of a killer for the past month, in the chaos and clatter of the Great Hall. Still, he held his breath and turned his head away from the Weasleys as he went by them, unwilling to betray himself as he surely would if he looked at them. They had been training too after all, and Seamus had no doubt that at least one of them would feel the hate-filled glare he would not be able to help.

Seven children. _Seven, _two adults, all nine of them prime targets for the Death Eaters, and there they all sat, nary a scratch on them, joking and laughing as if they had not a care in the world.

Meanwhile, his entire world—_Da, Mam…Aislinn…oh God, baby Aislinn—_dead, all dead, as cold as the frozen winter earth they lay under, crushed by the weight of rock and dirt and eternity. _They were all I had, God! _He raged silently, pacing back and forth in the empty, suffocating confines of the boy's dormitory room he shared. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the Weasleys, with so many children they were practically spilling out the sides of their home, remained whole and complete, while his tiny family—far away from the politics of the government or the turmoil of Pureblood vs. everyone else, tucked in a whole different world of farming and crops and good and bad harvests, should be taken away from him. Taken away from the lives they should have had. Echoes pressed against his eyes tightly like hallucinations. _Da's rough, callused hands—big enough to be dinner plates, he'd once said with a deep, bass laugh that emanated from his belly. The way his mother absently ran her fingers through her thick, long hair like a schoolgirl when she was nervous or worried. His father's mild, kind eyes lighting up as he told stories of the land he loved to the son he loved even more, showing him how the earth bloomed with miracles enough to support them honestly. Aislinn as the tiny, wrinkled red thing she'd been when he'd finally been allowed in to see her for the first time…her worrying, comforting weight tugging in his cradled arms as he stared down at her blue, blue eyes fixed at a point just past his left ear. Aislinn's screams that only Mam seemed to be able to interpret as 'Diaper change,' 'Food,' or 'Just plain fussy'—her second birthday, when she'd accidentally stepped on her own birthday cake that Mam had made and put on the floor for just a second while she cleared the table…_

_ Enough. _Seamus gave an inarticulate cry, and snatching his wand from its holster, aimed it at his pillow. "_Reducto_!"

The pillow blew up with violence, exploding into a storm of dull white feathers and pelting his face, arms, and the floor. The force of his spell turned the gentle feathers into almost painful whips that scratched at skin like bone and claws. Breathing heavily, Seamus let his wand drop to the ground, heedless of the voice in his head that screamed at such a foolish, dangerous action. _I laughed this morning. I had fun as if my family weren't buried under the land they labored over. What's wrong with me? _Disgust rose, and he bolted, barely making it to the bathroom before he heaved. Pressing his cheek against the cold tile of the floor, he closed his eyes and prayed to God for forgiveness. He wasn't sure for what sin among the multitude, from his inability to protect his own family to the magic he possessed that had caused his family to become targets, to the knowledge that he would kill, and kill without hesitation tomorrow, breaking God's commandment in full knowledge of the fact. Almost unconsciously, he slipped into the prayer he had heard his Da and Mam repeat so often. _Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. _

**-break-**

"Married life suits you well, Draco," Jane Granger smiled, ignoring the offered hand and wrapping the tall blond boy in a hug instead. "Where's your wife?"

"She'll be back soon—she had to straighten out a problem with some of the younger girls in Slytherin," Draco answered, courteously opening the door wider to allow Jane and Daniel entry. "Sir," he greeted Daniel.

"I thought we established that we're just Daniel and Jane," Daniel reminded Draco as he stepped into Draco and Skye's abode. "Nice place," he commented.

"It's so elegant," Jane exclaimed, scanning the neat, straight lines and tidy appearance of the room they'd stepped into. A fire—just as neat as the rest of the room—crackled quietly in the fireplace, and the black and white décor reflected a restrained, fluid sophistication that was simple and classic. Several neutral candles and a tall glass and crystal lamp lit up the room along with the windows that let in the sunlight.

"We did have a rather long consult with Hogwart's house elves when we first took up residence in these rooms," Draco admitted. "They originally had a far more…enthusiastic hand in decorations."

Jane looked up from the mantelpiece, where she had been examining the small collection of worn, interesting books that lined part of it. "Enthusiastic?"

Draco winced. "Let's just say, there hasn't been a pair of newlyweds living in Hogwarts in almost a century. There was a lot of confusion about blending styles. They thought it would be a brilliant idea to simply decorate in all our combined House colors—blue and green."

Jane winced. A newlywed couple most especially didn't want to be reminded of their childhood schooling years—in Skye's case, the rest of the time she'd be spending in Hogwarts as she was younger than Draco.

"And an entire room dedicated to a nursery," added a new, feminine voice. Three heads turned towards the door, where Skye Corwin stood, smiling. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it's a pleasure," she declared, entered to hug Daniel, and then Jane.

"It's Jane and Daniel," Jane scolded as she embraced her 'daughter-in-law'. "Honestly, you and Draco both."

"Sorry," Skye apologized easily. "Jane—has Draco been a good host and offered you drinks or any refreshments?"

"I was just about to, Skye," Draco protested as Skye shot her husband a glare.

"We've just had lunch, so nothing for us," Jane hurried to say. "Skye, we were just saying what a beautiful place you've made this."

"Oh, thank you!" Skye's face lit up. "We did our best to make this place as much our own as possible. Draco has a wonderful eye for home décor, if you would believe it."

Draco blushed, which was very apparent against his pale skin. "Comes from years of seeing the homes of the rich and wealthy being destroyed by too much opulence," he muttered.

"Too true, unfortunately," Skye sighed. "I'll never forget the one time we visited the Cains, when I was seven. I thought I was going to go blind from the glare of shiny objects and the lavishness of it all."

"Why did you visit the Cains?" Draco asked curiously.

"Something to do with business—Daddy said it wasn't an option not to go, so we went. I'm glad we never had to again though," Skye said, wrinkling her nose.

"Agreed." Draco shuddered, and explained for the benefit of the Grangers, "The Cains are one of the most influential of the Old Pureblood family lines, and unfortunately, one of the nastiest as well. As a child, we used to have obligatory dinners either at their estate or ours, and it was never a pleasant experience."

Daniel Granger shook his head. "Power can be corrupting," he declared. "'Tis a pity that that's allowed to run unchecked here."

"We don't do too well at it ourselves," Jane pointed out to her husband. "We've got our own corruption scandals and shady dealings on all levels of the political strata."

"True. Still, we're not the ones facing a psychopath tyrant bent on taking over the world," Daniel retorted.

"No, we just have terrorists and briberies and corporate conglomerations."

"Touché, darling." Daniel laughed. "I can never win a debate with this one," he told Draco and Skye.

"It's smarter not to," Draco said, and winced as Skye poked him hard in the shoulder. "Ow, Skye!"

"No more than you deserve, Mister Smart Aleck," she shot.

"Oh, I like this one, Draco," Jane said, beaming at Skye. "Keep this one around for a while."

"Despite her many faults, I rather like her too," Draco replied, suffering a smack to his head this time. "Owww! Skye, even Jane doesn't physically abuse her husband!"

Daniel just leaned back in his chair and laughed.

**-break-**

"To what do I owe the honor?" Minerva greeted her visitor politely.

"Simply the pleasure of your company, if I may steal some of your time," replied her guest, smiling.

Minerva's lips twitched. "Lonely, are you?"

"How did you guess?"

"You sound exactly as Albus did whenever he wanted 'a little of my time,'" she informed him dryly. "Sit down, Li, and have some tea."

Li's old, wrinkled face lit up with delight. "Hogwarts is one of the very few places that offers tea that remotely resembles home," he told her, losing no time in seating himself. "I've rather missed the cuisine of home, but the elves here do a fairly presentable job of replicating it with what they have here in Scotland."

Minerva shook her head in amusement, calling for tea—"Long Jing, please," Li requested.

"I do apologize if I'm taking your time," Li began, but Minerva waved it off.

"I hardly have anything better to do other than go over all the plans and possible scenarios tomorrow and unnecessarily worry myself to bits," she said.

"Today is meant to be spent with family and friends," Li reminded her with a half-smile. She shook her head ruefully.

"Which is why you and I are currently having good Chinese tea of whatever mysterious name you asked for," she replied. "If—" her throat caught just a little, but she ignored it. "If Albus were here, he'd have joined us for the tea as well. Three old soldiers, reminiscing and making jabs at each other's expense."

Li sighed. "You're far too young to be calling yourself old, Minerva."

"Old enough to be ancient news to the young people I teach," she retorted.

"Hermione?" Li asked delicately.

"I consider her my friend," Minerva agreed, "but she is first and foremost friends with Harry and Ron, her parents' daughter, and Severus' love. She should, and is, spending time with them."

Li looked away. Then he looked back again with curiosity shining in his countenance. "Forgive me for my presumption, but…your family?"

"Dead or far, far away." Minerva's voice held nothing but a factual tone—she had long come to terms with it. "Most of them died in the war with Grindelwald, and my cousin and her husband fled the country to America. I haven't kept in touch with them much, except for to exchange birthday and holiday wishes." She thoughtfully looked up, where a portrait on the wall of her office held a sleeping wizard. "Albus has been my closest friend and my family for years. We kept each other company during those 'family occasions.'"

"I miss my friend very much," Li said softly. "More so even than I miss my home country."

"I miss him too," Minerva responded, eyes dwelling on the slumbering portrait. "I miss him too."

"Though I cannot live up to his presence—or his twinkling—as friends of Albus, I would say we are the closest both of us have to family. I would be honored to call you my sister if you would consider me a brother," Li told her earnestly. His eyes, belying his words, twinkled with as much good will as Albus Dumbledore's had been well-known for, and Minerva felt some of her stiff loneliness fade.

"I would love it," she laughed.

"Then I will call you _mei mei, _little sister," Li teased. "You can call me _ge ge, _big brother."

"There is no way, Merlin help me, that I am pronouncing any of that garble," she informed him tartly. "I would rather not make a fool of myself slaughtering your language."

"But it is easy," Li protested. "Simple enough to learn, if you put your formidable mind to it!"

"This formidable mind would rather leave Mandarin to the experts."

"Come now, Minerva, just a little phrase…"

"No."

"One word?"

"No."

"Pity."

So they sat, brother and sister, carrying on an easy dialogue in the style of siblings as the world went by outside the headmistress' office door.

**-break-**

Harry turned the phial over in his hand curiously. "How did you make it?"

"With great skill and courage," Hermione replied seriously, and grinned at her friend's miffed look. "It was a complicated process. Do you really want me to start talking about the intricacies of the increasing the heat by increments correlating to the Fibonacci sequence?"

Harry shook his head emphatically, messy hair flopping into his eyes. Ron echoed his move as well. Hermione laughed internally. "All you need to know is that it is an extremely rare and potent healing potion that will probably bring you back from even the brink of death if you drink it. Knowing you, you will most likely have a use for it so keep it on you, do you hear me Harry Potter? Don't waste it on the first injured person you see."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Harry saluted, and carefully tucked away the phial containing the precious potion. Hermione suppressed both her sigh of relief and her ironic humor at the thought of Harry's horror should he ever find out that the potion's main ingredient was his best friend's maiden's first blood and had been harvested by Severus Snape. Oh no, that was certainly something she wouldn't be sharing and Harry wouldn't bother looking it up, so he would never find out. _Which is a very good thing. _

Ron gave her an approving look at having supplied another line of defense for their injury-prone friend, and Hermione reminded herself that Ron also did not need to know exactly what the potion had taken to be brewed. Then she let herself be drawn into conversation.

"Do you remember when we found out that Harry's first task was dragons?"

"And the way he was about to tear his hair out until Hermione got on his case and taught him how to perform _Accio?" _Ron exclaimed, barking with laughter. "She had a whole plan drawn up and everything!"

Harry smiled lopsidedly at his two friends. "Tell me I wasn't overreacting," he retorted. "Dragons are temperamental creatures and I'd rather not have me kicking my legs as I go down one's gullet, thank you very much."

"That would be a sight to see," Hermione sighed, grinning at her friend. "I'm afraid you'd give the dragon indigestion though. You're all angles and bones."

"Oy, I'm not as bad as Weasley here!" Harry said indignantly.

"Hey!"

"True, but Ron wouldn't run blindly into danger the way you do," Hermione informed him.

"Yes he would! Remember the time he sacrificed himself so that we could win the chess game and get across the board?"

"That was necessary, a strategic move on my part to accomplish the most important of the tasks we needed to complete," Ron said loftily.

"It was also our first year when were are all stupid and came far to close to either being expelled or dying, or both," Hermione reminded them.

"We've come close to both all our years at Hogwarts," Harry noted wryly. "If it wasn't Voldemort, it was something else out to get us."

"Basilisks. Acromantulas," Ron shuddered.

"Poor Ron." Hermione patted the mop of red hair, unable to keep the grin from her face. "The Acromantulas were the worst of the lot, were they?"

"Giant. Man-eating. Spiders. Tell me, what could be worse?"

"Oh, Hermione could tell you," Harry said with a straight face. So straight that Hermione immediately sat up and gave her friend a suspicious look. He paused a beat, and then said seriously, "Being expelled."

Ron roared with laughter as Harry scrambled away from his female friend's hard, pummeling fists.

It was two hours later that Ron finally paused with an odd look on his face. Harry and Hermione, however, had no problem interpreting his expression. "Food?" Harry asked astutely.

Ron grinned sheepishly.

It was late afternoon, not midnight, and Hermione as a professor apprentice was technically allowed into the kitchens at any time, but for old time's sake they snuck in under the invisibility cloak by way of tickling the painted pear. They barely fit and Hermione reminded herself not to mention to Severus that she had been sandwiched tightly between her two male friends, both of whom he highly disliked.

"Ouch!"

"Shh!"

"Well if you wouldn't keep _trodding _on my _heel," _Hermione hissed at Ron.

"Hush, both of you!"

Hermione elbowed Harry in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"Shh," Ron reminded Harry sarcastically.

Hermione choked back a laugh and halted. "We're here, boys," she sang.

An elf kneading dough looked up, puzzled, and watched with some exasperation as the three large humans tumbled out of thin air. They were laughing and making a ruckus, and one of them Professor Mistress Spy's heart no less! _And _The Master Harry Potter, _and _Master Chess! Acting like first years! The house elf, Hatta, shook his head, but sent a message to Minny-elf that one of her charges had come to the kitchen and was currently taking up too much room in the pastry-kitchen.

It only took a fraction of a millisecond for Minny-elf to receive the message, acknowledge, and respond. She popped in with the smooth efficiency she was well-known for among the house elves, nodding to Hatta-elf her thanks for the message. "Mistress! Masters," she greeted the humans cheerfully. "Is you hungry?"

"A wee bit," Ron admitted, smiling lopsidedly down at Minny. "You think we could…"

"Master Harry!" Dobby popped in and cried with pleasure, eyes lighting up. "And his friends! Dobby is glad, glad, to see yous!"

"Dobby," Harry bent and hugged his friend among the elves. Dobby blushed and both Hatta and Minny looked away politely. "How are you?"

Dobby wiggled his ears. "Dobby is good. Is good to see Master Harry Potter!"

"You too, Dobby. What have you been doing lately? I haven't really seen you around in a bit."

"Minny, would you happen to have some tea on hand?" Hermione asked quietly, noticing that Harry and Ron had gathered around their old friend.

"Certainly, Mistress," Minny nodded. "Earl grey, English breakfast, chamomile?"

"Oh—earl grey is fine, Minny. And perhaps some biscuits, the lovely ones we had the other day?"

Minny flapped her ears. "Right aways, Mistress," she promised. "Come, sit! Must not be disturbing Hatta-elf anymore," she added teasingly, and Hatta, standing in the crowded section of the kitchen, hands still buried in dough, blushed a little.

"Sorry, Hatta," Hermione apologized to the elf, who stuttered something unintelligible, and by sheer force of will moved her boys and Dobby out of the smaller alcove of the kitchen and into a larger space with a table.

"Dobby is mosts prouds of fighting for The Great Harry Potter and has been training," Dobby was gushing as they milled into the larger kitchen, seating themselves haphazardly. "Dobby is, Dobby is!"

"You're fighting tomorrow?" Harry asked quietly. Hermione thought, _uh oh. _She and Ron exchanged worried glances.

"With other elves," Dobby confirmed with great pride, chest puffing out a little and enormous eyes glowing with excitement and just a touch of battle-fever.

"I thought all the house elves were either evacuating or helping with the evacuation," Harry said, a hint of accusation aimed at Ron. Thankfully, Dobby didn't catch on to it although Minny, who was passing each of them a steaming mug of tea, shot a quick look at the boy. She said nothing.

"Not all of them, mate. We went over the special teams in place, remember?" Ron replied to Harry's unspoken real question. "Some of the elves are moonlighting as field Healers or as scouts and transports for the field Healers to get to the wounded and to get them out. Some of them have special charges they'll specifically be looking out for—those are mostly the bound house-elves that have their master or mistress actively fighting. They refused to let their owners go into battle without them as a protection. Some are in place as scouts and the first defensive line and the scouts are reporting to Minerva, me, some others, to keep us all in contact and up to date with the latest information so that we can get the right orders and plans executed based on our situation. There'll be some at the Ministry of Magic battle too, and one particular guerilla group moving in and out of the thick of it. The rest are helping evacuate the non-combatants and then going with them as extra protection."

"Dobby is ready to fight for Master Harry, for freedom," Dobby added solemnly. His eyes widened even more with his earnestness. "Dobby's job is being to protect Master Harry Potter."

Harry turned to Ron. "Explain," he said, shortly.

Ron's ears went a little pink, but he held his own with a confidence that Hermione was proud of. "He's part of your protection detail," he told Harry. "Me and Hermione, we stick with you no matter what. That's the innermost protection. There's another circle of protection with some of our other fighters, although we're going to be shedding them from place to place at whichever location may need their help. Dobby's going to be following behind us, unseen, as the last resort kind of defense because no one will expect him there. We need you, Harry. Whether or not you want that."

"You knew that already, Harry," Hermione chimed in softly. "We're all equally important, yes, but you're the key to it all."

"Master Harry musn't worry," Dobby said, ears laid back against his head and eyes fixed on Harry. "Dobby is honoured to help Master Harry. Master Harry should be proud for hisself."

"I can't be proud of something that happened entirely out of my control, Dobby," Harry replied, green eyes conflicted. He paused, and then continued and Hermione knew he was talking to more than Dobby. "I haven't done anything to be proud of, really."

"The key fashioned by a locksmith for a trunk is not somehow more worthy than a piece of wood that goes into making the trunk," Hermione murmured. "Just because the key might have a grander job than the piece of wood doesn't mean they're either of them more important than the other, and the key doesn't have to prove that it's somehow better because it gets the grander job. It just is, the right material for the right job, that is."

Harry sat very still. Ron and Hermione held their breath. Finally, he sighed and his eyes lost their intensity. "I guess…" he said reluctantly. "I guess that's as true a metaphor as any." He looked around at his friends. "The only thing I can be proud of as Harry Potter are my friends, and the way they've been a constant support through everything," he said. "I haven't always been appreciative—goodness knows I haven't always been supportive back myself." An unspoken apology in his voice as he glanced at Hermione, which she returned with a small smile. "But I _am _thankful, and proud of calling myself a friend of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger…and Dobby," he added, looking at the diminutive creature still standing by his chair. "No matter what happens, your friendship and your love is the only thing that's kept me standing and sane today, and tomorrow, it'll be that love that wins the battle because Voldy-schmoldy can't fathom real love and it's the greatest force we know. We're going to beat them tomorrow," Harry said with conviction. "We're going to beat them because we have love and they have only their false lies and empty castles in the air to go on. We're going to beat them."

"We're going to beat them," Ron repeated, grinning.

"Voldemort is going down," Hermione agreed emphatically, and for good measure, gave both her boys a strangling hug.

**-break-**

Draco watched as Master Snape—_Uncle Severus—_swirl his drink contemplatively. This felt more familiar than Draco was willing to admit, for it had been years since he, a small child, sat across from his godfather and waited for the quiet man to say what he wanted to say. At four, he had already learned that impatience and talk would get him nowhere but sent to his room, and even at that young age he had already learned—and desperately desired—the value of an adult who would sit and have a real conversation with him in a serious manner, not the fluffy padded clouds and rainbows other adults, even his own parents, offered. Whether comforting, chiding, or simply conversing with Draco on any number of subjects, Uncle Severus would always speak thoughtfully, each word chosen deliberately and important for Draco to understand.

This was a different side of Severus Snape that very rarely showed—Draco knew, and was honored, that he was one of the few people who had seen this side. _I suspect Hermione has seen him like this too. _The conversations had been few and far between—even less once he became a student at Hogwarts, and the uncle was for the most part replaced by the professor for the majority of the year.

Draco found that he missed it.

"Lucius and Narcissa have always been notoriously blind," Uncle Severus finally said, dark, unreadable eyes still lost in the space somewhere in another world.

Draco kept silent, waiting. _I knew that, _he thought sarcastically. But Severus always had a point, and even if it took him forever to get there, it was usually worth biting his tongue.

"There have been a few times I was privileged to watch them in a rare moment of clear sight," he continued. "The first I can remember is during their handfasting, when the light had cleared away and the cord had become as red as blood. They met each other's eyes and saw real love for the first time, I believe. But the second time that I was witness to such a moment was when you were born."

Draco suddenly didn't want to hear anymore, but it was as if he were in a trance.

Uncle Severus continued in an inexorable tone, "Narcissa had just suffered through sixteen hours of labor, and Lucius had refused to leave her side despite the old traditions of the husband not entering the room until after the birth. She held you in her arms, and they both looked at you and saw their child—their precious baby."

Unable to stand it anymore, Draco burst out, "They obviously stopped seeing it."

Severus finally looked up to meet Draco's eyes, unshaken by his bitterness. "They have never stopped seeing it," he asserted. "Blind as they are to far too many important things, they stopped seeing you as you grew. It was the image of the helpless baby clutched in his mother's arms that they saw, that they still see."

Draco laughed without humor. "Must have been a shock when Baby 'bit the hand that fed it,'" he said with rancor.

"Very," Severus said. He took a sip of his whisky. "You may have been legally and magically disowned as a Malfoy and as their son, but memories cannot be changed. Your past—and theirs—cannot be forgotten. It is part of what made you who you are today, just as surely as the Grangers have made a part of what you are today, as Skye Corwin has made a part of who you are today." He paused. "Do not bury the part of you that was made during your time as Draco Malfoy," he said softly but with great intensity. "When I was younger, I strove to cut from myself every portion that came from my past, my childhood, my father. I could not, and it drove me to darkness. You chose to turn from a path of darkness, but there are threats other than just dark magic, Draco, that estranging and ignoring a part of yourself may create. Hermione loves all of me, from the angry and vindictive little boy and the cruel man to the new person I have become. Let Skye do the same for you, or a part of yourself will always be missing."

Draco felt his eyes smart with angry tears, and he blinked them back furiously. "I hate them," he hissed.

"Hate can be useful, if controlled," Uncle Severus said neutrally.

"I hated you too," he snarled. "You _promised _you'd be there for me. That I mattered more than anything else. You chose Harry Potter and Hermione Granger over me!"

"No, I chose the future of our world—your world, Draco," Severus said gently. "I am sorry, that it had to be this way. You do not know how much I wished it differently."

_Golly, I got a 'sorry' out of Uncle Severus. Never thought I'd see the day. _"I wanted you at my handfasting," Draco said in a much smaller voice that he had meant. "You were always there, even when I couldn't count on my parents, and I _loved _you like you were my second father, and Daniel Granger isn't the man that used to read to me, and taught me how to race raindrops on a windowpane, and listened to me and told me the unvarnished truth when all the adults told me sugarcoated lies! You should have been there!"

Uncle Severus bowed his head momentarily, and said nothing. Draco felt another surge of anger at how collected the man was. "You should have been there," he repeated when the spurt of emotion had died down and all he felt was weary.

"Draco—I _was," _Uncle Severus told him. He smiled faintly. "I did not think I would be able to, but like a true miracle-worker, Hermione found a way to get me into Hogwarts. I was invisible, but I was there when Daniel told you all I wanted to tell you, Draco, and I was there to witness the blue of your cord and your love."

Draco couldn't speak.

Severus cleared his throat. "I was not able then to reveal myself or to cast the Spell of Blessing on you, Draco, but I would be honoured if you would allow me to do so now."

Draco swallowed. "You were there?"

"Yes."

"I…" he couldn't go on, and it took him a long moment to compose himself, sternly beating down the damned _emotions _that kept bubbling up. "I would be proud to receive the Spell of Blessing from you," he answered formally.

Uncle Severus favored him with another of those faint, genuine smiles that Draco was becoming slowly used to. He reached out to clasp Draco's shoulder in a firm, warm grasp, and then a golden mist enveloped both of them.

_Disbelief, joy, love enough to start—or end—battles. Heart pressing against the chest with pride, with fierce protection. _Imprints of the heart flickered through Draco's soul like lightning, but faster still each truth sank like rainwater into thirsty, parched ground, and Draco learned.

Knew, that his godfather loved him, truly. Knew the grief he had felt at having to break his ties. Knew the heart, and knew that it was truth. It was impossible to explain, what flashed through him like sunlight and joy. A bird spreading its wings in first flight, that moment when the air caught under its feathers and held—a child's first sight of the moon and stars, odd little bits and snippets and cut out shapes of light that hung, as if placed there by a giant to decorate the night—a student's first glimpse of Hogwarts, the castle rising solemn and promising and dignified out of the mists like a vision of the future. Like these sensations, those moments, but different, a shifting, elusive creature of shadow and brightness that in turns dazzled and hid from Draco's dazed eyes in order to escape being pinned down and examined, but solidly real nonetheless. It was as if the Spell of Blessing had somehow lifted the thick curtain but left the second, gauzy material to prove to him that some legend or mythical being like Luna's Nargles were real, but had only been prepared to show him the vague outline of it through the veil.

Dizzy and heady with the small glimpse he had been gifted, Draco barely noticed the glow lessen and finally vanish. He couldn't move, grasping tightly to the truth that filled the empty crack in his heart. Breathing hard as if he had just finished a long race or pulled a Wronski feint, Draco pulled his grey eyes up to meet his godfather's dark ones. All he needed was in a simple nod and a quick tightening of the older man's hand on his shoulder, a reassuring clasp, and then Uncle Severus sat back and sipped once more at his drink, deliberately allowing Draco time to compose himself.

Draco willed his heart to slow, his stomach to stop somersaulting, and his eyes to stop smarting. When he had himself under control once more, he looked back at Severus. The man was gazing at his whisky contemplatively, lost in thought as Severus rarely was. Draco took the opportunity to study the man who had been his godfather, mentor, idol, professor, Head of House—and brother? _If he loves Hermione, who has informed me in so many words that as her parents have taken it upon themselves to adopt me, I am now her brother—yes, we would be brother-in-laws of some sort. _How odd. It was even odder to think of the man who had been his professor—Professor Snape, the intimidating, scathing teacher with expectations somewhere up in residence by the moon and always happy to cut anyone down to size who needed it—in love. In love with _Hermione Granger, _no less! It would have been downright unthinkable as they had both been, Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. Granger had been bright, bubbly, and far too annoying and naïve. _Hermione—_the woman he had come to acknowledge as a sister and appreciate as a fountain of maturity and wisdom beyond her human years—was a 'no, duh' match for his godfather. _When you get past the 'ugh, gross' response, they're so obviously made for each other that you wonder why it took so long to happen. _Uncle Severus, with his reticence and formidable character that exuded a 'leave now' sort of aura, and Hermione Granger with her assuming, go-get-them personality, were perfect for each other. _If they don't kill each other first. _

"Are you going to marry her?"

_Oh, shit. I just said that aloud, didn't I? _

Startled, Severus' eyes shot to Draco, though he was far more in control of his own reflexes than Draco could hope to be since that was all the reaction he got. After a beat in which Draco wished he was anywhere else but there, in front of Severus, the man set his glass down. "How is this any of your business, Draco?" he asked pointedly.

"Uh…I mean…I was just thinking, you know, make an honest woman out of her—I mean, women want marriage and babies and all that—oh, Merlin…" Draco realized that he was stuffing his other foot and possibly his own arse down his throat, and halted abruptly, stammering and inching backwards in his chair.

Severus raised an eyebrow and fixed him with the same look he remembered from years past, the _You Are A Prime Imbecile With Flobberworms for Brains and If You're Not Careful, You'll Be Scrubbing Out Cauldrons Soon. _Then, thankfully, he turned the look off, though the eyebrow remained arched to drive home that Severus was very aware of the impertinence and would not allow Draco to forget it either. "Hermione and I have not discussed it extensively," he said. "I would not marry a woman the day before a battle in which I may be a casualty. That is a coward's cheap trick and I am no coward or cad."

Draco blushed, and hated that he blushed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Sorry. Really sorry. Um." He scrambled for his wits. _Man up, idiot. Are you a Slytherin or are you a Slytherin? _"Well, I'm glad to hear that you're not a cad," he said lamely, and immediately wanted to kick himself for his pathetic response. _Ack, living with Skye's taken all the Slytherin out of me. All her fault I'm in this position right now! I am _so_ making her pay later! _

To Draco's eternal gratitude, Severus only looked amused. "Why thank you, Draco," he quipped with sarcasm. He shook his head. "Your wife has truly taken the Slytherin out of you."

Though he had just been thinking it, Draco protested immediately. "I'm still a Slytherin!" He cried indignantly.

"Oh really."

"No one more cunning than I," Draco boasted.

"Well." Severus' tone became suddenly victorious, and Draco felt a prickle of foreboding. "Perhaps we can test that, then. Shall we?" A long, thin hand waved gracefully at the box that Draco knew held a chess set. _Aw, bollocks. _Draco knew then that he was going to be eating his words shortly, and decided then and there that Skye was going to have a lot to answer for getting him into situations.

**-break-**

Hermione nearly tripped when the summons came.

It was unmistakable, the draw, the certain kind of phantom pressure on her mind whose particular brand of power tasted of nothing she had ever felt from any other magical being. That was rather understandable, considering that the Morrigan was no mere magical being and certainly no human. She happened to be with her parents, discussing the merits of integrating newer innovations and ideas into the Wizarding culture, and she paused mid-sentence.

"I have to go," she said, interrupting herself.

Her parents looked at her with concern. "Sweetheart—what is it?" Jane asked.

"I…there's something I have to do," she said absently as the call began to sparkle through her limbs and make her…itch. She shook her head violently. _I'm coming, I'm coming! _she grumped at the Morrigan/Hogwarts, and had the satisfaction of the lightness retreating just a little. "Sorry, Mum, Daddy." She drained the rest of her tea quickly, glancing outside the window. Sure enough, it was sunset, the sky flaring with dramatic shades of red, orange, and grey-purple. "There's this ritual that needs to happen on Beltane Eve—"

"Hermione Granger, do _not _tell me you are jumping over a fire with Severus," Daniel Granger exclaimed, aghast, shock making him pale.

Hermione choked. "No!" _Oops, _she thought guiltily. _That didn't come out the way I wanted it to. _"No," she repeated, vehemently. "Not that tradition." She made a face. "I don't want children anyway. There's a ritual that some of us need to cast, to help with the defenses on Hogwarts…" _and if I explain more than that, it will take more longer than I have time for right now. Not to mention neither one of you would take kindly to the risks it imposes. _"I can explain later, but I need to go now."

She was already on her feet and at the door as she was speaking, and she gave both her parents hugs. Jane sighed. "Take care, dear. Come find us when you're done."

"Of course," Hermione promised, her mind already where her feet were just starting to take her.

She found Severus and Draco already there, and smiled at Draco as she took her place in silence next to Severus. She did not touch him, but let the corner of her sleeve brush against his. He acknowledged her with a nod, and they continued to wait.

Luna was next, and she came with the Morrigan by her side, strolling as if they were the best of friends. Luna greeted each of them cheerily, seemingly unaffected by the pervading silence that seemed to emanate from the stone-walled room they were in.

"Friends," the Morrigan murmured, the quality of her tone affectionate. "Thank you for your promptness."

"Sorry I'm late," gasped the last person to arrive. Tonks, hair her usual shade of bubble-gum pink and sticking up everywhere, stumbled into the room. She tripped over herself, and grabbed the closest thing she could reach to steady herself. Hermione stifled a giggle that threatened to erupt as Tonks blushed and apologized, and Draco didn't know whether to look affronted or embarrassed as he straightened his robes. "Sorry, sorry," Tonks babbled.

"No need to apologize, child," the Morrigan said, although there was a smile of amusement curving her red lips.

The blush still staining her cheeks, Tonks took her place next to Hermione without further mishap. The Morrigan looked at the assembled witches and wizards with fondness that seemed odd, but not as out of place as it should have been, on her cool beauty.

"This is the magical heart of Hogwarts," the Morrigan said solemnly, scanning the faces of those before her. "The _magical _heart," she emphasized. "Not its true heart. This was the common workroom of the four founders, and where they first cast their spells and created the cornerstones of Hogwarts."

The solemn, still atmosphere had reestablished itself as the Morrigan spoke, her voice echoing off the stone of the bare room. There was no avenue of natural light—not down here, in the deepest part of the dungeons. Instead, stone lamps built into the walls of the place threw a steady glow onto those gathered there, circled around a common-looking enough rock that made up part of the floor. It was large, perhaps the size of a Thestral and an indeterminable blobby shape, as rough-hewn and unfinished as the rest of the stone that formed the floor of the room. In fact, the only thing unique about this rock was that it was located in the middle of the room.

"This is the very foundation stone that Hogwarts castle was built on," the queenly woman said very quietly. "It was the witch known as Helga who found it, among the discarded rubble of another wizard's castle. She, with her unique tie to the earth, saw and knew that upon this stone generations could rest."

Draco was staring at the stone embedded in the floor with fascination, as was Tonks, but Severus was listening with the air of one who has already heard the story, and Hermione narrowed her eyes even as she drank in what the Morrigan was saying. _Where did he hear this before? It isn't in any of the histories, even the more obscure ones, and from the looks of Draco, it wasn't a legend or tale the Pureblood families knew. _

Luna, as usual, remained unruffled. She was not even looking at the stone, but staring dreamily at one of the lamps set in the wall. Hermione turned her attention back to the Morrigan as the woman continued.

"From this common stone, that which had been rejected, the founders created a place that they envisioned as a both a safe haven and a center for learning and education. It is here that we must begin the rituals for the children of Hogwarts to once again hold the cornerstones of this place." Extending a pale, slim hand, the Morrigan whispered a word that Hermione did not recognize. It rang old and primitive—raw with power, and somehow not _human _sounding.

The lights suddenly flickered once and went out, plunging them into darkness. Tonks yelped in surprise and Hermione tensed, wand materializing in her hand. However, the Morrigan's cool voice cut through the dark and paranoia. "Forgive me for the abruptness," she said. "It is necessary for the ritual." Someone—Draco, Hermione thought—huffed, but they all relaxed somewhat. As Hermione's eyes adjusted to the absence of light, the Morrigan spoke again and this time it was with a different quality, with a crystalline otherness to it. The closest Hermione could come in comparison was the brief echo that sometimes followed a powerful wizard or witch's spoken spell—but that was fleeting, and certainly did not taste of the wildness with which Morrigan's words sang.

"Severus Snape, child of Hogwarts, will you accept the bond of the castle that has sheltered you and shielded you?"

"I will," he intoned softly, his dark eyes glittering.

Some internal pressure in the air built. Hermione felt it press like a crucial secret only she knew, against her mind, her skin. She heard herself too agree to the Morrigan's solemn question, and the secret grew, became more sensitive and important. With each voice added to the chorus, the internal storm built and when Tonks finally made her consent, Hermione could barely hear her for the pressure against her ears. But she was able to hear the Morrigan as clearly as a spell.

"Consent has been sought—consent freely given. The children of Hogwarts stand with Hogwarts, and the four cornerstones are raised!"

Streams of a primal language poured from the Morrigan's lips, words that sounded nothing like any human language, a sharp and discordant sound like glass and crystal forcefully pelting against each other, and yet not shattering. Hermione somehow knew that this was no language that had ever been shaped by a mortal's tongue, and that only a few had ever heard it either. As the din continued, the magic glowed brightly and outlined each and every one of them with pitiless clarity. Hermione had the uncomfortable sensation of being examined minutely and judged, as if many eyes were turning over every decision she had made, thought she'd had, and path she'd chosen. The strain on the faces of her companions told her that they were undergoing the same scrutiny, and she was hyperaware of how still Severus stood, rigid and unmoving, beside her.

And then the power—burst. Hermione was caught up in the rush, feeling something intensely intimate coming to rest within her that pulsed with _life _that was not her own, nor human. And yet close enough to human to be able to reside within her. It was an awareness, almost a sixth sense that operated independent of her mind and on par with her will. She wasn't sure if she heard, or imagined, the whisper that brushed by her ear. _Hold the cornerstone. Be strong, wise woman._

_I will, _she thought, and slowly the sense of otherness and wild magic faded away with the light, until she was once again fully aware of her surroundings, the dazed expressions of her companions, and the savagely satisfied one of the Morrigan.

"So mote it be," the icily pale woman said, her voice now entirely human and normal again. It seemed to break the silence, and Tonks huffed out a breath.

"Some trip," she commented, and Hermione noticed that Tonks' hair was her natural brown. When had that happened? Even as she watched, the pink came back. "Well, its been pleasant and all, but Remus is waiting for me." She nodded at all of them. "See you in action," she bid farewell, eyes sparkling with a hard, determined light.

Draco left next, murmuring his goodbyes. His grey eyes were already distant, and it wasn't hard to tell that he was already with Skye as he hurried out. Hermione turned to look at Severus. He looked steadily back at her. A long, silent moment passed between them. _I have to find my parents first._

_Do as you should. I will meet you in our rooms._

_I love you._

_And I, you. _

She briefly touched his elbow, a butterfly's brush, and then left, nodding to the Morrigan and to Luna.

The Morrigan watched her raven watch his love. She was not surprised when he turned to her. "White Witch," he said.

She smiled at his use of the informal name she had worn as the portrait guardian of the Slytherin dormitories for so long. "Raven," she responded.

"The outcome of the battle will also affect your chances of regaining what was once yours," he noted, and she was not surprised that he had somehow worked out at least a little of what she was and what her motivation was.

"It will," she acknowledged. "I have no doubt you will be victorious. I have done what I can to prevent the cost from being too high. The rest must be carried out by mortal hands."

"It has been an honor to know you," he said to her.

"And the same of you, Severus. Live. Live, and be with your lady." She curtseyed, only the second time she had ever curtseyed to him. The first time had been when she had named him a child of Hogwarts.

He bowed, a courtly motion, and left without a backward glance.

The Morrigan sighed softly. "If I were what I was, I would have exerted myself to invite him to my bed," she mused.

"And goddess or no, Hermione would have destroyed you for it," Luna spoke.

The Morrigan laughed musically. "True, sister," she agreed. "I would not venture against such a woman. It is well then, that I did not proposition Severus."

"Probably," Luna nodded seriously. Then she looked at the Morrigan. "Will you be all right?"

"They have no care for their vessel, but that they are viewed," the Morrigan said wearily, the mantle of power she had worn for the oath earlier now completely gone. She was just another tired woman. "Even an immortal such as I grow fatigued by the press of the visions."

"It must be worse for you. You see much further into the future and its possibilities."

"It is…unpleasant. But it will not be I who fights on the morrow," she responded. "Little sister, you have far more courage than I. I wish you all my abundant blessings. You deserve a life long with joy and love."

Luna bowed her head momentarily, smiled up at the Morrigan, and floated out. The Morrigan spoke another word in the empty room, and the lights extinguished. She sat there for a long time in the darkness.

**A.N.: My dear readers, if you still exist. I apologize whole-heartedly and abase myself before you for having left this story untouched and un-updated for **_**months, **_**especially this close to the end of it. I am so sorry. This semester, I was basically working full-time student teaching as well as taking classes. Today, I received my diploma and graduated from college. **

**I want to thank you all for having stuck with me this far, and I promise that this summer I will finish this darn story, epilogue and all! We're close, so close, and I now have time to finish writing the last of it. **

**Please forgive me for any mistakes you may find, as always. **


	103. Chapter 103

**Disclaimer: Hey look, I've written this disclaimer 103 times! **

Tonight, neither Ginny nor Harry bothered to sneak around to get some privacy together. Nor did Ginny feel any guilt or shame when they left the dwindling group in the Common Room together, to some wolf whistles and one very vicious, threatening glare from her brother. She and Harry had done their best to be discreet in their relationship as was possible, considering her many older brothers and his status as automatic gossip material. Tonight was different—tonight, no one (except, possibly, Ron) was going to fault their openness. No one wanted to risk not holding on to the last moments of false peace before tomorrow, and Harry most of all would be in the very thick of the danger.

"I feel bad for Ron," Harry said out of the blue, murmuring against her ear. No need for talking loudly when they were cuddled together, after all.

"Because he thinks we're doing the dirty?" Ginny asked, with a little giggle.

Harry's huff blew hot against her ear for a moment. "We're not?" He laughed when she elbowed him sharply. "Ow, ow, okay Gin, sorry," he puffed, rubbing his injured ribs.

"Did you notice though, that tonight everyone seems to have paired off?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "Mum and Dad, obviously. Dean and Padma—they left just before we did. George and Angelina. Fred and Alicia. Neville and Hannah, don't they make a great pair? Neville's really come into his own, don't you agree?"

Harry nodded. "He's like a solid brick wall with impenetrable defenses," he agreed. "He's one of our best duelers. I'd have him on my side any day over a whole lot of the Aurors."

Ginny continued. "Katie Bell and Justin Finch-Flechley, although to be honest I don't think they'll last very long." _Other than the obvious we-have-no-idea-who's-going-to-survive-tomorrow deal. _"They're just not very suited to each other. Let's see…."

"Not just in our House too. The other Houses—most everyone's paired off, even if it's just for the night."

Ginny could think of several people in fact who had not paired off as the evening wore off, but she refrained from mentioning them. She could see where Harry was coming from. "I see your point. Everyone's paired up, but Ron still seems to be…missing something. Or someone. Even Hermione and Prof…er...Snape."

Harry made a gagging noise. "Please, can you refrain from discussing Hermione and…_him_...in bed?"

It was an impish mischief that made Ginny say, "Discuss Hermione and Snape while we're in bed, or discuss Hermione and Snape in bed together?"

"_Gah!"_

Ginny grinned. "She's really happy with him, you know."

"I know," Harry said sulkily. "Doesn't make it any less…"

"Less hard to accept." Ginny sighed. "Yeah. It's weird. But watching them together…and they way they defend each other…they love each other."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Ginny took the hint. "So, Ron…"

"You're a girl, can't you match-make him with someone nice?" Harry asked, a little plaintively.

Ginny choked, and then let the laughter bubble out. "Why don't _you _do it if you're so keen, Yenta?"

"I'm a boy!"

"Sexist. Men can—and too often, _do—_meddle in other people's affairs."

"You're his sister."

"True. Point," she conceded. "Well, it's rather too late for it now. Maybe after…" she trailed off.

"After tomorrow." Harry finished flatly. He tugged her closer, and Ginny felt almost too warm with the combined body heat and the blankets piled on top of them. It didn't stop the cold of fear from paralyzing her bones with frost. "Are you scared, Gin?"

"Terrified," she admitted. "I'm wondering why I'm not fleeing right now, jumping on the nearest Thestral and flying far, far away."

"Me too." Harry absently stroked a hand down her arm. "I never wanted to fight. I mean, I did, when I hated everyone and everything that had taken all I loved away from me. But when I came back from wherever it is that Li pulled me back from, when we did the _familia _bond…" he trailed off. "It just doesn't seem right, all this senseless death," he finally whispered.

Ginny scooted up the pillow a little, just enough to kiss the tip of Harry's nose. "You will be ending those senseless, stupid, bloody deaths tomorrow, Harry—I know you and I have faith that you will win, because you are too stubborn to allow the cycle to continue. It ends tomorrow because you love too much to let another person be burdened with the realities of war and it will never end until you stop Tom Riddle."

It was what Harry needed to hear, and he sighed, a deep long quiet exhalation.

"Do you-"

"I-"

They spoke simultaneously, and stopped. Ginny laughed a little. "You go."

"No, you go," Harry protested.

"It's not important."

"Neither's mine."

They lay in the awkward quiet for a beat or three and then Ginny snorted. "This is ridiculous. I was going to ask if you regret…you know." She stopped, but Harry didn't understand where she was going, not even with her significant glance. _Boys, _she thought exasperatedly, and wished for an instant that Hermione was here so she could exchange one of those superior girl looks with her. Except, of course, Hermione was probably far too busy making love with her own boy—er, man—er—Snape, to want to be watching two of her friends curled up together in bed. _Okay, weird. As much as I tease Harry about it, I have to agree with him that Hermione and Snape together—_picturing _them together—is just Merlin's beard awkward and weird. _They didn't even hold hands, or touch each other really, or even spend that much time together except their evenings and nights, of course. Not that she could imagine _Snape _holding hands with someone. Actually, to be honest, she couldn't imagine Hermione holding hands with anyone either. Oh, she was perfectly find hugging and interacting with other people, but in the past year there had developed that sort of reserved air that Ginny had frankly admired about her friend. It wasn't exactly snooty or haughty, just…unconscious dignity. How she carried herself, almost regal but in a warmer way, like she as an adult among children, or a queen among her people. _McGonagall, _she thought with a hint of surprise. _Something like Professor McGonagall, that same bearing of confidence that isn't cocksure, but tested and tried and found true. Only in a Hermione fashion, bossy, caring, and all. _And wasn't it interesting, Ginny observed, that Hermione had only blossomed into the full manifestation of her queenly womanhood in a way that spoke of her comfort in her own skin last summer and onwards, during which time she must have fallen in love with…with Snape? Ginny's sharp mind hadn't forgotten an instance of un-Hermione-like behavior last summer, though it seemed forever ago, when she'd first seem what Hermione could do to a pair of house slippers (gorgeous, gorgeous gold heels!) and the older girl had spoken about a man, and his attraction to a false visage she wore for Order business.

All very clear now, in hindsight, just exactly whom Hermione was talking about and how the initial stages of sexual tension had been sowed…and she just did _not _want to go there.

And she was digressing, and none of her analyses on Hermione was going to help her with the question she had for Harry, so Ginny pushed all of her random thoughts aside. "Do you, have you ever regretted…me? Us?"

"Never!" Harry exclaimed, shocking her breathless with his unexpected fierceness. He took a breath and softened his tone and volume, but she heard the steel and fire loud and clear still. "Ginny, I have never and will never regret you, or us. I love you. I don't tell you enough, and you deserve much more than I can give you, but you're the best thing in my life. Even if I could somehow trade my life with someone, get rid of that awful _thing _hanging over my head—Voldemort, the prophecy—it's all worth it, God made up for it with you. I'd never exchange my life because you're in it. Sometimes I wonder if _you _regret falling in with _me, _you know. I've put you in danger just by—"

"I've never felt a twinge of regret for being with you, except for to pity the girls who aren't with you because I sure as Merlin am not sharing," Ginny interrupted. "I'd be just as much in danger and a whole lot poorer by not being loved by you, not having the chance to love you like this, if I hadn't 'fallen in with you'. Although it's more like I lured you in, you know. Ask any one of my family. I've had grand plans to marry the famous Harry Potter since I was a baby and have three kids—exactly three, because then they can band together and fight with each other but no more so no one gets lost in the crowd and no less because it might get lonely—and we'd live happily ever after and beyond."

Harry finally laughed, then. "Yes, I rather recall an instance—was it last Christmas?—when Fred and George decided to explain in detail the minutiae of your master plan that you came up with when you were four."

"I was four and a half, and I planned for us to meet at some grand ball or party, you'd dance with me we'd never find out each other's names because we would be so enraptured by each other…"

"And then I would hunt for the mysterious, beautiful lady everywhere and not be able to find her…"

"Until one day you found out that there was a vampire or Inferi or ghoul attack in Diagon Alley, and you immediately Apparated there to fight off the creatures of darkness and found me trapped in a store, fighting valiantly against the hordes…"

"And I'd swoop in and help you dispatch the villain and rescue you and realize, in the middle of the destruction and blood, that you were the mysterious princess…"

"And I'd curtsy and thank you for rescuing me…"

"And I'd ask for the honor of knowing your name…"

"Ginevra, kind Sir."

"Lady Ginevra, you are as lovely as you are brave. You have helped save the Wizarding World from the forces of evil."

"It was no more than anyone can do in these dark times. Oh! You are hurt."

"I was wounded, but the sight of you is as good as healing. Lady—"

"Sir, I am but a poor maiden, far from the title of lady. Please, let me bind up your wounds."

"Thank you, Lady Ginevra. For a lady you are, in bearing and in looks. A lady is far more than birth or blood. A lady is defined by her heart, the heart of a pure, gentle, and courageous woman such as you."

"I am…unworthy," she faltered.

"You are priceless," he contradicted. "Lady Ginevra, I have searched high and low for the maiden who stole my heart weeks ago, unable to eat or sleep for love. You are she, and now that I have found you I would that we may never be parted. Will you marry me?"

"And I'd say yes," Ginny whispered, tears glimmering on her eyelashes. "And we'd live…"

"Happily ever after," Harry concluded for her. "I know that I can't guarantee happily ever after when I can't even promise an after tomorrow, and I can't be as full of brilliant things to say at the right time and the right place like you dreamed me, but…" he clasped her hand in both of his, drew it up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. Just like her childhood fantasy. "Lady Ginny, I have been searching high and low for the maiden who stole my heart years ago. You are she, and now that I've found you I never want to be parted from you. Will you marry me?"

It was, she thought, perfect. Better than perfect. Better than the childish dreams of romance and high adventure she'd cooked up as a little girl, because this was _Harry, _not some idol, and the awkward little smile on his face, the messy unruliness of his hair, the charming way he had slid into role-playing her girlhood dreams, just for her, down to the stupid little speeches—_Merlin, _he was way far better than perfect, and her heart clenched with love for him. "Yes," she whispered, just as the poor but noble Lady Ginevra had whispered it in her head to the brave young hero. But it was Harry she whispered it to. "Yes, oh yes, Harry." And the tears came along with the joy as she kissed him. And the fact that neither one of them knew if they even had an after, let alone a happily ever, was no match for the love that wrapped around them both, like a protective blanket.

So the young man who lived and the lady he loved did live happily ever after, for the one night they could possess together.

**-break-**

Luna fumbled, grasping with both of her clammy hands to where the amulet that the White Witch had given her burned cold as the ice it was. It was a terrible thing, to _See _things that no one else did, to live them in an instant and know that it might happen—to a friend, a stranger, a professor, someone from a different world. The Morrigan's gift had shielded her from the worst of it, but now, so close to battle, so close to death, visions pressed thick and close against her eyes and demanded entry.

Faint screams, the flashes of curses, a cold that crept into the bones. Luna grit her teeth in an uncharacteristic snarl. She would _not _be controlled by the visions! Slowly, excruciatingly, knowing that to push them all back would probably create backlash against herself, she did the next best thing and visualized a tiny hole to let in the intense light, as her mother had taught her as a young child. No sooner than the image solidified that the first sight came streaming through, hissing viciously to flood her mind.

She bore it, eyes unseeing, as vision after vision came through the small hole she'd formed. Finally, her strength gave out and she used the last of it to seal off the hole. With the pressure lessened on the other side, the rest of the visions subsided for now, muttering angrily in a language Luna could almost understand. Her sight cleared, and she stared at the blank ceiling above her with some relief, glad that she hadn't succumbed to the madness this time.

Some of what she had seen might happen. Many might not. Luna wearily sorted through them, instantly discarding those she could do nothing about. It was a Seer's greatest burden, to _know _and be unable to do anything about it. But some…for just a tiny handful, Luna could, perhaps, influence just enough to change the outcome. She couldn't directly do so, of course. There were rules against that. But sometimes, the right word at the right time, even—or especially—from her rather loony person, might just be enough.

Lavender was alone in the Room of Requirement, and she was battling with three Death Eater dummies. Luna stepped into a corner and watched quietly, and knew that Lavender knew that she was there. But the other girl did not stop. Did not stop, in fact, until she'd disabled one dummy, blown another up into so much stuffing, and taken out the last one in a heart-stopping move that opened her up for the dummy to 'kill' her as well.

When all three had vanished and they were alone once more in an empty room, Luna clapped politely. Lavender winced as she got up and limped over to Luna. "Do you know any healing spells?" she asked flatly in a voice completely unlike the bubbly girl.

Luna nodded, and Lavender motioned for her to go ahead. "I'd usually do it myself, but there's a disadvantage towards healing yourself—I can never tell if I've overdone it or not."

"Yes, that would be hard," Luna agreed solemnly. "_Episkey." _

"Thanks." Lavender casually _Scourgified _the bloodstain off her robes and tucked her wand into her sleeve, where they all had arm holsters, courtesy of Harry. "What did you think?"

"You were playing with them at first. That's why at the end, you were too tired to avoid the last dummy's final spell," Luna said honestly.

Lavender's face blackened for a moment, and then abruptly cleared. She laughed without humor. "Leave it to you to tell it like it is," she said. "All right, yeah, sure. So what if I was? I got them all in the end."

Luna refrained from saying anything, but it appeared that Lavender would not leave it alone. She began to pace quickly, angrily. "It's not like they deserved a quick death anyway," she exclaimed. "They ought to feel some pain before they die. They _deserve _it, for P…" she stopped speaking abruptly. Silence fell. Luna hummed a bit of a ditty that her mother had liked to sing while gardening. Lavender looked defiant. Luna continued to hum.

Finally, Lavender broke the quiet again, and this time her tone was unbearably bitter. "She loved me, you know." Luna cocked her head to one side dreamily and listened to the other girl. "Parvati. She told me, two weeks before…before that _bitch _killed her." Words were flying thick and fast from her now, as if a seal had been broken and nothing could stop her thoughts from pouring out now. "She told me, and then she kissed me. I told her…" Lavender's voice broke. "I told her to get out. I said that she was unnatural, that I didn't like girls _that_ way and I definitely didn't like her. I made her cry." Lavender herself was crying now. Luna knew that if she reached out to comfort the other girl, somehow it would break Lavender entirely, so she held back and stayed silent.

"I avoided her after that. Kept away, pretended not to hear her or see her. I was dating Ron then, and I told him that we had had an argument. He let me spend most of my time with him, so that I could avoid her. I kept avoiding her…and then…and then she was _dead _and I didn't _need _to avoid her anymore." Lavender turned away, and as if angry that her long brown hair wasn't down to shield her face, reached up and yanked hard at the tie off her ponytail.

Luna observed the curly and slightly sweaty hair tumble down thoughtfully. "You were scared," she said gently.

"I was _horrid," _said Lavender furiously. "She was my best friend, but she died thinking that I _hated _her."

"You loved her too," Luna murmured to the ceiling. "Just a different kind of love. You were scared to hurt her, and scared to hurt yourself with the truth."

"She was like the sister I never had," she choked out. "I didn't…I didn't know she liked _girls _that way…she'd always agreed with me about which boys were cute and joined in when we talked about which ones we'd most like to snog. She dated as much as I did!"

"She was trying to blend in. She was afraid too," Luna told Lavender without an inflection.

"Oh, _Merlin…" _Lavender dropped to her knees and clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shuddering. _Now, _Luna knelt and placed a hand on the other girl's back, rubbing soothingly. Lavender lost her battle with her stomach and threw up, heaving and lurching. Luna held her curly hair back for her, and when it seemed that the girl was done, efficiently _Scourgified _the floor and asked the Room to provide. A bowl of warm water and a soft cloth beside it appeared on the floor. Luna rolled up her sleeves and plunged the towel into the water, turning to Lavender and quietly wiping the traces of vomit from the girl's mouth.

A glass of water and a Calming Draught later, Lavender was sitting, arms wrapped around her knees, leaning back with her eyes closed against the wall of the Room. Luna hummed her mother's gardening song, picking up where she'd left off previously. A rough voice broke into her contemplations.

"I really liked Ron, you know. But I just couldn't…I couldn't. Every time I was with him, I saw _her, _accusing me, staring at me. I couldn't do that to her, not when she died loving me and thinking I hated her." Luna slowed her song, twirling a strand of her pale hair on a finger.

"So, I picked a fight with Ron and broke up with him. That made me more guilty, because I think he really liked me too. But he didn't understand, and I couldn't tell him about…about Parvati."

"She wouldn't want you to put yourself needlessly in danger," Luna said suddenly.

Lavender's eyes opened. Luna held her gaze serenely. "She wouldn't want you to blame yourself, or hold all that hate in your heart. It isn't good for your health, and the Nargles don't like it," she said. "You don't have to die to prove that you loved her too, like a sister. She already knows."

"How would _you _know what she thinks?" Lavender asked furiously, eyes blazing.

Luna shrugged and smiled meditatively. "The Nargles told me. They liked to swarm around her when she was here."

"You're loony and you don't know anything," spat Lavender.

Luna shrugged again, and stood, brushing her robes out. She skipped to the door and opened it, then looked back. "You know, Ron's alone in the Gryffindor common room now and he'd enjoy your company. You shouldn't let the past keep you from love," Luna said seriously. Then she smiled at the sitting girl and skipped out, humming once more.

**-break-**

Ron sat alone in the Common Room, watching the dying fire, and mused.

He wondered briefly if the _entire _school was wrapped up in the arms of someone they loved right now. It certainly felt that way. It was a lonely feeling, one he was uncomfortable examining or evaluating like Hermione might have done. Still, he was okay with it. _They've found love, or something close enough to it for a night—maybe their last night on earth. Why shouldn't they take comfort in it? _Statistically, he knew that it was a natural phenomenon for an unusually high rate of pairings when one was about to go to war or battle. Strategically, he knew it was as sound a morale booster as the best one he might be able to contrive. One night spent with another willing person, even if all you did was talk and exchange a bit of a snog or some body heat, was worth a lot more in making someone fight harder and more desperately, and much better than one who had done without.

_So why aren't you with someone, then, mate? _his mind chirped. He dismissed it. No use brooding. Once, he might have sulked—okay, now too. A long time ago, he might have even dreamt that Hermione were here with him. But the time when he had liked Hermione…_like_ like, anyway, was long gone and in its place was the simple warmth of plain friendship. You can't fight a troll together and not emerge as friends for life, after all. Not to mention he was pretty damn sure that Snape would castrate him, and _worse, _if he renewed even a hint of interest in Hermione…

Ron shuddered. Snape's wrath was not any less diminished from the time when he had cast a long shadow as the Potions Professor. If anything, it had only increased. _No, I'll leave that field to him, as long as he treats my girl right. _And so far, it seemed as if he considered Hermione some sort of rare glass. _Or not. She's certainly fair more likely to break me than to shatter herself. More like, a really old and expensive book or something, like that original copy of Shake-speer's First Folio. Couldn't believe my ears when she told me how much it was going for…no _book _should be worth over four million galleons, ever! _

Hermione's eyes had been glazed over with something far too akin to…ugh…_lust, _as she had talked about the surviving copies of "The Master Bard's life work," as she had put it. He'd had to scrub his mind of the unwanted image of Hermione panting after the old book, and he grimaced involuntarily now, hurriedly banishing it from his mind. One did not need to _ever _think of his sister in _that way! _

_Yeah, he treats her like a book-lover might treat some book like that, _he thought when he had finally gotten rid of the nausea. _Precious, but meant to be read and loved and poured over. Good thing too because I'd have to pound him if he ever, you know, hurt her, and I think I'd probably just end up some greasy smear on the floor if I tried. _

_Bah. _Sad, but true.

Because thinking about Hermione and Snape, despite the fact that he knew that they were good for each other, because—well, who wasn't the better for Hermione? and she seemed happy, really happy and the most centered she'd ever been, with him—made him a little nervous and uncomfortable, Ron cast his mind around for something else to think about.

He wondered where Lavender was. He wasn't in love with her or anything. It had been over a year since she had dumped him. But sometimes, he wondered. She'd always made him feel stronger than he was, like he was man enough to protect her. When you got past the giggling (and in the last few weeks before she had abruptly tossed him over, it _had _felt as if they were connecting on a deeper level) she was a very down-to-earth person. Completely girly, of course, and absolutely nothing like Hermione. She wasn't smart like Hermione either, not that anyone was as smart as Hermione. But she had a good heart, a caring one. She'd told him her childhood dream once, when they were still dating, giggling infectiously at herself as she did.

"_I wanted to be, like, super mother," she laughed, laying back in the grass and looking up at the blue sky. He plucked random bits of grass and listened with a smile on his face as he watched a curl fall from her face. "I thought I'd have four of my own children, two boys and two girls, and then I'd adopt a whole bunch more. My husband would support us and come home every night to a row of happy faces and children and me."_

_Ron winced, and she picked up the shadows of his movement and giggled again. "I know, unrealistic, right?"_

"_Poor man, supporting that many mouths," he said before he remembered that his job was to be nice, not to put his foot in his mouth. "Uh…"_

_Thankfully, Lav didn't take offense. "Yeah," she agreed instead. "But to my childish mind there was no need for money."_

"_What's your dream now?" he asked, hoping to cultivate a more sensitive-boyfriend persona and erase his mistake. Girls liked it when you asked about them and listened to them, right?_

"_I still want lots of babies!" Lav grinned, wrinkling her nose at him, eyes half-shut from the sun. He thought she looked rather adorable that way, sort of like a kitten just waking up. "I don't know, really." She sighed. "With things the way they are…"_

_She didn't need to mention the tension that the return of Voldemort had caused. Nothing had erupted yet, but it was only a matter of time before it did. Harry had assured him of that fact, and just looking at all the pieces poised at each other's throats, it wasn't hard to believe him._

_He scrambled to find something to say that would banish the cloud that seemed to have dropped over them, taking away the brightness and laughter in Lav's face. "Um…maybe you could…I don't know…start some sort of home for orphaned children?" he queried, remembering Harry's awful relatives. "If what Harry says is true, I think we're going to see a lot more children who need homes and an adult to take care of them and stuff, and not everyone's lucky enough to have loving relatives willing to take them in."_

_Lav sat up, and stared at him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "It was just an idea…"_

"_A brilliant beyond brilliant one!" she exclaimed. "Only you, darling Ron, could have thought of such a…a brilliant plan!" Her eyes were a little wet and he hoped she wouldn't actually cry. "Oh, Ronnie, you're such a wonderful person, to think of those who will need someone to love and care for them…those who've lost their families to You-Know-Who…"_

_He was pretty sure he was blushing as red as a lobster, and the back of his neck felt hot, but he beamed at her, glad to have redeemed himself and put a smile back on her face. "And, you know, accidents happen, right? Even if this…thing…blows over fast, there's still need for a home with someone like you always welcoming anyone in need of shelter, right?"_

_She clapped her hands rapturously. "Ron-Ron, I think you've come up with a fabulous idea!" She leaned over and planted a wet smack on his lips. "You're the best boyfriend ever!" _

_Pleased with himself, he settled down to listen to her sketch castles in the air._

Despite himself, Ron smiled now at the memory. It had been one of the last times they had spent alone together as a couple untainted by the explosive, devastating fallout of Dumbledore's death. That summer had plunged him into the beginning of adulthood and the full extent of war, and he hadn't had time for romance—and she'd been grieving for her best friend, Parvati. And then school had started again and scant weeks in, she had dumped him.

_It's for the best. You wouldn't have been able to accomplish everything you needed to do for the war if she'd been there as a distraction. _

Ron sighed. It was getting late, and there was no use indulging in old memories anyway. It would be more productive to simply go to bed and get the rest he would need for tomorrow. Standing, stretching, and wincing as his back popped and a knee cracked, he turned towards the stairs.

"Ron?"

At first he thought he was hallucinating the voice from having just spent a good fifteen minutes thinking about her, but when he turned around, it really was Lavender at the portrait entrance. She'd just come in, it seemed. She looked freshly scrubbed, which was odd since she was coming _into _the dorms, not out, but Ron didn't take the time to puzzle it out as she was staring at him with an odd expression on her face and seemed to be waiting for his response.

"Hey, Lav," he replied as casually as he was able. "Heading to bed. You should too. Long day tomorrow and, uh, all that."

"I know." She was still staring at him. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight."

"Take some Dreamless Sleep," he suggested, growing more and more fidgety under her oddly intense eyes.

"I don't like drugs, remember?" she said a little tartly.

"Yeah. Sorry." He shoved his hands into his pockets awkwardly. A long silence followed, in which all of Ron's thoughts seemed to fly out of his head before he could think them, like a flock of pigeons that's been roused. Examining her surreptitiously, Ron didn't like what he saw. Lavender looked worn, a little grim and grey with sadness. Her shoulders were too thin, and her face a little more hollow than it had been. There was no laughter dancing across her features or hidden in her body language or playing on her lips or peeking from her eyes like it ought to. "Are you okay?" he blurted out as worry overrode wariness. "You look…"

"Just tired," she sighed. "Just…tired." She gave him a ghost of a smile. "I never apologized for being a right bitch to you," she said abruptly. He blinked.

"Ah…"

"I'm sorry. For hurting you. I was stupid and…stupid. And mean."

"S'all right," he reassured her automatically. "Old news, I guess."

"Yeah." She looked down. Silence again.

Finally they both broke the silence at the same time.

"Are you—"

"I think—"

Both of them stopped, flushing. Ron, resigned to his red face, gestured to her to go first. She shook her head. "It's okay, you go."

"No, it was nothing important. Ladies first."

She hesitated visibly, the odd look he couldn't place back on her face. Then she seemed to resolve something. "Screw it," she growled, an odd and out of place sound in her usually sweet voice, strode over to him, fisted a hand in his shirt and yanked him down to meet her lips.

Their kiss was short, breathless, and a firestorm. Panting, dazed and confused, Ron stared at Lavender. "L...Lav?"

"I messed up. I don't expect you to just take me back—I know there's too much junk. But just for tonight…please? I don't want to be alone, and I miss you," she whispered pleadingly, sounding not at all like the girl who had just kissed his brains out with her demanding mouth.

His heart softened. It was as if that had been all he needed to hear. _I don't want to be alone and I miss you. _"I've missed you too," he murmured, and pulled her back in. They would have this one night, and after tomorrow, they would see what they could make of their messed up relationship—he would sort out why she'd dumped him, and find a way to make her laugh again. Yeah, he wanted to hear her laugh again.

**-break-**

Draco watched his beautiful, amazing _wife _prepare for bed, taking comfort in the nightly routine. She always took longer, and seemed to linger forever on each task—utilizing her various potions and creams, completing her last set of stretch-exercises the specialist at St. Mungo's had shown her, brushing out her long hair…he'd asked her impatiently once why she took so much time and effort into an everyday occurrence. She'd given him a _look, _and shut him up by stating flatly that it grounded her, reminded her that she _was _able to touch, to feel, to have a physical presence in the world. That she still existed, and wasn't still a wisp of a spirit unable to affect what was around her.

_And yet if she hadn't been that spirit, I'd have probably died last year either by one side or the other, a casualty of the war. _The guilt was for the most part suppressed, but Draco knew—couldn't help being thankful for—felt guilty for it—that the worst thing that had ever happened to Skye was also the best thing that had happened to Draco because it had set the course that eventually led to her becoming his wife. That the tragic horror she'd experienced was partially his fault in the first place, for the marriage contract Lucius had sent to the Corwins.

Irony of ironies! Draco once wondered what would have happened if the Corwins had accepted the contract. He didn't think Skye would have agreed meekly to it. And it would have caused her to resent him. _I cannot imagine a life without Skye in it, _Draco thought, watching Skye rub scented cream on one leg. His body reacted automatically as he watched the slow, sensual movements but he stayed quietly lying on the bed. This was Skye's time, when she needed to be alone in her thoughts. That she allowed him to be in the same room as her was enough.

It had seemed to take forever before, when he had been beside himself to touch her, to press against the reality of her warmth and the delicate sweetness of vanilla scent. Now, it was over too fast. Before he could register, Skye had blinked and looked up, her long eyes heavily lidded and dreamy. She slipped out of her chair, not bothering to adjust her thin dressing gown which had twisted a little around her waist, and held something out to him.

"Will you brush my hair?" she asked softly—tonight was naturally hushed, as if the castle itself was observing a moment of peace before the storm.

Draco took the wooden-handled brush from her, and she sat, the bed barely sinking down underneath her. "Tell me if I brush too hard," he warned her just as quietly before he began the unusual task, fumbling a little before he fell into a rhythm.

Each brushstroke was hypnotizing in the liquid firelight that flickered gold and shadow on Skye's skin. He uncertainly inched the stiff bristles through the tangles that the day's efforts had woven in her hair, gaining confidence as Skye gradually relaxed under his inexpert hands. Soon he was gliding the brush through her smooth, straight hair with ease, encountering no more knots. He kept up the even strokes though, watching as Skye sighed a little with pleasure, angling her head for him to access all of her scalp. "My mum used to brush my hair," she murmured, sounding half-asleep. "She said that my grandma had the same hair, and would let her brush it sometimes. 'My one crowning beauty,' my grandma used to joke. They were an arranged marriage—my grandma and grandpa."

"I thought your family didn't…" Draco asked tentatively.

"Mmm. You're forgetting your family genealogies already," Skye said. "The Corwins aren't perhaps the most illustrious family, but we've been all Purebloods since the great schism and the Statute of Secrecy was established. There were some dubious blips where the child of two Muggleborns married into our family—that was Lilia Corwin who became my great-great-grandmother, but never anything outrageous enough to cause a scene. My grandparents and my great-grandparents were still very Pureblood-minded, though they preached tolerance and acceptance."

"I recall now—they were part of the Magical Beings Allegiance, correct? The Pureblood faction that asserted that as superiors, Purebloods should be held accountable for the fair and gentle treatment of the lower class Muggleborns?"

"Yes, they were. My dad said that he and Aunt Dani literally watched their parents fall in love throughout their marriage. They hadn't known a thing about each other really until they were betrothed. It worked out for my grandparents but my dad wanted something more. He eventually became of the same mind as the Weasleys, that blood didn't matter a whit."

Draco furrowed his forehead. "Your mother is Pureblood, though."

"Dad happened to fall in love with her," Skye laughed. "It was entirely by coincidence, he said."

"Do you miss your family?"

He could have kicked himself for the sudden question. He _knew _the answer—he had watched the old pain steal across her face too many times when she remembered them and remembered their absence. But she did not cry, though she put up a hand to halt his brushstrokes. She turned around, meeting his bleak, apologetic gaze with a serious one of her own.

"I miss them every day." Skye's voice trembled. "I miss them like…like someone missing a limb might miss it. You learn to adjust to the absence of it, to doing without but there will always be the empty space where it should be and isn't. But I also know that they would be proud of me, of my life and the choices I've made. They would have stood by every one of them, and they would have supported me. I still have their love, and that's the most important. And Draco, I can't miss all of my family because you're my family, part of it, and you're right here."

Draco felt another quivering tangle in his chest ease in a flood that washed his uncertainty and his guilt away. "I…I'm glad to be a Corwin," he replied inadequately.

She took pity on him and changed the subject, moving away from the intensity he both feared and craved. "What will we do after this war?" she wondered aloud. "If we survive, I think I'd like to go back to my parents' graves to visit. I want to…it sounds silly but I want to introduce you to them. That's silly of me, isn't it?"

"No, no," he reassured her quickly. "Not at all. I think we should definitely pay your parents a visit."

She smiled gratefully at him. "Then after that…I don't know. I don't know. This war's been our entire lives for so long that I don't know what to do after."

Draco pondered, recognizing the truth of her words. It was as if the war was so real that nothing else—no dream, no future, no plans could be anything more than a vague mist beyond tomorrow. Still, he strained for those pale visions, trying to see clear. "Finish our education, I suppose," he finally said though he was dissatisfied with his own answer. "Get jobs. Go on with life." He paused. _Is that really all we're fighting for? To have ordinary lives? Graduate, get a career, live another hundred years, maybe have a couple children? _"Live."

"Live," Skye agreed. "But something more. I think we should agree to do something entirely crazy and fun and completely unrelated to…duty or responsibility. Something just for you and me. An adventure we can look forward to."

"Uh…" Draco searched for a half-way reasonable response. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Skye whined. "Why do I have to do all the thinking around here?"

"Because your wonderful loving amazing husband is too busy to think of these mundane minutiae of life," he informed her snootily.

"More like because you weren't just dropped on your head as a baby, you were thumped repeatedly against a brick wall," she shot back.

"Ouch," he winced. Dramatically, he placed a hand against his chest. "That hurt, honey."

"Getting thumped against a wall does tend to be painful," she agreed mock seriously, and squealed as she found herself being smothered by the comforter. "Mmff—Draco!"

"This…will teach…you—_huh—_a lesson," he growled between pants, breathlessly. "Disrespectful wench!"

"Not my fault you're slower on the uptake than me," she protested, giggling helplessly and spitting out a mouthful of her own hair as she scrabbled up and succeeded in getting an arm free of the confining blanket. Rather than trying to get the rest of her free, she took the opportunity to hook her arm around Draco's neck and pull him down to her.

"Mmm…I suppose I could forgive you your mouthy impertinence," he mumbled against her lips.

"How 'bout I show you the proper appreciation for my…mouth?"

"I'm more than willing to be educated."

"Good. Shut up."

**-break-**

"Alone at last," he muttered on a sigh. Hermione, who had already been to and back from saying goodnight—and very pointedly _not _goodbye—to her parents, hurried out.

"Severus?"

"Hermione," he greeted, trying not to look as if he were drinking in the sight of her. She looked tousled and her hair stood out like a fuzzy halo of brown. "Some imbecile in Slytherin dosed himself on a little too much Dreamless Sleep and it was my unfortunate fate to be closer to the commotion than Poppy."

"You don't fool me one bit," she retorted, leaning against a table. "I know you care about all of them. Who was it, and how is he?"

Severus said with great dignity, "Mister Nott, and if you are implying _anything, _woman…"

She raised an eyebrow at his stiff pride and took great joy in poking holes in it. "I am implying many things, not in the least that you—_gasp—_care about the children," she informed him tartly. "Oh, come here." She batted away his fumbling fingers and began to expertly unbutton his collared black shirt. "Honestly, I don't know how you survived before me, with all those rows of tiny buttons on everything you owned." She took the opportunity to enjoy the truly ordinary, domestic feel of the moment. Then Severus, in true Severus fashion, destroyed it.

"I didn't change clothing much," he intoned seriously, and after a brief, shocked moment as her hands froze over a button, he raised a challenging eyebrow at her and she began to laugh helplessly.

"You dratted…_oh!" _Punching him in the chest, she pulled at face at his obvious smug amusement at having pulled one over her. "I can't believe I fell for that. That's disgusting."

"To one of the female gender, yes," he replied, and she decided she really would rather not pursue the subject. She had, after all, been best friends with two boys long enough to know that not all of it was in jest.

"I can't believe there isn't a spell to undo all of these buttons," she grumbled, resuming her self-appointed task.

He snorted. "There isn't a spell for _everything, _Hermione, or the Magical World would exist as a gathering of obese slugs unable to think or act for themselves." Unspoken went the words, _And it seems we're already well on our way to it. _

"I suppose it would be rather detrimental to a person's ability to function and think for himself or herself if magic solved everything," Hermione agreed. "Besides…" she purposefully allowed a hand to brush against the bare skin she had exposed in unbuttoning most of his shirt. "I can see how the manual way can have some…advantages."

"Certainly, we should exploit every advantage as a member of a free-thinking society," he answered, and Hermione heard the tiny hitch in his voice. She smiled.

"There." She unfastened the last restraint and pulled back before Severus could grab her. She almost laughed at his mute look, the universal look of a man who has been denied something he wants very much.

"Hermione…"

"So, is Nott going to be okay?" she asked, quite as if she did not notice her lover's pressing…need or how dark and full of a shivering kind of passion his eyes possessed. Despite her light tone, her belly clenched and her nerves tingled with anticipation and want and…other things. The light of their living room fell on him in a gilded fashion, and the slice of bare skin that his opened shirt showed was begging to be examined in greater detail and leisure. Not to mention the rest of him. She swallowed dryly.

"He will be awake and in his full senses tomorrow," Severus said. He was not ignorant of the game she was playing, nor the effect he was having on her, and he smirked as he turned the tables on her. Casually, he shrugged off the long shirt, leaving himself clad in trousers. He tossed the shirt on the sofa—she having finally broken him of the habit of leaving clothing on the floor—and let the light play on his muscles as he turned around and walked away.

His gamble worked. She followed him, into the bedroom. He made sure to pause, ever so slightly, at the bed they shared, before he walked past it and into the bathroom. He left the door open.

She lingered at the entrance of the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. A true dentists' daughter, she would _never _interrupt toothbrushing, not even for more enjoyable pursuits. He had banked on that, and made sure to brush his teeth slowly and with extreme care. He would never put himself on display—he was too proud (and though he would not admit it, too shy) to do so. But this was Hermione, and Hermione with that particular look in her eye, and there was no harm and quite a lot of good in taking extra care to clean his teeth. The fact that his…posterior…was directly in front of her was simply that, a fact. If she chose to take advantage of the sight, that was her prerogative.

Hermione swallowed thickly, face flushing. Severus, she had had occasion to notice before, was in possession of a very fine derriere. And she was overtaken with the sudden urge to touch it right now. _He's brushing his teeth. Good dental hygiene. Must not interrupt. After. After. _She grit her own teeth, heedless of the damage she was no doubt doing to them, and resolutely tried to wait out eternity. _Merlin, _the man was as slow as molasses. That conjured up the thought of the syrup, sweet and dark and possibly tasty drizzled on the pale, bared skin of Severus'…_no! Must…not…succumb…must…not…succumb… _

By the time Severus had rinsed and spit the twelfth time (which, admittedly, might have put another woman off but only steeled Hermione's resolve—holidays spent helping her parents in their office had afforded her an exceptionally strong stomach and a practical nature regarding dental hygiene) she was sure that she would melt with her own body heat. He met her gaze in the mirror, and then the bastard had the temerity to smirk at her. She growled at him, and he leisurely turned around. "Yes?"

"Severus," she growled again, and he chuckled darkly. The nerve of the man! Why, she ought to…

Ought to make him pay, she thought with a lot less heat and concentration as he closed the distance between them and caught her mouth up with his. _Worth…it…_her mind spluttered, breaking down at the contact. _Tastes like fresh mint. _

Good thing she had already brushed her own teeth.

_And good thing the bed is right there. _

**-break-**

"I rather hope you do not consider this any indication that I am in any way sentimental or indulging in any such…romantic notion," Severus scoffed, eyebrows down and expression disdainful and threatening. She coughed.

"Of course not," she agreed, face straight. She wiggled her toes, both to make them dry faster and to make a point. They were painted wine red, in deference to having allowed a man pick the color.

_"What color would you prefer?"_

_ "Uh…I don't…red?"_

_ "Red? What kind of red? Candy apple? Burnt orange red? Ruby? Rose? Maroon? Wine? Be specific, Severus!"_

_ "I don't know, woman! Must I know that there are colors beyond the basic palette?"_

_ She huffed and chose a shade of red herself._

Of course, the painted nails weren't the main event or what he had awkwardly asked her about. No, it was the pair of shoes she was wearing. Golden, arrogant, and spiky-heeled, the stilettos didn't just speak glamour, they screamed it. It had taken her a bit to remember what they looked like—it seemed like years ago when she had first gone to Prince Manor in the disguise of Milena.

She hadn't actually remembered what she wore, despite the effort she had put into creating appropriate clothing. Severus, however, did, and it both amused and touched her to realize that. _I should really find it creepy, considering the fact that I was wearing another woman's body and we were in the middle of a bunch of truly dangerous criminals, of which he was one, but…I don't. Find it creepy, that is. _If this was a movie, perhaps a James Bond film, Severus would be the tortured man who sold out his fellow conmen and did terrible things for a good purpose, and she would be the mysterious woman who somehow got mixed up in things way over her head and was somehow rescued by Bond—er, Severus.

_So simplistic, _she mused. Of course, considering the fact that it was, in fact, a contrived plot to entertain an audience might have something to do with it, but the complicated and convoluted trajectory of hers' and Severus' relationship might be more disturbing and less easy to reconcile, but she preferred it infinitely.

So there she sat, dressed in her pajamas and a pair of killer heels, the pair she'd worn a century ago to mimic the persona of a high class call girl, in her own body and form this time, and leaned against Severus with a sigh and relaxed in the comfortable silence. "These heels killed my feet when I wore them," she said conversationally. He didn't say anything, but that was not a surprise. Severus was not a man of too many words—that he had opened up so much in the course of their relationship, in the months they had snatched together, to talk with her comfortably, conversationally, was in fact, nothing short of miraculous. _A far cry from the days when I had to literally pry his jaw apart to get anything out of them, _she thought with some fondness for the memories despite the misery of those days. _Merlin, but what a wreck we were! _A right mess indeed, in the year that they had faked her parents' death and put her acting skills to the test—_and oh, that terrible induction to the Order! _A lifetime flashed before her, a world away and she wondered where they were now, the other-world friends she had made. She wondered if they were still alive. Beth, her grim face and unbending bitterness, but loyal and resolute and too smart to do anything but survive. She'd seen the untainted version in her world, on that all-too-brief visit to her parents last summer. Beth and her—husband now, Jasper—this world's Beth was softer, warmer, more open to being read. No doubt the loss of Jasper in that older world had been the catalyst for the change in her personality. Luna and her airy lightness tempered with wisdom and gravity. Hermione thought that the other-world Luna was more confident than this world's Luna—more willing to fight right back rather than to retreat from confrontation or deflect it. Perhaps in time this Luna, who seemed both so much younger and older, would become like that. Dean Thomas, with his appreciation of humor, no matter the circumstance—not much different from this world's Dean Thomas, in fact. Perhaps just older, more willing to look straight at the grisly facts and still find a laugh somewhere. Skye, Draco, more faces, more names, and Hermione carefully let her mind linger gently on them for a brief moment before filing them away again. It wouldn't do to become overwhelmed by the past, by a world that was not her own.

Still. They'd have been wonderful companions of the battlefield here and now—Hermione spared a little wish that they could be here on the morrow to fight beside her and the students and families and teachers and alumni of Hogwarts. They were already acquainted all of them personally with war, albeit war of a different kind, and would not have flinched from the death that would be a surety for some—too many—tomorrow.

But it was only a small wish, and Hermione pulled herself back from it soon enough. _You have an entire cavalry of people willing to die to defend Hogwarts, _she scolded herself. _We will win tomorrow. We have to. _She thought of the past two years. Of the crippling helplessness of knowing that she could do nothing while Severus went time and time again to flirt with torture and death and the slow sundering of his soul. Of Albus Dumbledore's tired sigh, the weariness he had masked with twinkling eyes and smile and his own ultimate sacrifice after years of devotion to beating back the dark. Of Harry's blankness, the awful nothingness he had thrown himself into when Albus had died, the panic and the grief and the overwhelming fury that he would just _leave them like that, _and she wasn't sure if she was more angry at Albus, Harry, or Severus. But she was the most angry at Voldemort. She thought of that summer, the breakouts from Azkaban, the stress and sorrow that showed itself in bad temper and accusing words from Severus, the strained looks on student and teacher faces alike as they swore oaths in order to re-enter Hogwarts, the attack on the school when she'd nearly killed the man who nearly killed her, the lying, the adjustment to being the teacher rather than the student, the worse realization that she was on a different level from her friends and would never again be as close as they had been. She thought of wrestling with Severus, with her own feelings, with the panic that tickled her throat every time she remembered that while she was safe and sound in Hogwarts, Severus was defenseless in the heart of the enemy's nest. Of falling in love and of being loved. Of betrayal and torture and pain and…

"Hermione," a voice broke into her thoughts. She half-turned, met Severus' dark eyes, watched him watch her. He sneered at her. "Stop," he ordered harshly.

She wanted to tell him a thousand things, first of which was to _get lost _for that disrespectful tone of his, but nothing came out and she realized with some surprise that she was breathing far too fast and that her heart was rapping in her ears.

He took her shoulders in his hands, gave her a little shake. His fingers gripped painfully into her flesh and felt hard enough to bruise, but they snapped her back into reality and she choked and took her first deep breath, breaking the quick rhythm of her shallow pants. Slowly, she began to calm down. "Sorry," she murmured finally when she felt in control of herself once more. She unclenched her hands and realized that one hand had been gripped around the handle of her wand, hard enough to press the pattern ivy and vine onto her palm. Her wand crystal must have reacted to her panic and materialized itself into her hand, much good it did her…she felt Severus loosen his grip on her and withdraw his hands.

"If you cannot control your mind when you think of the past or the future, it is better to stay in the present," he remarked neutrally.

"How did you—"

"It was all over your face. For one whom I specially tutored in espionage skills, you are remarkably untalented at hiding your thoughts in your expression."

"Well, excuse me if I'm not carved of granite like you," she shot, nerves turning to anger.

He opened his mouth, face dark—and then took a breath instead. Without saying a word, he got out of bed, stalking out of the bedroom and vanishing. She stared at him, unsure of whether to be terribly offended or ashamed of herself. She truly hadn't meant to snap at him, but it was just downright _rude _for him to simply…leave without telling her where he was going! She quelled her urge to get up and go storming out after him to continue their argument. That would be counterproductive. So she waited, rather sulkily, for his return.

She began to worry a little bit when the minutes ticked by and he still hadn't returned. And the shame began to win over the anger. _Maybe he's come to his senses. Maybe he realizes now that I'm a shrew that he can't stand to deal with, and he's left—_

Abruptly, a silent shadow blew into the room. Severus looked at her unmovingly, and she half-uncurled herself from the miserable ball she'd made with her body unconsciously. "Oh, for Merlin and Morganna's sake, woman," he snapped, exasperation clear in his tone. But his hands were gentle when he reached for her. "Here I thought you were perfectly capable functioning without me for fifteen minutes," he mocked her without any real bite.

"Shut up," she said half-heartedly. "Severus—I'm sorry about—"

"Shh." He put a finger up to his lips, eyes fixed on hers to convey seriousness. "You don't have to apologize for every little snipe you make, Hermione. I certainly don't, and if I do not expect it of myself how can I expect it of you? Moreover, if we apologized for every petty little bit of bad temper, I fear we might never stop apologizing and that would just be incessantly tiresome." Hermione smiled, her eyes once more clear and her face bright as she directed that smile just for him.

Severus did not smile, but his shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. Still, he had more to say and he would not be stopped from saying it.

"I certainly hope I am far from the man who would have stormed off and left you alone for something as little as one scathing remark; last year, perhaps, but I like to think that I am not that person anymore. Hermione, I am rather far more cynical than many-" he raised an eyebrow at her snort but continued. "I am quite cynical, but I should like to believe that you would have enough faith—in yourself and in me. You are beautiful, smart, and entirely able to capture and keep a man's affections, and most especially mine. I won't promise eternity—we neither possess it nor, I think, would I wish it. I won't promise that I will never hurt you or leave you. There is battle tomorrow, the aftermath, and I do not wish to tempt fate in such a way." He grimaced. "It did not turn out so well, the last time I tempted the fates with such proclamations of undying devotion. But I do promise today, tonight, and my heart, whatever you would have of me in the present. And I hope in a most uncharacteristic manner, pessimist that I am, that you find enough faith in…in us, to hold on to the paltry promise that is all I can give you in the present."

She swallowed the lump that was lodged in her throat, now only able to see Severus through the sheen of tears that hadn't yet fallen. His face swam in and out of her vision, blurred but constant. Earnest. Set, solemn—perhaps another mind think it expressionless, but to Hermione it read of openness, some nervousness, resoluteness, concern.

Love.

"That's everything," she finally managed to choke out. "You—just you. I'd like promises for forever, but you're better." How had she become so inarticulate, so unable to express what she was trying to say, what her heart was bursting with? "Damn Voldemort," she swore viciously. "Severus—you've always had my nows. If we both make it out of this, you'll still have them, each day at a time."

It didn't really make sense, not out loud, but he understood. "And you have mine, day by days that we have left," he promised, and kissed her.

They savored the silence, each silver minute of it that shone between them brightly as a newly minted sickle. Years could have passed by, or seconds, as Hermione steeped in the precious stillness that was the closest she'd felt to peace since she had been whisked away to a place of magic and discovered the danger hidden by the moving staircases and talking portraits. Hogwarts all around her felt like a cupped hand, a muffling shield that encased she and Severus in layers and layers of peace and quiet. She was as relaxed as a lazy river, pooled by Severus' side. He, too, was as relaxed as she had ever seen him. Alert, but his entire body radiating warmth and calmness. His eyes were half-lidded.

They could have savored that moment that was both centuries and seconds for eternity.

But eventually, he sighed, reaching to cup her face in his hands. She kept her eyes on his dark ones as he kissed her. He tasted of comfort and of a wildness that would never be submitted, like a winter storm shared between two souls looking out a window from their safe, warm house.

"When we're done here, Severus," she said breathlessly as they broke off. "When our duty has been seen through—I want to travel. Go somewhere no one knows us, where the people have not been terrorized by war and fear. I want to sit in the sunlight with you and just be."

He rested his forehead against hers. "It will be a long time," he warned her. "If we both live past the battle, there is our duty to put this world back to rights and see it on its way to recovery before we can find other worlds."

She nodded, felt his hair tickle against her cheek. "I know. But one day…" she trailed off. "Do you want to stay here?" she asked somewhat abruptly.

"To teach?"

"To teach—to be part of Hogwarts—"

"We will always be interwoven into the fabric of Hogwarts, I think," he observed. "Can you feel it?"

She could indeed.

"There will always be Hogwarts within us," he mused. "But to stay here, to continue teaching…no." He smirked faintly. "It will come as no surprise to you that I am no real teacher." His sneer deepened at her laughter, and he rolled off of her to lie beside her. She turned towards him. "I…would be willing, to leave this place for good," he answered her original question.

"And your dream?" she asked, cautiously. "What is it that _you _want to do, Severus? When this is all over?"

"When this is all over," he repeated, as if turning it over in his mind. "It has never seemed feasible to think of 'when this is all over'. Even if this war with the Dark Lord is finally laid to rest with his rotted soul, undoubtedly there will be another waiting to rise." He shifted restlessly. "And as those uniquely qualified from the war with Grindelwald became the leaders of the war against the Dark Lord, there will be no question of who will become the center of the next war." He sounded resigned, and Hermione found herself getting angry for him—for _them. _And yet she couldn't deny it. _Nature abhors a vacuum. Take out a great evil, and someone will take its place. And—we are spies. We are assassins. We will never be free of that because every war campaign will require spies at the very least to succeed. _She felt fatigue drag at her bones at this thought. _We will never be free. Gods!_

Severus pondered some more. "And yet my…_dream," _he said with distaste for the word, nevertheless continuing. "My dream, Hermione, is to walk by the lake on Hogwarts grounds in nothing but shirtsleeves, arms completely bare to the kind sun. To hear children laughing again everywhere I turn in this old building without the underlying sense of darkness—laughing without the taint that comes from knowing that it might be the last time you smile, the last time you take a breath, the last day of your life."

His dark eyes bored into hers, as if seeking for a faint and distant star, or the golden snitch, and she caught her breath unsteadily, unable to move in the intense gaze. "When my dreams are not nightmares, Hermione, I have visions so beautiful I can't look straight at them, much like we cannot stare directly at the sun. I see men and women clasping hands uncaring of blood status or petty rivalries, jealousies, differences in values. I see family units whole and unbroken, untouched by war or bitterness or the mistakes of their parents. People going about their daily business as usual, but _without fear. _They don't lock their doors at night or double-check the wards around their house, and their children don't flinch at the sight of black-cloaked figures but are able to run around their community without wondering who is trustworthy, and who is to be avoided at all costs."

He reached out to grasp Hermione's hands, and it seemed as if there was nothing else, no world, no universe, but Severus, and her eyes caught up in his. "Hermione. In my wildest dreams, in the vision of a glowing future I dare not even begin to hope for or envision for long, men and women have no need of the art that saves lives with information and deception. In that world, _there are no spies." _

Hermione sucked in a breath, and vaguely realized that her starved lungs had been signaling her brain for oxygen for quite a while. "We would be free of duty," she breathed. "If there was no more war, no more need for lying and stealing secrets to gain an advantage to keep the light from falling…"

"Yes. Do you see, my love? In my dream, we are the last spies, the last of the lost generation living in a nation of peace that has no need of espionage, memorizing escape routes and glib excuses and lists of information that might be useful to one side or the other. We are the last of the old and dying breed. We are the last spies, and we are _free." _

**A.N.: Finally, 103 chapters into my epic and long overdue, the conversation I based the title of this entire story on! Thoughts? Questions? Comments?**

**Also, dear readers and reviewers, my grateful thanks to all of you for your congratulatory remarks! To those reviewers I couldn't reply to because you've disabled your private messaging, let me extend my thanks for your continued support as well since I wasn't able to respond personally. You are all amazing, awesome people!**

**On to the information. Surving copies of 'Shake-speer's' first folio edition of his collected plays don't come cheap. 4 million galleons is roughly 2 million British pounds according to the money converter on HP Lexicon, which is about 40 million US dollars. Most of those copies are on, around, or above that price. This little bit's for my roommate and friend, who gets the same look in her eyes as Hermione when she talks about Shakespeare's **_**First Folio **_**and the oldest copies surviving in various museums, libraries, and private collections—hey girl, if you ever make it to this chapter, here's a shout out to you! **


	104. Chapter 104

**Disclaimer: Maybe there's a parallel universe in which Severus Snape is real and I own the rights to Harry Potter. As this is not that parallel universe, neither of the above statements are true. **

**WARNING: The next two chapters depict graphic violence. This is the real reason I chose to make my rating an M. PLEASE, proceed with caution or just skip the next two chapters. You'll miss the battle, but I'll add a quick note at the end of each chapter just summing up what you missed so you don't miss any plot. I've read worse violence, but in my opinion the battle definitely rates an M (and if you think differently, how much violence do you read, really?) **

**And finally, here it is…what you've been patiently waiting for. Happy reading! **

Hermione woke all at once, and her wand sprang to her hand. Beside her, Severus jerked upright as well with the same knowledge that was pounding in her veins, alerting her newest sixth sense that was her and wasn't her—the cornerstone that she held for Hogwarts.

"They're attacking," she breathed into the darkness. He muttered an oath, along with a spell that flooded their room with light.

Severus' tone was clipped as he spoke. "Draco will wake the Slytherins, Tonks those who are defending the Ministry. Luna is with the Ravenclaws. If you will find Potter and Weasley, I will find Minerva and get the plan started. Find us after."

Hermione nodded her understanding. The knowledge that the Death Eaters were here—in the darkest hours before the dawn, trying to get the jump on them—fueled her with a hard, sharp adrenaline. She smiled now, a flinty, grim expression. It was reflected back at her with an equally flinty, vicious expression on Severus' face. _They made the first move. We'll make the last. _It was time, and they were more than ready to end it.

They took the time to dress, sending a Patronus to warn Minerva and Li. Severus closed the door carefully behind them, and then turned to her. "Remember—you are my heart," he whispered fiercely, and she caught her breath at his words and more, at his expression. "Stay alive."

"I love you, and you bloody well better do the same," she tossed back just as fiercely, and kissed him passionately and briefly. They parted, and Hermione did not look back though her eyes stung with unshed tears. She let the cool, hard armor of her battle-persona close around herself. It was time indeed, and there was no more room for emotions. She had a job to do.

**-break-**

The room was filled with a range of emotions. Most of them, down to the smallest first years who were left in Hogwarts still, were self-controlled enough to wait quietly, occasionally murmuring to each other in hushed, worried whispers. This was despite that they had all been abruptly roused at four in the morning and the sun was not yet up. It was a grim testament to the world they lived in and the training Hogwarts had put all of them through. These were children raised by the war, and fear was all they had ever known.

Many of them wanted to stay, to fight. For every child that went to a safe house, two demanded to be allowed to fight. And as per the orders of the higher powers that be, none of the adults in the room protested. Only the remaining first years who had not been called home by their family when the news of imminent battle at Hogwarts first broke were not given a choice. Someone had determined that by second year, the student would have seen the full horrors of what they were getting themselves into, and if they had not been mandated by their family to go home or to a safe house, they were treated as adults as well, able to make their own choice. Hannah felt a natural urge to protest as she saw too many second and third years, their small faces set in lines of determination and a grimness that should never have belonged on a child that young, reject the offer of safety. Her heart hurt, knowing that by dawn tomorrow at least some of those young children would be dead.

_And yet, they are children of war just as much—if not more than—we, _she thought, mechanically sending another group of students off with a house elf and directing two more grimly eager students to the 'stay and fight' group. _Don't they deserve to fight as well? They've been training as hard as we have, these past few weeks. And we need the manpower. _That last thought, cynical and hard, was something Hannah did not want to think about. She shied away from it, and returned to focusing on sorting through the remainder of the students who wanted to stay and those who would go and live. She was grateful she was not the one making the decisions though. She doubted she would have been able to sleep at night, knowing that her decree had sent children to die.

_Pop. _"You and you and you, go," she ordered, pulling the last three of the first years to the diminutive house-elf that had just appeared.

The house-elf didn't waste a second. It grabbed hold of two of the children, and the third had the sense to reach out and grasp the house-elf's shoulder. _Pop. _They disappeared. On the opposite side of the crowded room, Pansy directed children to house-elves as well. _Pop. Pop. Pop. _Hannah's head began to spin with the sheer amount of organization and control it took to divide the children into manageable lots for each house-elf that appeared. _Thank goodness Hogwarts employs so many elves! _Then a horrible thought occurred. _What if they run out of energy? We know nothing about house-elf magic. For all I know, this Apparating could be like ours, and when they exhaust themselves they'll splinch, or just be unable to ferry the rest of the littles to safety. _The thought was terrifying. Hannah silently willed the little creatures not to run out of energy.

Justin and Neville were both there as well, but they were directing a different set of house elves and travelers—those fighters who were defending the Ministry. The Death Eaters had attacked the Ministry at the same time as Hogwarts, and it was a matter of getting there before the Death Eaters broke through the Ministry's wards and had access to—far too much. Terry, Professor Vector, and Madame Pince were also there, but they were there are lookouts and guards and coordinators, communicating with the rest of the teams spread out across Hogwarts on their own mission in this mess. As they worked, Hannah exchanged looks with Pansy. Unspoken understanding. They both wanted to be _out there, _where the fight was. But this was a crucial task as well, one they had agreed to when the plans had first been discussed. _There will be time to fight later, _she told herself. _All too much time, I'm afraid. _

**-break-**

"How did they get onto Hogwarts grounds?" Minerva asked the war council tersely. Outside, the plan they had elaborately constructed had, as with all battle plans, fallen apart. Death Eaters far more numerous than Severus remembered ranged the Quidditch Pitch, the shores of the lake, the grassy hills and fields that were within the boundaries of the school. Holding them back from entering the castle was their first line of defense, groups of fighters, students, teachers, and other adults that had pledged their wand.

Unfortunately, it looked, from the mirrors that had been enchanted and set up to reflect the entire exterior as well as interior of the castle, that they were fighting a losing battle. Severus watched emotionlessly as an Order member he remembered teaching close to ten years ago—a Ravenclaw, if he recalled, a bright young boy who had gone on to pioneer several new innovations in the field of Arithmancy—screamed and writhed in obvious pain. It had rained during the night, and the dirt was more like mud, smearing against his fair complexion. No one rushed to help him. They were all engaged in their own fight for their lives all around him. The two Death Eaters he was fighting laughed manically, and Severus wondered whose decision it had been to leave the masks behind for this, the final battle.

All of this took place in utter silence, for the mirrors did not capture sound. Despite his cold shell of The Spy, Severus was fervently glad that they did not. Watching the agony was hard enough on all of them.

The silence was interrupted by a latecomer. Draco and Skye burst in, both breathing heavily. The usually immaculate couple were both in disarray, and shock glistened in Skye's wide eyes. Draco was a little harder to read, but still, his tenseness was easy to pick up on and he was waxen pale. It was he who spoke first. "I've found out how they got in," he said into the quiet.

Every eye was fixed on the two, anxious and dreading the answer.

"One of the student spies somehow managed to wake out of the Draught of Living Death. He killed Slughorn and the others. Then he killed himself. He used all the blood and death, including his own, to fling open a door to Voldemort."

Somehow, Hermione had expected chaos and confusion. Instead, there was only stunned shock and sickness, and a silence that stretched until Li murmured in his usual steady, soft voice. "The bodies?"

"We blessed them with a drop of unicorn water," Draco answered the vague question with a nod, more strength returning to his posture. "There won't be further perversion or possibility of a weak spot from their deaths. We purged all the dark magic from the place before we came here."

"Good." Li favored the couple with a compassionate look. "Well done." Skye managed a brief half-smile, and Hermione had a sudden flash of the other-Skye she had known in a different world, who had given her the exact same expression the day she'd come back with blood covering her cloak and described how she had failed to save another potential ally.

"We will grieve for Horace, and for our students," Li said to the assembled gently. "But we must win this battle in order for the right and the time to grieve. Our forces are beset, and our initial plans will not work, not with the Death Eaters so close to entry of the castle itself. What are our next steps?"

He turned his eyes to the strategic team, and Minerva drew herself up. "We will need five minutes to regroup," she told him calmly. "Do you think our fighters can hold them outside for that long?"

Li examined the mirrors depicting the gruesome scene outside. "Hurry," he said simply.

Minerva nodded and drew aside, and several others joined her. Hermione felt grim pride as Ron moved to join her, determination set in his shoulder blades. He began to whisper something.

"In the meantime, would you please divide yourselves up into the tactical groups you will be fighting in?" Li asked the rest of them. Hermione exchanged a glance with Severus, who stood a few feet from her. This was it. Their eyes met, and worlds passed between them in the few seconds. _Stay alive, _she ordered fiercely.

He inclined his head imperceptibly. _Stay alive as well, idiot girl. Don't go rushing headlong into trouble. Remember all I taught you. _

Summoning all her strength and the will she didn't know she possessed, Hermione closed her eyes, breaking eye contact with the man that was her entire life and turned, joining the group of defenders and fighters who would accompany Harry to the end. She did not see Severus fraction of a second expression as she turned, but the few who saw it never forgot the utter desperation, sorrow, and love that flashed briefly on the notoriously stone-hearted man.

Then the mask of nothingness slid over Severus Snape's features once more, and he too turned away to join another group of fighters.

Hermione laid a hand on Harry's arm. He gave her a tight smile, and she could see the strain he was under. More, she could feel it—the _familia _bond twanged painfully. She took both his hands in hers. "For once, I don't have any advice for you," she said quietly to him. "I do have my utmost gratefulness and thanks for having been fortunate enough to possess your friendship for seven years. Trust yourself, Harry. You have good instincts."

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. His green eyes were impossibly bright. "You're the best, Hermione," he managed weakly. "I'm the one who's lucky that you put up with me." He glanced behind Hermione, in the direction Hermione was acutely aware that Severus met with his own tactical group. "For what it's worth, I don't like him, but he's made you happy. Happier than I've ever seen you. I'm glad for you, Hermione."

She smiled at him, touched at his soberness and earnest words. "Thank you, Harry."

She noticed someone making their way towards them, and smiled a little wider. "Hi, Ron."

Ron, half a foot taller than just about everyone else in their group, reached their side. "Hi guys," he said, his casual words a direct contrast to his serious expression.

Minerva cleared her throat, and everyone looked towards her. "Here's the plan," she said, projecting to the room. "Team A and B, you will join those outside. We're executing the guerrilla strategy."

_Hit and run groups. That'll keep our losses to a minimum, the Death Eaters on their toes, and change it up on them—hopefully they'll be slow to regroup to the new kind of fighting style and that's only to our advantage. The only problem will be that…_

"That gives the Death Eaters an inevitable shot at entering the castle," Minerva continued, voicing what Hermione's logical mind had concluded. "As it is, they will break through our line of defense and enter despite our best efforts, and by conserving our forces we are better able to counter them. It will take them perhaps five or ten minutes at most to realize what we're doing—do your best to take out as many as you can before they adjust and start really fighting back," she advised Teams A and B. Both teams nodded.

"Team C, D, E, and H will remain indoors. Team C, second floor. Team D, third floor. Teams E and H, the original plan." _Translation: the two teams composed of students and the team that includes the major leaders—Minerva and Li—will be targeting the Death Eaters inside. The student groups have a floor each to work. They'll split off into partners or trios to attack and harry the Death Eaters who get in. The team that includes our leaders will go where they're needed, with the ability to stop in a secluded area of the castle that isn't being overrun so they can check on the status of the battle and make any necessary changes to the plan of action. And the house elves will go where they are needed._

"Team G." Minerva looked at Harry. "You need to find where Voldemort is," she said crisply. "This battle, this war, won't end until you face him."

Harry nodded, his face hard now with the weight of years of war and the expectations of the Wizarding World.

There was a pause, and Hermione looked at the faces of the men and women and children grown up too fast. _They need to hear Harry, _she thought. _They need to know that they aren't going to go out there and die for something abstract, like the future of the Wizarding World. They need to believe in something solid, someone real. _Slowly, she met Harry's eyes.

There was understanding already in his eyes when he met her gaze, and Hermione felt a glow of pride at her friend as he cleared his throat.

"Before we go out there, I just wanted to say something," he began. He shifted uncomfortably as every eye turned to him, but continued. "Today, we're fighting the battle of our lives. Each and every one of you, you saw the threat and you chose to take the responsibility to fight against evil. You could have looked away, fled, or made excuses for ignoring what was happening in our world. But each of you acknowledged the evil that is attacking us, and each of you made the choice to risk your lives in order for a chance at a better world, for a world where peace and freedom and acceptance is the way of life and fear and hatred have no place."

Harry swallowed. "When I first came into the Wizarding World, when I first saw Hogwarts, I thought my dreams had come true. I thought I had entered a kind of fairyland where anything was possible, where magical things do happen." He smiled wryly. "I guess Professor Quirrell was a quick lesson that the magical world had its dangers and downfalls. But as an eleven-year-old, and every year when I come back from the summer holidays and catch my first glimpse of Hogwarts castle, rising up out of the grounds, I remember the magic of this world, of this school. Voldemort would have it destroyed, corrupted, and twisted. I love Hogwarts, and I love the magical world. I'm not fighting today because I'm some sort of hero or chosen one, or even because Voldemort killed my parents and so many people close to me. I'm fighting today because I love this world, with all its flaws and downsides, and I want my home to be safe and those I love to have a chance at living lives free of fear. I want to be able to walk around Diagon Alley without wondering if Death Eaters have killed someone today, or are going to kill another friend tomorrow. I want to be able to sleep without having nightmares about who will die next. I want to see all my friends fall in love, get married, and have children. I want to marry the woman I love and compete with the Weasleys in family size." That startled a laugh out of the avidly listening wizards and witches, and Hermione noted the dazzling grin on Ginny's face.

"I want to see my schoolmates free of all the responsibilities they shouldn't have had to bear—that _we _shouldn't have had to carry as the children we were. I want any children I have to _be _children. I just want a little bit of peace. _That's _why I fight today. And I think that's also why every single one of you are fighting. You could have looked away, just huddled down and waited for this to end one way or another. But you want peace and freedom just as much as I do, and _that's _why we're going to beat old Voldy. We have a hope that he will never have, he and his followers. All they have is some stupid skull and scare tactics and greed. We have a hope and a dream that won't be quenched or stomped out ever, and because we have that, we will never be defeated. Ever. Voldemort and his Death Eaters are _so _going down!"

The roar, and her own breathless cheer, told Hermione that as rough and ineloquent as Harry's speech had been, it had done the job. _"Teams A and B, deploy," _Minerva shouted amongst the cheers and the growls of warriors. _"Teams C and D, move out! Everyone, all teams, all fighters, move out!" _

Hermione caught a glimpse of Severus, joining Minerva and Li as they collected the mirrors, made small enough to be mobile. Then she formed a tight rank around Harry, and let battle-rage take over.

**-break-**

Bill Weasley compared fighting Death Eaters to battling a particularly nasty, triggered curse of the particularly vicious kind. The kind of curse that couldn't be disabled except by sheer persistence and never giving an inch and never letting down your guard. He'd encountered several of the like in Egypt, usually hidden in amongst layers of complex wards and curses. There was no way to avoid the curse, no loophole to undo it while it was still untriggered. The only way to break the curse was to trigger it very carefully and then attack the weakest points of the spell while simultaneously defending yourself from the fury of the curse until it finally unraveled.

He bared his teeth at a black-robed Death Eater, jerking away from the sizzling stream of fire that erupted from his opponent. "_Confringo! Defodio!" _

_ "Crucio!"_

Infuriated at the careless way the Death Eater was throwing about Unforgivables, Bill dodged and roared, "_Duro!"_

It caught the Death Eater full in the chest, and the man had just enough time to open his mouth to scream. A second later, a stone statue inhabited the place where a living man had stood, and Bill felt ill. _I just…I just turned a man into stone. _He swallowed slowly. _Breaking curses, I was always fighting inanimate things—the wishes and spells of the dead. I just…killed someone living and breathing. _

"Beel. Beel!" The young man flinched and the next instant, a warm body pummeled into him and he stumbled backwards.

Where he had stood, a green jet of light shot by harmlessly. "You bloody idiot!" shrieked a hysterical voice in his ear as Fleur hauled him upright again and then whirled. "Take _zat _for trying to keel my love! _Expulsum ventris!_"

Bill stared as the woman he wanted to marry if they both lived past this battle watched in grim satisfaction as her spell—one clearly dark—gouged out a Death Eater's stomach. As the man screamed, his intestines slid down past his groin to join the puddle of dark blood on the ground. An instant later, he was past screaming and the rest of his body had joined his entrails in the bloody mud.

"_Dépêche-toi! _Let's go, Beel," Fleur urged him. Bill looked at the delicate French beauty, her face streaked with sweat and dirt, and took a breath. "Let's go," he agreed. He offered his arm—she took it as gracefully as if they were at a fancy ball rather than standing between a man he had turned to stone and the another she had mutilated. They hurried as quietly as they could to the next location on the list of places they were covering in rotation, surprising the six Death Eaters who were trying to enter the greenhouse. Pomona Sprout gave them a nod as she directed a flurry of rocks by her side to pelt those who had dared invade her home.

Her fury was such that she was unassailable, and Bill only had to glance behind her to see why. Tumbled on his back, eyes still wide in surprise, the corpse of Mr. Macmillan lay on top of a bed of un-harvested baby mandrakes. His wife's body lay two feet away, partially burnt, and the horror on her face told Bill that she had seen her husband die before dying herself.

_"Suffoco! Defodio! Suffoco!" _

"_Reducto!" _

As he watched the last of them die, suffocating as an invisible band tightened around their throat, Bill felt a mixture of horror at his own actions and sick gladness that at least the Macmillan's son, if he survived today in whatever part of the fight he was in, would know that he had been avenged for his parents' deaths.

Then there was no more time to think about an after as another swarm of Death Eaters found them.

**-break-**

_Open up, _Luna thought.

The strength and steadiness of the other girls behind her gave her the will she needed to speak to the earth itself, and without warning, the ley lines surged and the very ground that the three attacking giants vanished.

The howls of the giants that had fallen into the unexpected chasm ceased abruptly when the earth closed back up around them, uprooted grass and tossed soil the only sign that something had happened. Luna fought the dizziness that swamped her, and felt rather than saw Ginny and Pansy each take one of her arms, bolstering her upright. _I. Will. Not. Give in. To. You. _She gritted to the visions that clamored fast and thick around her, clouding her sight. Millimeter by millimeter, she forced them back until she was breathless, but her mind clear.

"Alright?" Ginny asked her quietly. Luna noticed that the other girls had formed a ring around her, Ginny, and Pansy, protecting them as she recovered.

She took in a mouthful of the stale, humid air, glanced up at where the sky was starting to lighten. "Yes," she murmured. "I'm fine." She smiled wanly. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well don't do it again," Pansy snapped. Now that Luna was in no danger of collapse, she let go and stepped back. "Let's go find the fight," she barked.

Swiftly, the girls reformed and went in search of another threat to their friends and the home they had claimed in Hogwarts.

Luna was unsurprised by the numerous allies Voldemort had somehow found and recruited to fight for him, but even some of the Slytherin girls were horrified. "He's always said that magical beasts were almost as inferior as Muggles," Millicent hissed, staring at the ashes where Luna, with the backing of the girls directing ley lines towards her, had called the sun to pierce even the strong magical darkness that shrouded at least twenty vampires.

"A wand is a wand," Susan said grimly. She knelt, heedless of the ash getting on her robes, and closed the eyes of one of the vampires' last victims. She tried not to think about how she'd met him at one of the Ministry dinners her aunt had brought her to. She didn't even remember his name, but he had discussed his gratefulness to "Madame Bones, for allowing me the chance to prove my abilities and knowledge in the administrative tasks"—her aunt had apparently recommended him for a promotion in the Protection of Magical Beasts department.

She wondered why he was fighting at Hogwarts instead of the Ministry, why he was fighting at all. At least there was no blood, simply the small, neat set of marks in his throat.

Ginny touched her shoulder. "Let's go," she said softly.

Susan rose, absently brushing off her grimy clothing, and rejoined the rest of the group. They were by the Hogwarts Lake, and she could hear the screams and distant sound of spells back in the direction of the castle. "Time to go," she agreed.

"I'm sure you won't mind if I detain you for a moment, ladies," a smooth, cultured voice broke in, and suddenly Susan felt herself frozen, unable to move, speak, or scream.

"My, my, don't look so petrified," the voice laughed. It sent shivers of animal fear down Susan's back. The sight of the man that appeared in front of her was even more terrifying.

He was undeniably a Malfoy, aristocratic features and icy blond, but where Lucius Malfoy had been scary, this wizard was downright nightmarish. The light of insanity danced in his grey eyes, but of a madness that answered to its master—controlled and logical and absolutely brilliant. She, and every other girl down to Luna, were not just mouse to his cat—they were criminals to his Dementor. Susan had seen Dementors—both in and out of Azkaban. This man reminded her of a Dementor with human skin stretched over him.

"Why, quite a diverse group we have here, Purebloods and Half-bloods and Muggleborns, Blood traitors all," the man mused. "Tom would be infuriated, more so because I suspect some of you ladies might be the daughters of Death Eaters." He laughed again, and Susan's stomach rebelled. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Pansy, just as frozen and stiff as she, eyes wide with antipathy and dread.

"But there is a way I can help you gain automatic safety from his wrath," the man said. "Hold still now!" And he chuckled again at his own joke.

Susan screamed internally and writhed with all her might against the spell holding her paralyzed, to no avail as the calm, insane face filled her vision until it was all she could see. "Thank you for volunteering to go first, Ms—Bones, is it? I see the family resemblance. Your aunt was quite vocal in advocating to the Wizgamot that I be Kissed for my little fun, you know. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed and the Malfoy name is long. Perhaps you may have heard her talk about Damascus Malfoy," he said conversationally to her. He twirled a bit of her hair that had escaped its tie around his long finger, and she blanked out with fear and horror as he trailed the same finger across her cheek. _Nonononono…_

"_Yes," _the monster before her hissed suddenly, as if answering her, and grabbed her chin roughly to force her to look at him. Pain twisted in her jaw, but a second later it bloomed without warning in her chest, a halo of fire and hell and agony as if someone had reached inside and ripped out some essential organ

_Paingodthepain_

_Merlinmerlinmerlinnonono_

_ Intruder_

_ Pain_

_ Black. _

**-break-**

She woke to pain, and her first incoherent thoughts were that Damascus Malfoy was still torturing her. Then her eyesight returned, and she realized she was staring up at the ceiling of Hogwarts, and that the pain was far lessened to an almost bearable level.

"Miss Bones?"

_That's Professor Lupin, _she thought confusedly. _What's he doing here? How did I get indoors?_

"Susan!"

She heard Ginny's voice, and then the welcome sight of her professor hovered over her. "Slowly," he advised her as she tried to sit up. He assisted her as she dragged herself upright. When her head stopped swimming, she looked around. To her dazed surprise, every single one of them—all who had been caught by Damascus Malfoy—seemed to be present in the dusty classroom. "What happened?" she asked. Her limbs felt heavy, and she wanted to go to sleep. She fought it, and when the second spell of dizziness had passed, she refocused on where Ginny was sitting propped up by a desk, next to the prone body of Luna. Who was breathing, if slowly, Susan's mind registered the second before she began to panic. Or would have panicked, if she had had the energy to do so.

"Dasmascus Malfoy, the damn bastard," Ginny said wearily, leaning her head against the desk. Except for Luna, it appeared as if all the other girls were awake, leaning half upright against a desk or a chair. Professor Lupin patted her shoulder and then walked towards Luna.

"She's deeply drained," he told them, examining Luna. "More so than anyone but Miss Bones. I think her body was already under an unusually high level of magical demand, so she had less in reserve and the theft of her life force sent her into a coma."

Susan's throat seized up with fear as she listened to Professor Lupin. "What's going on?" she asked tearfully.

Ginny sighed. "We played _right _into their damned plan," she snarled angrily. "Damascus Malfoy needed a whole bunch of female victims to steal life force from, and here we just up and _gave _it to him by banding together and making a nice present of ourselves!" She explained, "That's how both he and Voldemort are planning on ensuring immortality—by just sustaining themselves on _our _life force. Can't you feel it?"

And when Susan concentrated on the knot of pain within her, she realized she could. The pain wasn't just pain, it was like…like something essential within her wasn't under her control any more, as if there was a siphon attached to it, leeching from her very soul and magic…she wrenched herself away from exploring the taint within her.

"So we're…basically back-up generators for Damascus Malfoy and for Voldemort?" Mandy Brocklehurst demanded.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know what a generator is, but we're basically bound to both of them—I don't know how the monster did it, but we're connected to them both, and they can control how much life force they take from us. Right now, not enough for us to be in a coma, except Luna." She pressed her lips together tightly.

"But if they control it, they can take as much as they want if they need it," Millicent said angrily.

"And if they take too much…"

"We die," Pansy finished.

There was silence.

"Well, we did need to be together to do our best work with ley line magic," Hannah said, almost pleadingly.

"No one even knew that they had developed a way to cast the theft spell on a _group _rather than on individuals, and to link Voldemort into the siphon," Ginny muttered.

"It doesn't matter what we thought or didn't think," Pansy said acerbically. "As my favorite book says, 'battle plans never last past the first engagement with the enemy.'" She made a face. "In essence—we make plans, they make plans, and it's not going to be perfect game scenario the strategists like to pretend it will be. Games and chess are one thing, but real life battles—something _always _goes wrong, or at least, unexpected. So we adjust and make do and amend the plan on the fly. Pay them back for what they did to us—to Luna."

"How?"

Slowly, Ginny thought out loud. "If we connect to each other using women's magic—ley line magic—it won't be _our _magic that we are using, but nature's, is that right?"

A murmur of affirmatives.

"And what Damascus Malfoy did with his hideous life-force theft spell is to…bind _our _magic and life force to Voldemort. Doesn't that leave us with the primal power still? When we cast normal spells, we're using our own magic and life force. When we use ley line magic, we're using the magic inherent in other objects. Or rather, asking the favor of, but you know what I mean. Since we've tied ourselves together with ley line magic, we can still work it and still be part of the battle."

It made sense.

"But when happens if Voldemort dies?" Hannah wondered uneasily.

"Then…unless we can grab a good hold on the ley lines and someone undoes the channel between Voldemort and us, we die too," Pansy said mirthlessly.

There was dead silence. Some girls looked panicky and close to tears, and Susan felt a sudden surge of hatred for Damascus Malfoy, Voldemort, and the Death Eaters who had stolen her life from her. "It's better than dying _now _without doing anything but give the old bastard our life and magic!" she snarled, suddenly furious.

Slowly there were nods all around. "I agree," Millicent spoke up. She looked at where Professor Lupin was still sitting quietly next to the still figure of Luna. "What about Luna though?"

"I can get her to the field healers—they have an area completely warded and guarded from the Death Eaters for the wounded," Professor Lupin told them. He looked at them, with an expression unlike anything Susan had ever seen on his face. "I'm proud to have been your professor," he informed them with candor. "I…I am sorry that we were too late to stop Damascus."

As their voice, Ginny shook her head. "You and Professor Vector kept him from taking all of us with him," she told Professor Lupin. "This way, we have a chance to make them pay for ever having messed with us. I'm sorry about…"

"Professor Vector died protecting her students, just as any professor—and any of _you—_would have done," Professor Lupin said sternly, and Susan bit back a cry. _Professor Vector is dead? _"I'm only sorry Damascus got away before I could kill him."

"If you can get Luna to the healers and safety, we'll go bury some Death Eaters," Pansy promised, face a mask of hate.

Professor Lupin gave them a regretful, guilt-filled look, and left, gently Levitating Luna next to him.

Susan took a deep breath, and the knowledge that she was going to die within the day filled her and settled in the marrow of her bones. _If I am going to die, I am going to die making damn sure that the rest of our friends have a safe world to live the rest of their lives in._

_ In other words, Damascus, Voldemort, and the Death Eaters are going down. _

Forcing away the weakness of magical drain and life-force theft, Susan stood and joined her friends, away from their temporary sanctuary and back outside to turn nature against those who had brought evil to her home.

**A.N.: Next chapter—continuation of the final battle to determine the outcome of the war. Many of the spells used in this chapter are non-canon, and I have relied heavily on an English-Latin translator for them. **

**What you missed if you didn't read the chapter-**

***The Death Eaters attacked ahead of schedule and got past the wards of Hogwarts by the blood sacrifice (aka death) of the student spies who had been drugged with Draught of Living Death. No one knows how one of them woke, but he killed everyone including Slughorn, and then himself. **

***The defense line holding the Death Eaters back from storming the castle is losing**

***The strategy team decide to switch to a guerrilla tactic, with defense teams both inside and outside Hogwarts**

***Bill and Fleur help Pomona Sprout kill a bunch of Death Eaters in the greenhouse, but didn't arrive in time to save Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan.**

***Luna and the women's magick group kick butt, but get caught by Damascus Malfoy who invokes the ritual and steals their life-force**

***They're still alive but are now linked and at the mercy of both Damascus and Voldemort, if they should choose to drain them of their life force at any moment**

***Ginny leads the women's magick group to take as many Death Eaters out as they can, since women's magick is ley line magic (derived from nature) rather than derived from their own life force, as personal spells are**

***Luna's in a coma because the life force theft affected her harder than the others. Remus, who rescued the girls from Damascus although he wasn't able to get Damascus, takes Luna to the warded makeshift hospital the field healers have set up**

***To be continued…**


	105. Chapter 105

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure JKR would Avada me if I claimed that this was the real battle scene, and definitely certain that she would if I claimed that HP was mine. So in the interests of not being murdered…**

**Warnings: Again, TAKE HEED. This the battle, folks. It's not pretty. There's violence, death, and gore in here and if you don't want to read it, the brief summary of the chapter is in my Author's Notes. **

The dawn sky was a red haze, almost as if it were a pale reflection of the scene below. If anyone had been looking for the sun, they would not have been able to find it, wrapped and shrouded in mist as it was. Fortunately, no one had the attention or inclination to gaze skywards. Rather, Muggle Britain continued on its dreary busy bustle of any other day, and Wizarding Britain—fought, died, or hid.

The initial battle-lines had given way to swarms of Death Eaters and their Dark allies dotted across the landscape of Hogwarts. Within the castle, the dungeons and the first floor shook with shouts, spells, and severed chunks of stone flying—but Hogwarts Castle fought back in its own way, and as doors suddenly led to nowhere or open trapdoors appeared under the enemy's feet, the defenders grew a healthy appreciation for the sentience of the building. Thanks to the castle, there were no casualties but Death Eaters within the walls of the school, but without was another tale altogether.

Severus chafed as he coldly sliced a man in half. The blood that spewed from the neat, straight cut across the torso hit the wall in the narrow corridor of the third floor. He did not bother to watch the thin line of viscous liquid slowly begin to trickle downwards. It looked as if the Death Eaters had finally wised up about clomping around the castle in big, target-making groups and started sending lone people up to take them by surprise. Too bad the man they had sent hadn't been sneaky enough, and had been the one taken by surprise instead. Turning his eyes away from the motionless halves of the body, Severus crossed to the window and peered out. What he saw filled him with a sense of overwhelming frustration and fury as he watched death happen. The grounds were overrun with those distinctive cloaks, though the masks were gone—there would be no need of masks if, as the Dark Lord planned, he won this battle today on both fronts. Those who had fought for the devil would be honored and feared for it in his twisted world. No need to hide one's identity in a world where their murdering, filthy ways were praised.

At least the Death Eaters had stopped playing with those they managed to isolate. After they had realized that they were not faring as well as they had expected, when they realized that they weren't coming up against scared little schoolchildren or unprepared citizens cowering under their beds, they had begun to aim to kill on first shot rather than torture.

The same could not be said of the unholy scum and flotsam that had joined the Dark Lord. Vampires in ones and twos, covered in magical shields, daring the hidden face of the sun to turn them to ash. There were fewer of them that Severus could see—they must have either been destroyed or deserted once the dawn broke, as pitiful and enshrouded as it was. Werewolves, somehow transformed out of time into their animal bodies, no doubt some black art of Fenrir Greyback's. Banshees, not the tame creatures of Celestina Warbeck's backup but the dark-loving women whose shrieks meant death to those who had not put up a shield in time. Hags, whose laughter sometimes rivaled that of the banshee, stopping frequently to feast on their often-still-breathing victims. Dementors, the most prominent of all, leaving a wake of blank, staring, living bodies behind them for easy pickings. Even in all his days of spying, Severus had never seen the likes of the army the Dark Lord had drawn together this Beltane.

Sick at the sight, Severus aimed his wand. "_Expecto Patronum," _he intoned softly, and warmth that reminded him of brown hair and brown eyes and a smile that was always present for him blossomed into the shape of a hummingbird, silvery and bright. It lost no time in blurring straight through the glass of the window and zipping down to where a Dementor paralyzed two figures. At this height and distance, he was not able to tell who they were, except that they were not Death Eaters. Just in time, a dot of silver divebombed the hooded creature and drove it off—one o its would-be victims raised a hand towards the dot of mist that was his hummingbird before it darted off and Severus saw it zipping towards another Dementor.

Severus wondered where Hermione was. He saw neither her, nor Potter and his troop, from his vantage point. He ignored the stabbing pain in his chest and the sudden image of Hermione, eyes emptied of life, crumpled under an unhooded Dementor, and turned back to find Minerva and Li both watching him, varying expressions of pity on their face.

He didn't want their pity, and nearly snarled at them both. Would have, if Minerva hadn't abruptly shed the look and become once more factual. "We can't risk you out there, Severus," she said briskly. "Not to mention, Hermione would kill me if I let you put yourself needlessly in danger. We have fighters aplenty outside without sending out a juicy target that would maybe kill a few more Death Eaters before getting offed and leaving us with one less brilliant mind to stop them from gaining complete control of the castle. Hogwarts may be holding its own, but even the castle has its limits. If the Death Eaters get access to the entire castle and kill enough of us, the castle will be too wounded to fight. There is already a giant hole in the wards torn by…the sacrifice to let Voldemort in."

He bit back the urge to snap at her. "I know," he said darkly, voice low and rough with frustration and fear. "Where the bloody hell is the bastard?"

Li shrugged, and even his natural peacefulness was strained and tense. "I do not think he is on the grounds at the moment," he admitted. "I do not sense the sundering of good that his presence is permeated with."

"Then where is Her—then where is Potter?"

"I do not know."

Severus growled, and glared out of the window again. Then he stalked back to join the old fogeys in patrolling the castle again and hopefully, blasting to smithereens another Death Eater.

**-break-**

They were best on every side, despite the fact that time and time again, they emerged the victors, leaving only dead behind them. Still, it was as if the Death Eaters never learned that to attack Harry Potter's group was to almost certainly die. _Or they are under orders, _Hermione thought coldly as she watched her bluebell flames—the vicious grandfather to one of the very first charms she had mastered on her own as a first year—seared a Death Eater's face and body, both charring and illuminating the flesh. _It is the most logical plan to have your foot soldiers whom you can afford to waste, wear out your greatest threat before you yourself have to face him. _

It also did not go unnoticed by Hermione that the Death Eaters seemed to attack her with a frequency second only to Harry. No doubt if Severus had been out here, he would not have been able to turn without someone else trying to kill him.

That they were always victorious against the skirmishes they fought as they steadily made their way towards the Forbidden Forest—the most likely place for the Dark Lord to confront them—did not mean they did not suffer losses. Already, their number had been reduced by at least a third. They'd had to stop momentarily for Harry—and at least four or five others—to be sick after the first contact had left images of their dead friends seared across their eyes. Even Hermione had momentarily been shaken and chilled with terror as she lashed out at the witch who had gleefully broken every bone in Cormac McLaggen's body. She tried, now, not to think about how only his eyes and a high-pitched whine in his throat had told her that he was still alive and aware, how no one else had been able to bring themselves to do what needed to be done, how as Harry was being sick and Neville, trembling and green, had stood guard, she had…given Cormac the best she could offer, knowing that he would die from the massive internal hemorrhaging soon but in pain. She'd given him what his eyes had been begging for, relief of the pain, and a whispered _thank you _to the boy who had once been an arrogant, sleezy pig and had changed subtly to an arrogant, sleezy fellow-warrior.

They moved on.

They were halfway there when Harry suddenly stopped. "What is it, mate?" Ron hissed, signaling for the group to pause. Well-oiled, they swiftly reassembled to defend themselves—and more importantly, Harry.

"I…" her friend was at a loss. "I don't know, Ron." His face was twisted in something painful, and his vivid eyes were dark. Sweat dampened down his hair, which for once was not going every which way, and he panted lightly. Gently, Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Is it the D—is it Voldemort?" She asked with concern.

"No," he said definitely. "It's not…but sort of. Related, in the sense that its his fault indirectly." Harry gripped his wand tighter with frustration and pent-up rage. "Something's just…_wrong, _okay?" he snapped. "We have to go…" he motioned vaguely left of the course they'd been taking.

Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Ron. Ron's blue eyes were troubled and Hermione herself didn't exactly like not sticking to the plan, but Harry had always operated more on an instinctual level that Hestia had confided in her, _almost-always gives him an advantage, because he doesn't overthink, he just does and he doesn't know he can't, so he can. _Apart from one or two misadventures when they were all younger—and before Hestia had made sure that Harry had not been trained out of his instincts but rather refined them to eliminate error.

"Okay," Ron said. "Let's go, then. You'll let us know when we find…whatever, right?"

Harry nodded, forehead still screwed up with concentration. "Yeah," he said.

**-break-**

Deep in close tussle with a wizard intent on jamming some sort of knife into her heart, Tonks screamed as she felt the teeth _rip _into the flesh of her upper arm. She twisted away desperately, and in the sudden shock of the _pain, _she somehow wrestled the dagger from the man and plunged it into his heart instead. Before she could pull it out though, teeth shifted and made a new set of marks on her shoulder, and she lost herself in the ensuing anguish. The hot stink of werewolf filled her nostrils, but it faded as did the world around her at the sheer burn of the bite. _Fire, I'm on fire! _she thought desperately as blackness threatened to swallow her whole like the inside of the wolf's belly. Indeed, flames of agony were searing through her shoulder, her arm, like being branded with a hot iron or scalded with boiling water, but worse, oh so much worse! Like the Bubotuber pus she'd accidentally knocked over in Potions class years ago, it bubbled and ate away at her skin, her muscle, spreading until her entire body felt as if it were collapsing, dissolving, turning into ash and acid.

Was someone screaming? Dimly she heard without ears the hoarse shrill cries of someone in agonizing pain. If she still existed past the fire, she would have gone to help the poor soul, but she could not move, could not think anything past the inferno of her flesh, and then she heard a choked-off howl of distinct wolfish pain, a short feminine exclamation—it sounded surprised—and then there was silence, and dark, and Tonks knew no more.

_"Luna!" _Ginny shrieked helplessly. "_Confringo!" _She blew away the werewolf as it raised its dripping red muzzle with such force that hand-sized bits and shreds of its body were all that remained, splattering the field with more gore. She felt the burn of her life force as she used her own power, rather than the earth's, but ignored it as she ran towards the two fallen bodies. Luna had gone to the rescue of Tonks, killing the werewolf that had leapt on her and run to pull off the dead corpse whose canines were still lodged in the woman's arm, but there had been another one out of nowhere—and another—

_"No," _she whispered in horror.

Her friend was almost unrecognizable, torn and macerated with a dozen deep scratches and teeth marks, part of her face completely chewed off and her arm, still clutching her wand, several feet away, torn out by the socket. Ginny fought the bile that rose in her throat and the dizzy blindness that swam behind her eyes. "Oh gods, Luna," she croaked.

"_Ginny, behind you!" _

Pansy's shriek had Ginny, reflexes trained to instinctual level, throwing herself to the side and twisting her body at the same time, and the spot where she had been, an enormous grey-brown werewolf with matted bloody jowls snarled and turned towards her, having missed her the first time. Blood shone on his teeth, lips, fur…Luna's blood. Ginny felt the rage rise up until it pressed behind her eyes and exited in a scream of primal fury that rang from her throat, ripping past abused vocals, and the rage possessed her and seized hold of her mind and her will and all the magic in her body regardless of the leech on it, aiming with a steady hand and eager wand to point at the vicious beast that had killed her friend.

_"Confringo!" _

If the force had been great in blasting apart the first werewolf, it was nothing compared to the force this time, fueled by manic anger and despair and the horror of battle and death where glory was a false coating of gild painted on by centuries of time and strangers who had never been on a battlefield and seen the true horror of war. The werewolf exploded instantly, the ground beneath its feet shook and churned, divots flying up to mingle with the fine mist of red and grey-brown that formed a cloud in midair and softly rained down on everyone and everything close by for meters. Nowhere was there a piece bigger than the size of the tip of a newborn infant's pinky finger. As her head swam with magical overexertion, Ginny felt the sticky residue coat her hair, her face, her clothes, and this time she couldn't hold it back. She abruptly dropped to her knees and vomited on the dirt as all around her, the deadly dew of war rained down.

There was a heavy weight on her shoulder. Ginny whirled, one hand wiping her mouth with trembling fingers, the other wildly aiming her wand. A familiar face, framed with spectacles, swam into view. _Harry? _Blinking her eyes clear of sweat, blood, and tears, Ginny took the hand the vision offered her, grip firm and reassuringly safe and _real. _"Harry," she rasped.

"Gin," he whispered, concern evident behind the reflective glass that shielded his eyes. "I came as fast as I could."

Shakily, she reached out to touch him on his cheek. He was remarkably uncovered with the dull, vivid red that coated everything else including her, the sticky color that Ginny now _hated. _Red had used to stand for family—the family of redheads they were famous for, red for love, red for romance, red for Gryffindor. Now she never wanted to see the color again. Where she lifted her fingertips from his cheek, little prints of the color of death bloomed like roses. Abruptly, she burst into tears and flung herself at Harry, at the one thing that remained beautiful and constant in her life, and he didn't step back as she had half-feared, despite her filth, despite the blood caking her body and the deaths of souls still on her lips and heart. Instead, he opened his arms, catching her and his tall, solid warmth was enough to put the world back into place. Everything was still topsy-turvy and she had _killed, _and her friends had died and would continue to die in horrible, awful ways, but she had Harry and everything would be all right.

**-break-**

"Little baby Longbottom! Have you come to join your parents?" Bellatrix cooed, madness dancing brightly in her eyes, dark hair curling wildly like snakes around her face, her shoulders, spilling down her back.

Once, Neville's Boggart had been Professor Snape. Once, he had been no more than a pudgy little boy still half-convinced that he didn't belong at a magical school, let alone _Hogwarts, _where his parents had attended. Once, he would have either turned tail and run upon meeting the insane witch that had tortured his parents or tried to chase her, throwing all caution to the wind in search of revenge. Once—but no more. He was no longer the cowering almost-squib trying to vanquish a Boggart with a vulture-topped hat and handbag. He was the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, and nothing would shake him.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, I see that time spent recuperating from Azkaban has not improved you," he said calmly.

She twitched, confusion apparent. This was _not _how Neville Longbottom was supposed to act! "In fact," he went on, "If I had not been taught better manners, I would have said that even with the recuperation, you look positively _haggish!" _

"Why, I quite agree, mate," called a jovial voice, and an instant later, a second identical voice added,

"I think she looked better when she was still—"

"In Azkaban, don't—"

"You?" finished Fred Weasley, beaming all over, facing them from almost directly behind Bellatrix. George Weasley stood back to back with him, calling behind to his twin and Neville as he deflected curses that might have taken down his brother's back if unprotected. "Need some help, Neville?"

Bellatrix' expression contorted into pure vexation at being outmaneuvered and sandwiched and _talked _to so, and she gave voice to a scream of anger as she leapt out from the jarvey in the middle position, slashing her wand at Neville. "_Crucio!" _

Neville ducked easily, and was glad of the stone wall of the Astronomy tower behind his back. There would be no attack from behind. "_Stupefy," _he returned, not bothering to shout although his blood had surged at the sight of the witch that had single-handedly robbed him of his parents and had not subsided yet. Only iron control kept him steady. "_Petrificus Totalus."_

_ "Crucio, Crucio, Crucio!" _shrieked Bellatrix, jabbing her wand violently at him. _"Crucio!"_

He'd dodged the first three, but the edge of the forth caught him and it was _painpainPAIN, _like a thousand sharp needles jabbing into his flesh, like the insides of his body were rebelling against him, shaking him like an earthquake with all the torment of a muscle cramp carried to the unimaginable power. He heard cackling that must have been the last thing his mother and father had heard as they slipped from agony to insanity, and then a high, piqued screech and the torture that racked his body and seized control of his limbs faded, leaving him aching and aware as he forced himself to his feet.

Bellatrix was currently sporting boils the size of fists that squirted pink goo aimed, in some odd fashion, at her eyes. One of the Weasley twins was laughing hysterically as he fended off a would-be killer, and the other looked supremely satisfied as he launched another small bludger-looking ball at her. Unfortunately, she was quicker than anyone gave her credit for, for a furious gesture had the ball reversing itself at high speed. Both twins ducked simultaneously, although how the one not looking had known to do so was a mystery to non-twins like Neville everywhere, and it whistled right into an unfortunate approaching Death Eater. With a surprised _oomph, _it plowed into his face and suddenly, he was ballooning at an absurd rate, turning an alarming shade of purply-blue as he did so. "It works!" George shouted with triumph. "He's an enormous blueberry!"

And so he was, with tiny hands and feet and head sticking out but unable to do anything but wave about feebly as the Death Eater rolled ominously on his behind—er, bottom. "Hey Fred, it's a blue ball!" cried George wickedly.

_"Crucio!" _

_"Protego!"_

Bellatrix, had, apparently, managed to stop her boils from squirting pink ink, although they remained large and sore all over her body. Neville hastily avoided her curse. _"Incendio! Petrificus Totalus!" _

"_Silicis intus!" _added Fred helpfully.

_"Crucio! Crucio! Avada Kedavra!" _

"How unoriginal," Neville drawled, drawing on years of memories of cowering away from the potions master who had turned murderer and betrayer, who had then apparently still been on their side all along. Years of memories of acerbic scathing wit at Neville's expense. A little distance away, Fred and Geoge Weasley both raised simultaneous eyebrows at the sudden and very evident invocation of Severus Snape.

"Cruciatus here, Avada there," Neville continued, dodging another blistering green death without pausing in his taunts though his heart was in his mouth and it was beating ten times faster than normal with the careless way Bellatrix lobbed about the Killing Curse. "Honestly, doesn't it get a little boring sometimes? After all, they say that variation is the spice of life…"

Finally, every single vestige of Bellatrix's little control evaporated. With a scream of pure wrath, the deranged witch flew at Neville, fingers hardened into claws as she flung herself at him like a possessed demon or a cat driven past endurance. It was the most frightening sight Neville had ever seen, and his muscles involuntarily flexed and twitched in the direction it wanted to flee, but then she was on him, nails biting into his face, scrabbling for his eyes, and his hand—his _left _hand, having hidden itself in the folds of his robes, flew out and up and _slammed _with an audible _thunk _of dead meat hitting cement wetly, and Bellatrix Lestrange's raving eyes widened, her mouth opened as if to say something, perhaps insult his parents one more time—and she slid lifelessly down onto the ground before him, his knife buried hilt-deep in her gut.

"As you killed Muggles, let the death of a Muggle be yours," Neville murmured. "As you drove others mad with torture, let your death be at the consequence of madness without thought or reason." He reached down, yanked the dagger from her stomach, and in a swift move, cut her throat to ensure that there would be no miraculous survivals. _Always clean your weapons before sheathing them, _Hermione's voice reminded him bossily, and he bent to clumsily wipe the blade on the robes of the dead witch who had haunted his nightmares for far too long. It left dull wet streaks on the cloth, and then he carefully sheathed it in the short dagger scabbard that hung around his neck underneath his robes.

"Good job, mate," Fred Weasley said quietly.

He looked up. There had been a lull in the fighting in their area, possibly brought on by the fact that no one wanted to take on the people who had just killed the formidable Bellatrix Black-Lestrange. "Thanks," he returned just as quietly, feeling the tension—and years of repressed anger and fear—slip away. "Let's rejoin the battle—I see some friends in need," George suggested, surveying the main action that was taking place further off. Neville glanced at where blueberry victim had been rolling, and his queasiness returned with a vengeance when he noticed a large blue-purple stain on the ground—nothing else. There were also two more bodies lying in various unfortunate testimonials to George Weasley's inventive streak. Neville decided not to look too closely, although one glance was enough to show him that one of the corpses was Rodulphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband and partner. _So ends the reign of the demented duo. _He ordered his stomach to stay where it was and nodded sharply at the twins. "Let's," he said shortly.

And so they did, racing back into the midst of the roaring battle, coming in just in time to decapitate a Death Eater about to kill Blaise Zabini. And Neville let the heat and reality of the battlefield and all its gory horror rise to the forefront of his mind, and walled away—for now—the part of himself that had settled, like a satisfied fat bear going into true hibernation, knowing that he had avenged his parents and given his grandmother a reason to smile when the dust settled on the weary survivors.

**-break-**

Evangeline Cain was trapped. Backed into a corner of Hogwarts, facing two coldly furious witches advancing on her, she felt her first flicker of fear. "Bitch," growled one of them. "Murderer!"

"You got away once with murder," hissed the other one hoarsely. Evangeline swallowed. She was almost an exact image of her sister—of the girl who's dead, blank eyes and limp body haunted her dreams and had since Azkaban. The dusky skin, dark pupils—this pair was filled with a fierce light akin to triumph.

She turned her eyes to the other one, in hopes of finding an easier target to escape the trap. What she saw consumed the last of her bravado. _This _witch was, if possible, even harder than Padma Patil. Her eyes glittered not with revenge or victory, but with insanity—pure, heady draughts of it, restrained just barely by a worn thread. Any slight movement, any puff of air might break the thread entirely and somehow, pinned by the mad gaze of this girl, Evangeline had no doubt that she would be a long and painful time in dying. "Please…" she tried, hating herself for the way her plea whimpered out.

The Indian girl threw back her head and laughed uproariously. "Please, she says. The great Evangeline Cain, begging for undeserved mercy. Did you show mercy to any of the people you killed? Did you spare any of them?"

They both stepped closer. Evangeline felt her back bump hard against the stone wall. "Well?" demanded Padma Patil. _"Did you?" _

"N-no," she whispered.

"You are scum, Cain, and as such, we will wipe you out from this earth," Patil informed her coolly as if she had just told her that the weather today was sunny with a chance of clouds.

She closed her eyes tight. So this was it. All her scheming, all her clever plans, all her bright hopes and certainties for a glorious future, for nothing. In the end she would just be another dead body at the end of the battle. It wouldn't matter who won and who lost, she would just be considered a necessary casualty of the war by either side. _And my brother will come out of this smelling like roses, I have no doubt, _she thought viciously, anger flaring bright for an instant. _Never good enough. I was never good enough. Not the heir, not the precious son of the Cain family. Nothing more than pretty little Evie. Couldn't even prove my own worth in the end. Even if they win, they'll be sneering at my death for decades to come. Poor little Evie, just too sheltered and unprepared for battle. Battlefields aren't a woman's place, but she wouldn't listen and got herself killed for it. _

_I'll come back as a ghost and haunt them for eternity, _she swore to herself, fury burning away the last of her fear. _They'll never know a moment's peace. This 'weak woman' will destroy the rest of the Cain family that survives, I swear it! _

She clenched her teeth, waiting for the death blow. None came. A loud growl, a shriek, and a crash startled her eyes into opening, and what she saw was an answer to her prayer.

Fenrir Greyback, large as life and just as disgustingly wolfish and smelly as he had always been. The mad, brown-haired witch was down, unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around her. The other witch was battling furiously with the werewolf. Heaving herself to her feet and trying not to look at all the sticky red blood that the fallen witch lay in, Evangeline cautiously bent down and forced the unfamiliar wand from her fist.

"_Expelliarmus!_" she tried, aiming at the battling witch.

Three things happened simultaneously.

First, the witch, not breaking in her rhythm, _leaped _to one side and then continued her unexpected side-lunge into a forward motion, throwing herself bodily at the surprised werewolf.

Second, the stolen wand in Evangeline's hand started _screaming _in a tinny, high voice that would bring anyone and everyone in hearing range running, and at the same time, it heated up to a temperature beyond unbearable. Crying out in pain, Evangeline dropped the wand and brought her hand to her face to examine with disbelief the smoking flesh where the wand had burned her.

And third, the dead girl moved.

Slowly, glassy-eyed with pain and blood-loss and that _insanity, _she sat up, blood soaking her brown ringlets and robes. She looked up with some effort, saw Evangeline, and _grinned _suddenly, horribly, like an Inferi corpse that has just spotted its target. Evangeline was frozen, pinned into place by the ghoulish scene. Still grinning, the macabre sight wordlessly Summoned her wand to her. It fell silent when it touched her bloody hand, and Evangeline suddenly stumbled backwards, her face a mask of terror. Then the resurrected corpse lifted her wand, aiming it at Evangeline, and the real world dissolved away into _! _And then the worst thing of all blotted out everything, and reached its scaly skeleton hands out to her, black hood falling back to reveal every nightmare that has ever been dreamt, and Evangeline felt it brush against her lips as she gave voice to her last scream.

If the inhuman screaming hadn't warned Remus that something was wrong, the overpowering smell of blood would have—more blood than was possible for someone to lose and still live, he feared. Nevertheless, he sprinted, wand in hand, to where both smell and sound were emanating.

He stumbled into a scene straight out of hell.

He had no time at all to process the bloody body of a student and just a few steps away from it, another figure. Just as he came hurtling in, a small body —_DA student!—_hurled itself at a menacing and snarling werewolf, and Remus had no time—

_Cub in danger! _Animal instincts took over. He too flung himself at the wiry, snapping wolf. The body writhed under him, hairy and strong, but Remus too had strength beyond his human body, for while he had been given the gift of freedom from the curse of the werewolf, his body was still the same as it was, strong and wiry from years of building endurance through transformation. He snarled and more information filtered through his fight-mode mind. This was no ordinary werewolf. Remus remembered all too clearly the smell, the size, and the look of the wolf who had mauled him as a child. _Greyback. _Unable to use his wand to obliterate the monster without giving it the chance to either kill him or his first attack, Remus resorted to clawing, biting, and wrestling, to gain enough predominance. Then a glint of something tore through the bloody, sweat-glazed mist obscuring his vision.

"I can't reach his heart," hissed a strained voice that only slowly penetrated his mind. "He has me pinned down, although you're distracting him enough from taking off my head. But if you take the dagger and stab him through the back, that should do it."

_Take…silver…stab…_it finally filtered its way through the fog cast over Remus' battle-senses. Remus clamped down hard again on Greyback's shoulder and reached down blindly with one hand. Something solid met his palm. He pulled it up, clasping the the smooth stone handle noted the fierce glint of light off a partially bloodied blade, and then in a smooth strong motion, rammed it into the werewolf's back and twisted cruelly.

Greyback _howled, _bucked, and Remus found himself flying backwards helplessly. He felt the shuddering _jolt _greeting his back, and then everything faded.

_He's dead. We killed him, _Padma thought absently, mind distant and far away from the reality of the battlefield. There was a dead, smelly weight on top of her. She didn't like that. It hurt, _everywhere. _If Parvati were here, she'd have clucked her tongue and told Padma to remember that she was a witch and _fix _the problem.

Fixing the problem. Weakly, she shoved at the weight, and nearly screamed with the pain that crackled from her chest. It greyed her vision for an instant and she felt bile rise up in her throat in response. _No, I am _not _fainting like a trembly girl, _she protested stubbornly, remembering just how much fun she'd made of Parvati the day her twin had not drunk enough water on their third day visiting family in India and had fainted from heat exhaustion in the middle of the street. Stubbornly, she forced the grey away, until she could see properly again—albeit with spots dancing al over her vision. Still.

The pain subsided when she relaxed her chest a little, though it hurt like the devil to breathe. _Cracked ribs, most likely. _The dead weight could be nothing else but the entire body of a very dead werewolf on top of her. Which she would not be able to move off of her with her cracked ribs. Unless she _remembered _that she was a witch, of course, and did a hasty field dressing like they'd learned in the DA. Gritting her teeth and _very _glad that Harry had drilled into their heads over and over to _never let go of your wand, _Padma inched her hand up her body, panting and gasping with the fresh waves of agony each movement and struggle to move her pinned down arm brought her. It felt like eternity by the time she had managed to work her way up so that her wand rested on her ribs.

_I can do this. I _have _to do this, _she thought, and focused all the rest of the dregs of her energy into the one spell that she needed. Desperately, she whispered, "_Episkey_."

She must have blacked out, despite willing herself not to. When she came to, she was still in the same position, but—her ribs were only a dull throb now, compared to the torment they'd been before. _It worked! Now if it'll just hold long enough for me to get out of this mess and find a real field healer…_Padma tentatively pushed once again at the dead, stinking body draped over hers.

It caused shrieks of torture, but this time she was able to roll the damn thing off her. Next ordeal. Getting up. Padma screwed up her face and slowly, excruciatingly, managed somehow to roll onto her side, and then she was on her hands and knees, her chest screaming with the strain, and then she looked up and in front of her several meters away was Lavender—

Only no Lavender that she knew. She was sprawled, face first, on the cold, blood-stained floor, wand clutched tightly in her hand. A second glance showed where the werewolf had first attacked them, sinking teeth into both spine and side—a fatal injury. But she wasn't lying in the same place Padma had last seen her, face up and the thirst for revenge still in her eyes, before she'd turned her attention to the attacker. And Cain—Padma looked past Lavender's body, past the odd, rusty smears of dried blood…to where Evangeline Cain's body lay, stiff and unmoving, her face contorted and frozen in an expression of pure terror, and something dark—more blood—leaking from her nose, her mouth.

Padma dropped on her hands and vomited violently, the sourish acid filling her mouth and expelling itself onto the floor. The horror of the scene around her, dead bodies everywhere, churned her stomach and sickened her mind. Suddenly she found herself grateful that Parvati was dead—had died a year ago, with one well-aimed curse that killed her instantly. It meant that her twin sister had never had to experience…_this. _

Heaving, dry retching, and sobbing, Padma needed to get _out, _to get away from this scene of slaughter. Ignoring the ache in her ribs, she staggered to her feet, nearly tripping over the dead man-wolf in her haste to flee this macabre butchery. She had not gone more than several meters when she came across another body—but this one was alive.

Dropping to her knees, Padma frantically felt for a pulse when she saw Professor Lupin twitch. It was there—unsteady, erratic, but it was there. He looked as pale as death itself, and he appeared to have been flattened against the stone wall against which he was lying. "Professor," she croaked, surprising herself. She hadn't known she could still speak.

"Professor. Wake up. _Please," _she pleaded inanely. She needed someone to live. She needed someone older, who had authority, to tell her that everything was going to be all right and that what they had just gone through had been worth it, had made a difference somehow, somewhere.

"Please," she wept, plucking at his sleeve helplessly.

He groaned. Her eyes flew open. "Professor?"

"Huhh…hhh…glrg…"

"Don't try and speak just yet," she said anxiously, as his feral eyes opened and stared sightlessly at her with panic and pain. "You've been injured pretty badly. So have I. I'm going to try and call a Healer."

He seemed to understand, as his glowing eyes subsided in intensity. She struggled with her wand and tried to remember how to signal for a field healer. The stress and pain before had wiped all thoughts of calling for one away. But now…_please work. I don't think I have enough strength left to drag myself out of this place, let alone help Professor Lupin. _She flicked her wand.

Just when she thought she'd failed, someone came. It was someone she didn't know personally—an older Order member, who took one look at the battle scene before him, sized up both Professor Lupin and Padma, pursed his lips, and got to work.

He went to Professor Lupin first, seeing that Padma was awake and aware. Padma didn't know a quarter of what he did, but in under ten minutes, the Professor was feebly sitting up, awareness back fully. Except for one thing.

"You were hit very hard in the back of the head. It's a wonder you're alive at all," the Healer informed Professor Lupin as he thrust a phial of potion at him. "I'm sorry, but in most cases, blunt force trauma to the extent of what you experienced is either fatal or has permanent effects…"

"I suppose I ought to be thankful that I am alive," was Professor Lupin's answer, although his expression was stricken.

"You can always seek treatment—there's current research that's being done right now on physical disabilities that can't be magically cured. But aye, I wouldn't get my hopes up," the Healer agreed.

Confused, Padma looked from the healer to the Professor—to the Professor whose bright, almost lupine eyes were still staring blankly at nothing—

"You're _blind?" _she whispered in dismay.

"It would appear so, Miss…Patil, is it?" he replied tentatively.

"Yes. Padma. But you can't be…"

"Blunt force trauma to the back of the head often results in blindness, if it doesn't result in death first," the Professor said. "It was worth it though. I assume we got the little shithead?"

"Wha—oh, yes. We got Greyback. He's dead," Padma assured the Professor. She swallowed. "Lavender's dead too. I think she killed Cain first though."

"And you, young lady—it's a wonder _you're _not dead as well," the Healer scolded, bustling over to her. "Sit down!"

Automatically, Padma sat, and winced at the pain. "Ah, I thought so. Broken ribs? Certainly several nasty bites—there's no way to avoid it Miss Patil, I'm afraid you will most likely be a werewolf or have some serious side-effects—no one is quite sure how being transformed out of time will change the consequences of a bite. There aren't any fatal wounds though, so you should live. Hmm. Drink this." He thrust a phial at Padma. She drank it without tasting it, his words still sinking in. _Bites. Werewolf. Dear Merlin…_She would be a werewolf. She, Padma Patil, was going to grow fur and a taste for flesh for every full moon the rest of her life. _No, oh no…_everything else faded into the background—the talking Healer, the stinging pain of something in the bites on her arms and legs, Professor Lupin's unseeing eyes…_I miss Parvati. She'd make everything better. She would laugh and call me furface and then start Animagus training with or without permission so she could stay with me on full moons. I'm going to be a werewolf. Lavender's dead. Parvati's dead. Cain and Greyback are dead, Professor Lupin is blind, I'm going to be a mad beast each full moon, Parvati is dead…_

Padma curled up into a ball and let misery and blackness sweep her away to where she didn't have to think—or _feel—_anymore.

**-break-**

Draco found himself glad that he was on the same side as the Weasley matriarch.

Clarification: he found himself extremely thankful that the woman had happened upon he and Skye in the Astronomy Tower before something unfortunate like him dying had occurred. The two menacing Death Eaters had been intent on possibly tossing them over the edge, and while Draco would much prefer to live, it became serious business if you were going to threaten Skye. Unfortunately, defending Skye was a little hard when he was handicapped by possessing no wand. Somehow, one of the goons had managed to blast it to pieces along with part of his hand, and Skye, while good with a wand, couldn't fight off two scarily vicious Death Eaters. Draco suspected they were higher in rank than mere foot-soldier—he didn't recognize either women, but they both moved like assassins.

Thankfully, Molly Weasley, while far from being an assassin, had, with the same brash style Draco saw daily in Ginny Weasley (and on occasion been attacked with by said brash style) tossed _them _over the edge instead.

"You should go to the hospital," Skye said, referring to the temporary camp that the field healers had set up in the Room of Requirement to care for the wounded of the battle, voice strained as she deftly stopped the bleeding in what was left of his right hand.

Giddy with pain, Draco grimaced, carefully focusing on Skye's bent head rather than his mangled flesh. "I'm fine," he gritted between his teeth. He steadied himself against the waves of throbbing pain, vaguely noting that he might be in shock, from the way that even the trauma of having his hand blasted and shreds of wood from his wand embedded in his torn flesh did not hurt as much as he thought it should. Not to mention, oh, the thought of actually being seriously injured and the realization that he might no longer have a hand…"We need every fighter that can still stand and wield a spell."

"Your wand's gone," Skye retorted angrily.

"Hers isn't." He nearly motioned with his right hand and stopped himself just in time, but Skye nonetheless got the picture. Before Molly Weasley had turned tigress on the Death Eaters, she'd disarmed at least one of them, and it now lay harmlessly on the floor.

"Please, Draco." Skye lifted her face, and he could see tears trailing down her face. Somehow, the sight of her crying hurt him more than the fire in his hand. "I can't bear…I thought…I need you to stay safe," she managed between sobs.

"Hey," Draco said softly, pulling his battle-stained wife towards him with his good hand, trying not to wince at the jolt that set his nerve endings screaming in his right arm. "Hey, Skye. It's okay. It's just my hand. The field healers are already spread thin as it is with injuries that are life threatening. Mine's fine, you've stopped the bleeding and wrapped it up and it doesn't hurt too much, and I'll be okay. But you _know _that we need every single fighter we have out here. There's just too many on the opposing team, and I'm still an able body."

Skye's face twisted with raw emotion, but she could not deny what Draco said. "I hate Voldemort," she spat. Raising a trembling hand, fingers coated in his blood, to his cheek, she leaned in and kissed him. It tasted of salt and metal and love.

When she pulled away and offered him an arm to help him stand up once more, Draco noticed Molly Weasley discreetly standing with her eyes staring at the battle raging below them rather than the couple. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for saving our lives," he said politely but with great sincerity.

She turned back to him, smiling in a motherly fashion. "Anytime, dear. I'm glad I got here in time." Her gaze slid to the white-wrapped limb, and the plump woman shook her head. "I do wish you would listen to your sweetheart and go to the hospital, but you are right in that we need all the wands we can get. Would you like me to numb the pain? I've done it often enough with all my boys—a broken bone or something equally dreadful at least twice a year, and more once the twins were old enough to crawl…"

Draco blinked. "I would be much obliged," he acknowledged.

"As would I," Skye added.

"Of course, dear." Shaking back the curly red mass of her hair, the Weasley matriarch aimed her wand at Draco's hand. "_Cesso tactus." _A prickly sensation of ice spread slowly, matching and then overwhelming the predominant burning that he had been experiencing. Then the pinpricks of coldness grew into tingling, a numbing feel as if that part of his limb had fallen asleep. Finally, the cold settled into a pervading…nothingness, as if that part of his body had stopped responding to him or his nerve receptors altogether.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"As long as you get that hand seen to first thing after this horrible affair is over with," the woman replied. "I had better find Arthur again, it doesn't do to be split up or fighting alone in this mess." She nodded to them and set off down from the precarious height.

"And we should rejoin the fray," Draco said with a sigh. "I do hope Potter finishes off the bastard soon."

Skye bit her lip. "You swear to me you'll be careful, and if you need to take a break or rest or…anything, we'll go straight to the hospital."

"I swear," Draco said reassuringly. "I swear, Skye." He turned with her to leave, and wrinkled his nose at the stairs. "I hate stairs," he muttered.

Skye sighed too. "Whiny git," she scolded as they headed back down to where the action was, Draco stopping to scoop up the unfamiliar wand.

Fighting with his left hand was awkward. The wand in his hand seemed to know that its previous owner was dead, for it was compliant enough, but it was longer than his, felt different than his, and he was working with his non-wand hand. He'd practiced with his left hand before, but nowhere near enough to be proficient. Growling in frustration at himself, Draco finally let his pent-up fear and fury at losing his hand and his wand out, and allowed that momentum to make up for his awkward handling skills.

The Death Eaters had well and truly flooded the castle by now, and Draco and Skye soon found some of their Slytherins fighting for their lives in the dungeons by the Potions classroom. The castle had made an optimal situation for its defenders, somehow creating a stone barricade for the students to hide behind, but no matter how well-prepared, it was difficult for fourteen and fifteen year olds who had only been truly training for a month to fight a dozen fully-grown witches and wizards whose Dark Arts expertise came from years of learning dirty spells and dirtier dueling.

"Pick on someone your own size," Draco snarled, hurtling towards _his _Slytherins. His anger flared and surged as he saw the broken body of Astoria Greengrass lying on the ground, head turned at an unnatural angle from her body. Astoria, who had surprised everyone by quietly defying her family to stay at Hogwarts when she had been called back, was one of the sweetest Slytherin girls he knew. She had the temperament of a Hufflepuff and her shy smile and willingness to help anyone who needed it (with a reasonable price, of course—she was a shrewd businesswoman and Slytherin, after all) had endeared her to everyone who knew her. Skye had teased him, several times, about how Astoria always turned red and stammered whenever he talked to her.

_Merlin…_

"_Sectumsempra, _you bloody heartless bastard of a frogspawn and a worm," Skye shrieked, and a Death Eater dropped, howling in pain and cuts appeared across his face and chest.

"Traitor!" cried someone, and Draco recognized with a sinking heart the grim visages of Crabbe and Goyle. Neither looked particularly friendly.

"Don't know why we ever stuck around you," growled Crabbe. "Filthy little ass-kisser, probably only switched sides because you got more booty in bed that way…"

"_Silencio!" _Draco roared, seeing red. "Don't you _ever _speak about my wife that way again! For your information, I chose the side I knew respected human life and any sort of decency, rather than kiss up to some reptilian monster and his slave-followers!"

"Not much good it will do you, because we're going to kill you and if she begs prettily enough, we might spare the little ladyto warm _our _beds," taunted Goyle, who had ducked the silencing spell that Crabbe had been hit with.

That did it. "_Bombarda!" _

"_Crucio!"_

_ "Serpensortia!"_

The snake, a black adder and far deadlier than the non-venomous garden snake he'd conjured up back in second year in an attempt to outdo Harry Potter, moved with devastating swiftness. One strike, and Vincent Crabbe lay twitching on the ground, eyes dilating as poison pumped through his bloodstream from his upper thigh. Before the snake could strike again, Goyle Banished it. "Nice try, but now I get to have your girl all to myself," he leered, coming closer, large fingers rolling his wand casually.

Draco opened his mouth to curse his former classmate, and then watched as the goon's eyes rolled up in his head and winced at the keening sound that he emitted as he clutched at his private parts. "Nice shot," he commented.

"Thanks." Skye sniffed haughtily. "Filthy bugger," she muttered, still highly offended. "That'll teach you to talk about women that way, rapist."

"What did you do?" Draco asked as Goyle moaned quietly, now on the floor and curled up in agony.

"I simply used an old spell that has been passed from witch to witch for generations," Skye said easily. "It was the preferred route of vengeance for cheating and wayward husbands in the late eighteen hundreds."

Draco flashed back to a history lesson from his private tutor before he had been old enough to attend Hogwarts, and the subsequent warning to never stray from his wife or the possible consequences thereof. Instinctively, one hand went protectively over his own private parts, and Skye laughed.

While they had been dueling Crabbe and Goyle, the other Slytherins had run off the rest of the Death Eaters. One of them lay dead, face torn off, and Draco and Skye turned serious again as they watched Terry Boot try in vain to pull another girl…Eleanor? away from the mutilated corpse. She refused, silently kicking the dead man's ribs viciously though her body trembled with the force of her sobs.

Skye pushed her way in, and grabbed the smaller girl. The girl shrieked and struggled, but was Skye was inexorable and finally the girl went limp in her arms. "Shh…it's okay to grieve," Skye whispered, as Terry moved back to stand with the rest of his group—Owen Caldwell, a Hufflepuff, and Orla Quirke, a Ravenclaw.

"That…that foul piece of shit is the one that killed Astoria," he said quietly to Draco, voice trembling with grief and savagery.

Yes, he remembered now. Astoria had been particularly good friends with a girl from Hufflepuff, Eleanor Branstone. Now that the immediate threat was gone, Draco walked slowly to where the body of one of his Slytherins lay. She looked even tinier than normal, and he was excruciatingly gentle as he knelt and righted her position, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered—to her, or to her friends, he wasn't sure.

"Come on." Orla, eyes hard, turned to the rest of them, including the still silently crying Eleanor. "Let's do what Astoria stayed here to do. Let's get all those bastards who think they can just barge in here and kill whomever, and make it so that its possible for there to be peace again." She swallowed. "Astoria would have wanted that."

Skye loosened her arms as Eleanor wiped her eyes and stirred. "Let's," the small blonde-haired girl finally said, giving her best friend one more look before turning to meet the gazes of those who still lived. "Let's send them all back to hell where they belong, and bring peace back for Astoria's sake."

**-break-**

Viktor Krum stared dispassionately at the blood and death before him. He dared not turn in the direction of the Quidditch field, though it was just to his left. Instead, he tipped his head up to stare at the sight of the magnificent castle. It was perhaps the same age as the Durmstrang castle, but built on an entirely different purpose. Durmstrang was a fortress, meant for times of war, and its stocky lines and closed in defenses were all built along the lines of battle.

Battle looked wrong at Hogwarts.

He remembered the first time he had seen the place. It had evoked a gasp of surprise among even his fellow Durmstrang students as they caught their first glimpse of the imposing castle, regal where theirs was violent. They had taken care not to show how impressed they were with the place, but all of them had left the school with more respect for their rivals than they had arrived with. It was why Viktor had flat out refused when he had been asked—no, ordered—to fight here, today.

Voldemort was profaning both the day, Beltane, and the place, a magically blessed ground.

It had, of course, been no use in protesting and for his pains he had been ordered to the front ranks, where the most danger lay. Viktor had a purpose, though, and would not allow himself to be killed until he fulfilled it. He had done all sorts of disgusting, humiliating, and perverted things in order for this chance and he would not botch it up now.

He killed men, women, and even children younger than he robotically, sparing only one fleeting moment of regret to be cutting lives short, and on such ground as well. He hated even more the flash of recognition before he killed them, the same flash of knowledge that he had seen so often dawning on the faces of people when he walked into a coffee shop or browsed the bookshelves of the local library in the Wizarding part of Sofia. _It's the famous international Quidditch player, Krum—the one that played on the Bulgarian team during the World Cup in '94, the one that caught the snitch, you know, the Seeker! _

He took no pleasure in what he did, disarming when he could and killing swiftly and painlessly when he couldn't. And it relieved him more than he could put into words when, even as the sun crept above the horizon and then began its trek upwards and the morning wore on, that he caught no sight of that familiar bushy head of hair or pair of green eyes. And his eyes roamed endlessly for that telltale mop of red.

He was destined to be lucky in the last, for even as he searched, something swift hurtled past him and he ducked just as a slicing spell would have decapitated him. The spell came from above, and he lifted his eyes to see Charlie Weasley mounted on a broom, wand still raised.

"Krum," he said with vitriol. "I expected better of you than to be one of _them." _

Something in his throat was tight and Viktor had to force his words out around it. "I vish not to harm, but vot must be done must be done," he said in reply.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" The redheaded man demanded.

Viktor looked at the man whose talent had paralleled his—if Charlie Weasley had not chosen his work with dragons in Romania, Viktor almost certainly might have met him as the competition on the Quidditch field. "He promised that vhich I have long vonted," Viktor admitted candidly. "Revenge against the family who betrayed mine to Grindelwald, and cost my grandfather his life."

"Who…"

Viktor smiled involuntarily. "Yours, Veasley. It was your mother's brother, Fabian Prewett, who gained my grandfather's trust, learned from him the plans of Grindelwald, and then left him to face Grindelwald as a traitor for giving away information. My grandmother was tortured for many hours in front of him before Grindelwald gave him the 'honor' of putting her out of her misery, and then he was killed himself. All because he trusted your uncle as a friend who vood keep his confidences. I did not know this until I returned home from the Triwizard Tournament and my father heard of who I had met at Hogwarts."

"Your grandfather was part of Grindelwald's forces, torturing and killing people for a delusion," Charlie retorted. "I'm sorry that Grindelwald was a sick bastard almost as bad as Voldemort and chose to take out his perversion and anger on your family, but my uncle Fabian was a good man who did what he could to protect _his _family from Grindelwald's madness."

Viktor shook his head. "It vos yours who began this blood feud, and it is I who vill end it!"

"Viktor, please," Charlie tried to persuade the other man, but Viktor would no longer be persuaded or spoken with. A twist of his wrist, and his shrunken broom regained its size. "Let us play," the Bulgarian Seeker called, a mad light in his eyes, and Charlie swore and shot out of the way just as the ball of sizzling ferocious energy whipped by him.

"If you really want it this way," he called back, all thoughts of reconciliation gone and the determination to win that had shot Gryffindor to victory multiple times hardened in his heart. And he took off, circling into the sky above the Quidditch field as he had done so many times before, and gave himself to the wind.

**-break-**

Draco had planned on staying inside, but as the sun rose higher, it became obvious that those on the outside were faring far worse than those on the inside. Inside, the castle held its own and the Death Eaters were limited in their ability to attack en masse. Outside, with almost no covering, the Death Eaters and the squalid dark creatures that had joined forces with them were gaining ground steadily, with superior numbers.

McGonagall had made the call for more defenders to go outside. _"We just need to give them enough to think about for long enough for Harry to get to Voldemort," _she'd said. _"As it is, they're having trouble getting through without wearing themselves out, which is the point. Harry needs to be relatively at full power when he faces Voldemort, which he won't be if this continues." _

Severus was out here too now, his calm logic that he would draw more attention and thus, give the core group some breathing space, unarguable.

"_Everte statum! Bombarda!"_

_ "Immobulus!"_

_ "Lacarnum inflamarae!"_

_ "Confringo! Diffindo!" _

_ "Homo evanesco maxima!"_

Draco wiped sweat from his face. The spell that Molly Weasley had placed on his arm had been good, but it was starting to wear off, and added to the constant press of fighting he'd been in since he'd come out here, he was beginning to wonder if he should have volunteered to come outside. They'd managed to catch up to Potter and his gang, who had somehow veered off course a bit and then been bombarded with so many Death Eaters that they'd been unable to progress further beyond where they were. After a quick catching up on the new plan of action, Potter, Hermione, and the two Weasleys—Ginny included, who had somehow found her way to Potter despite them not being in the same original group—broke away suddenly, charging forward.

At the same time, Draco, Skye, Millicent, Pansy, and Hannah joined forces to distract and keep busy the attacking Death Eaters. There was something wrong, something different about the girls, but Draco couldn't figure out what it was. He shelved it as a concern for after, and concentrated on staying alive and keeping the Death Eaters too occupied to attack Potter's group, which they were succeeding at.

And at least half of the reason was Severus Snape.

Draco thought Hermione's glare when she first saw the man catch up to them could have set him on fire, but Uncle Severus was a far stronger man than he by far. There'd been words exchanged between them that Draco hadn't heard, but at least it looked as if Hermione had had no choice but to accept that he was out here and would not be sent back inside.

"Draco, down!"

"_Conjunctiva irrito!" _

Draco shot a look of thanks to Skye as the curse sailed harmlessly over his head and she took out the witch that had snuck up behind him.

"_Conscindo!" _Severus jostled up by Draco, and shouted over the din of the battle into his ear. "This isn't working—they're gaining on us! If you and your group will stay here for another few minutes and then begin to retreat very gradually towards the castle, drawing the Death Eaters back that way, I will move forward and draw yet more further on, staying just at the rear of Potter's group to take the brunt of the attack, that will be best."

"That puts a lot of pressure on you, Sir," Draco shouted back. "Are you sure? _Confringo!_"

"_Suffoco! _Yes," Severus Snape said, eyes glittering wildly with something Draco identified as savage excitement after a moment.

Well, he trusted the man. "Hermione will have my hide if you die, Sir, so try not to do that," he said instead.

"I shall endeavor not to," his godfather replied sarcastically, and gave him a nod.

The nod was all a goodbye he got, as the former Death Eater suddenly straightened and began battling in earnest, displaying why he had risen so far and so fast in the ranks of the Dark Lord's favorites when he had first joined.

It happened when they were almost back to the castle. The voice he had been dreading hearing.

"Draco."

He couldn't breathe as he lifted his eyes to where Lucius Malfoy stood, a pillar of ice among the hot and sweaty coarseness of death surrounding him. The look in his eyes was unreadable. Next to him, paler and thinner than when he had last seen her, Narcissa met his eyes.

"Lucius. Narcissa," he heard himself say in greeting, his own voice unrecognizably distant and cold.

"Draco…" the woman who had been his mother once upon a time started forward, and then stopped as Draco raised his wand higher in warning.

"I—"

What Lucius might have said, Draco never knew, for at that moment, a third party cut in. "Why, if it isn't my relative—forgive me, _former _relative!" Tall, commanding, and cold, a man Draco knew instantly was Damascus Malfoy glided towards them. "And his lovely wife," Damascus included, smiling graciously at Skye, who flinched. "What a charming family reunion!"

"Save it," Draco told the man calmly, though his insides churned. People might have thought that his father inspired fear, but in truth, Damascus Malfoy inspired _Fear _of the reduce-you-to-a-gibbering-idiot kind.

"Save it, he says…Lucius, your son—former son—leaves much to be desired in the way of manners," Damascus purred. "Shall I help you out and educate him in such Pureblood etiquette?" Without warning, Draco felt his muscles seize up in a thousand shooting stabs, as if he were being squeezed by a sharp-toothed clamp, tighter and tighter, teeth digging into his flesh…

He heard Skye scream something unbelievably filthy, and suddenly he was free of the crippling, mind-numbing pain and was aware of himself again. He was panting, muscles still twitching without his control. Damascus Malfoy was smiling coldly with amusement, and Draco realized to his horror that Skye was now lying some distance between them, motionless, as if she had been thrown there with great force.

"What did you do, you sick bastard?" he shouted, running towards her. "What did you do to my wife?'

"Merely taught her a lesson on interrupting her betters," the other said calmly, not moving.

Carefully rolling Skye over, Draco saw that she was still breathing, though her face bore the scratches and cuts of being thrown onto the ground, and she was unconscious. "You shouldn't have done that," Draco said very softly, getting to his feet and standing in front of Skye's body. Icy hatred encased him, and if he had but seen himself, he looked almost the exact mirror of the man he faced, albeit a younger version.

"Oh?"

"You should not have done that," Draco repeated, and without further ado attacked.

Damascus Malfoy far outweighed, outclassed, and outstripped Draco magically and in battle skill. None of this seemed to matter, as the younger man drove Damascus back one step, then two, with the ferocity of his offense. For the first time, Damascus Malfoy was less than perfectly poised and in control—the glitter in his pale eyes and the glisten of sudden sweat starting to appear on his forehead only drove Draco on further, despite the now screaming ache in his fast-tiring, overtaxed body and the blood that was starting to drip steadily again from the previous injury to his right hand.

But Damascus Malfoy now showed his true colors, for in one instant he was snarling a spell at Draco, and the next he was behind Narcissa Malfoy, arm around her brutally squeezing and the other drilling his wand into her neck. Everything seemed to freeze—Draco stopped breathing. It was Lucius Malfoy who broke the moment.

"Traitor," he snarled, truly angry and—clear as glass to Draco—frightened. "We are on the same side!"

"A pity to be forced to resort to such means," Damascus said regretfully. "I never enjoy human shields—so crude. But the situation seems to necessitate it. And truly, Lucius, I rather doubt we are on the same side, not when you and your wife—" he tightened his arm around the clearly petrified Narcissa—"insist on hiding so much from my Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord understands the need for private lives—"

"Ah, but he does not appreciate your weakness in still loving your disowned spawn, hiding away a great deal of valuables, and making contingent plans to escape the country," Damascus crooned.

Lucius Malfoy was, for the first time Draco had ever seen, truly afraid, though he tried not to display it. "I don't know what you are talking about, Damascus. Let my wife go. Or I will be forced to—"

"To turn on the Dark Lord's favored man?" Damascus laughed richly. "To perhaps get your wife killed trying to rescue her? Get yourself killed?" He shook his head mockingly. "Women are not worth it, my friend. You would do well to remember that. Both of you—like father, like son, your weakness is women." He turned to Draco. "I have immortality in my grasp, little dragon," he said in a sudden non sequitur, voice like nails down a chalkboard. "I think perhaps I shall add the Malfoy wives to my little ritual," Damascus mused on, and Draco saw Lucius' face shift into horror. "The spell is cast, the trap is sprung. I think, however, I can make allowance for one more addition to my ingenious plan—you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" And without giving Draco time to grasp what he meant, Damascus beckoned with his wand and with a gasp, Skye, still unconscious and behind him, was ripped forward, away from Draco, towards the monster and thrown limply in front of his feet.

"No!" Draco bellowed, his mind crystal-shard sharp now. The despicable monster laughed, focusing on the witch prostrate before him, and even as she stirred and moaned, the air around her began to glow and eerie shimmering yellow-green. Three things happened simultaneously then. Lucius Malfoy made the move Draco had been waiting for, slamming bodily into Damascus Malfoy and thrusting Narcissa out of the way in the same movement. Damascus Malfoy screamed in part-pain, part thwarted fury. Draco didn't think, didn't wait to find out what the hell the spell the Damascus was casting might do, didn't hesitate—simply _flung _himself forward, covering her body as best he could with his, and then the spell that Damascus Malfoy started hit him, and his world exploded in a soundless supernova. The last thing he saw before the sickly yellow light swallowed him entirely was Skye's eyes, now awake feverish-bright with love, fixed on his.

**-break-**

She refused to allow the knowledge that Severus was now, against all initial plans, outside the relative safety of the castle and in the very thick of the battle. She had a duty to see to, and her ego and will would not let her fail at it. Just as she had once thrown herself into so many other things: brewing Polyjuice Potion, taking—and excelling in—every single class offered in the curriculum despite the clashing schedules, killing a despot tyrant in another world, Hermione fought to defend Harry and move him forward to where he needed to be tooth and nail with a single-mindedness that never faltered. Her pride and her training refused her the luxury of distraction.

So when he reappeared and seemed to all accounts and purposes determined to stay just a little off of the rear of their group, she quickly caught on to what he was doing and her duty-bound battle persona approved of the strategy. Incredibly, the Death Eaters continued to come, wave after wave after wave of black-robed men and women and other…monsters that felt never-ending. Their numbers had yet again dropped. (_Jimmy Peakes, one of the quietest of the fourth year Gryffindors who had come silently to the DA meetings and left just as quietly, screaming earsplitting wails of desperation as his eyes, his nose, his fingernails started to bleed spontaneously…Derek Swansea, one of the half-bloods in Slytherin who had refused to return home when his fearful, politically-grey family had called him to return, jumping in front of the cursed green of an _Avada_ just in time to shield Harry when someone had tried to take advantage of the hole left by Jimmy's death). _

"_Mutatio mentis!" _Hermione snarled, baring her teeth. The partial Transfiguration caught the Death Eater by surprise, and a second later, he was dead for it. Humans are not meant to have the mind of a flobberworm—their bodies weren't made to support it, no matter how many times Severus accused his students of possessing the mental capacities of one.

They were nearing, finally, the edge of the grounds by the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione felt a flash of suspicion as she realized that the Death Eaters were slowing, almost as if they were…retreating?

A roar broke through, and Hermione realized exactly why. _Trolls. _

Three of them, as fully as big as she remembered her first encounter with a troll. Her heart sank. _Trolls, they're naturally resistant to most magic, hard to incapacitate let alone kill—and there's four of them. _Even as she calculated the odds of survival, Hermione was already moving forward, body at ready stance. Almost automatically, the remnants of their group reorganized themselves. Ron and Hermione stood in front, Harry just behind and between them. Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan, both of whom had returned to their alma mater to fight with them, flanked the trio a little further behind. And behind them, in a tight semi-circle facing the opposite direction to guard their backs, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Ginny, Colin Creevey, and Cho Chang stood ready.

_And behind them further still, Severus, alone, embroiled in the midst of the enemy… _

"Seems only fitting that it _would _be trolls," Ron joked, never taking his eyes off the lumbering menaces that were fast approaching.

Wrinkling her nose at the awful smell of rotting food and skunk that preceded the beasts, Hermione smiled wryly at Ron's terrible gallows humor. "At least I'm a little more competent than first year," she said ruefully. "I was such a gawdawful quivering mess back then. I hid under a sink!"

"It _was _seven years ago and you were eleven," Harry reminded her. "I'm sure you'll do better this time."

"What say you? Shall we give them the first year treatment?" Ron asked.

"Preferably without losing your wand up any of those nostrils this time," Hermione quipped as they gripped their wands tightly.

"Sure," Harry agreed.

That was all the time they had, for the trolls were now almost on them. Ron broke away a little. "Oy, peabrain!" he called loudly, and a shower of dirt, twigs, and pebbles pelted the trolls.

As all three of them turned in confusion to the source of the stinging rain of sand and rocks, Hermione and Harry acted. "_Expecto Patronum!" _Harry shouted as Hermione sketched glowing runes into the air before her. A magnificent stag reared and charged, unconcerned with the fact that it was meant to specifically defend against Dementors. One of the trolls swung its club at the stag, who danced lightly out of the way and continued its charge—and when its lowered antlers met the troll's side, it didn't seem to matter that the troll wasn't a Dementor. The troll went mad with pain, and Hermione saw blood begin to ooze from the wounds the insubstantial animal had somehow managed to inflict. The staggering troll did some of their work for them, for as he tried to club at the Patronus, he clocked one of his companions full on his forehead, and the other troll dropped like a stone.

Meanwhile, Hermione's nimble wand finally finished sketching the last of a complicated sequence of runes into the air, and all of the trolls started to…shrink. One of the uninjured trolls roared again and charged, and though he was fast dropping in height, he was still big enough and dumb enough and his club certainly dangerous enough to pose a threat. Until Ron's shout.

"_Wingardium leviosa!" _

Just like so many years ago, on the night they had become friends, the club jerked itself out of the startled troll's grasp, soared high for a second—and then whistled downwards with a deadly accuracy. _Whump! _

There was a ringing silence. Hermione watched impassively as the three trolls became the size of normal humans, then children, then dwarfs, measured no more than a kneazle, a mouse, a pixie—nothing. She had not put a stop on the runic sequence. Eventually, the trolls would shrink to a single atom, and then simple vanish, their existence snuffed by the fact that they had shrunk too small to possibly exist.

The silence was interrupted by a slow, clapping noise. Hermione slowly raised her eyes to where, a hundred feet away, Voldemort—and at least twenty Death Eaters—stood, and the red-eyed monster was applauding with great deliberation.

"A valiant effort," the Dark Lord said in his high, cold voice. He smiled, and it was a mockery of a smile that made Hermione feel as if everything good about a smile had been corrupted. "A valiant effort indeed, very inventive indeed, my dear Mudblood slut. Almost as creative as spying on my followers through sex."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, ignoring the unbearably loud, jack-hammering of her heart, the cold sweat on the back of her neck, the fear that coursed through her blood in a red surge. The last time she had seen Voldemort, he had been torturing—nearly killing—Severus, and she had almost died in saving him. Faina, the woman who's identity she had borrowed to become Milena, had been killed there. "Voldemort," she greeted with a sneer worthy of Severus Snape in his glory days of Bloody Git of a Potions Professor. "How very unpleasant to see you again."

Crimson eyes flared. "Well, well, I see you have not lossst your ssspunk, _Milena," _he hissed sibilantly. "If it is a burden to see me, I am sure my friends can ensure that you never have to _see _me again…"

Hermione didn't dare duck the bright blue jolt of light from the light-haired angelic-looking boy standing on Voldemort's left side. Someone else behind her might be struck by the curse after all. Instead, she flung up a mirror, lightning-mind guessing that any sort of magical shield would fail against the unknown curse. The blue smashed against the mirror, and sharp shards flew—and at Harry's direction, flew back _at _the Death Eater, who deflected them with a contemptuous expression.

"Now, now, wait your turn," the Dark Lord chided Harry.

"Stop making a production of this," Harry said flatly. "We're not impressed."

"Harry Potter," Voldemort rasped. He smiled again, lipless and distorted. "So it ends here. You've come here to die."

"No, I've come here to live," Harry said, and struck.

Hermione did not get a chance to watch, for the instant that Harry and Voldemort joined wands in a battle seventeen years in the coming, the Death Eaters that had flanked Voldemort surged forward, around the magical, shimmering shield that had encased the two mortal enemies, and attacked. And behind them, Hermione heard an answering roar as the Death Eaters that had dropped back closed in. They were hemmed in on all sides.

She found herself, back pressed against a tree for safety, battling the angelic man who had tried to curse her. His features were reminiscent of Evangeline Cain, and Hermione suspected that he was the infamous heir of the Cain family, Cassius. He was fresh, not battle-weary, and impossibly quick on his feet. She felt sweat trickle down her back, grit her teeth as blood from one of her many wounds trickled just as slowly down her ribs.

"He has promised you for me," Cain said to her, his voice just as sweetly harmonic as his face. "There were many protests. Pettigrew, MacNair, Damascus Malfoy among them. But he promised that I would have you to do with as I wished. I enjoy spirit, you know, and your intelligence is astounding for a Mudblood."

Disgusted beyond belief, Hermione bared her teeth at him. "You'll be a long time waiting then," she spat. "Because Harry's going to defeat your precious master, and _you—_well, if you're lucky I'll leave enough of you to cart off to Azkaban."

He laughed, a beautiful sound incongruent with their surroundings. "Oh, I _like _your spirit," Cain chuckled. "You are as spirited as my sister, without the grating arrogance that flaws her personality as a woman. I will have fun with you."

"I regret very much to interrupt your plotting, but I do not think that is going to happen," said a new voice blandly. Cassius Cain yelped, the first unmelodic thing he had done since Hermione had seen him, and Hermione grinned a real, irrepressible smug smirk as Severus stepped into view.

"Traitor!"

"Animal murderer," Severus returned calmly. "Among other things. You should never have gone after my woman, Cain. That is unforgivable."

"Your…she spread her legs for you, then Snape? Is that how she got you on their side? Was she that good, or was it that no one else will touch you with a ten foot pole…"

Cassius Cain's eyes rolled up and he screamed in a high-pitch register as Hermione's foot connected solidly right where Severus' spell had just hit. Crumbling as if he had been pole-axed, he continued to scream as blood gushed from his crotch. Hermione sniffed at the writhing man and slammed her foot neatly into his head. He fell abruptly silent and went limp on the ground. "There. His screams were giving me a headache," she grumbled.

Severus, dark eyes battle-fever bright and robes sodden in sweat, grinned at her, a feral smile that showed his teeth. She returned it. "Back to work," she ordered.

"Yes ma'am," he snapped a sarcastic salute, and whirled just in time to decapitate the wizard who had disarmed Oliver Wood. Wood retrieved his wand, saluting Severus his thanks as he did.

"_Incendio! Tremocorpus! Protego!" _Hermione felt the magic of her shield falter and flicker for an instant before she reinforced it, gritting her teeth. Hours of taking the brunt of constant attack had taken its toll on her magic—she could feel herself coming to the end of her reserves. Biting her lip, Hermione took the opportunity to duck behind a large tree trunk. They were well into the Forbidden Forest now, fighting amongst the towering trees that dimmed out the light of the sun. She couldn't tell how far advanced the morning was, but they had to have been fighting for several hours nonstop since before the dawn. She glanced at the shimmering dome that encased her friend and his mortal enemy in their final confrontation. How long had they been going at it? Ten minutes? Twenty? Was Harry holding his own? The swimming magic of the barrier around Harry and Voldemort seemed to be translucent until you actually tried to see through it, at which point one would have to look away or develop a splitting headache.

"_Discerpo!" _

_ "Nooo! Dennis!" _Hermione jerked as the shriek rent the air, so violently tormented that everyone, Death Eater and defender alike, paused for a split second. Face contorted, Colin Creevey cradled the broken body of his little brother, shaking the limp figure in a vain attempt to wake him up. Chills ran down her spine as Hermione watched, and suddenly her fatigue vanished as _something _registered as wrong somehow in her gut. Something bad, something terrible was going to happen…as adrenaline coursed through her body, Hermione wrenched herself up and ran towards Colin, cursing as branches, roots, and loose pebbles torn up in the battle stung her arms and legs and face, clawing at her and slowing her down. _Something bad…something awful…_ahead of her, Colin looked up, his face slack as he stared straight at the Death Eater who had killed his little brother.

The nondescript man looked uneasy at the scrutiny and the sudden silence ringing over the Forbidden Forest, but he raised his wand again. Hermione sobbed as she pelted to the young boy, knowing she wouldn't be in time, knowing that her magic just wasn't enough to contain it…

_"Avada Kedavra!" _the Death Eater incanted.

At the same time, Hermione reached Colin and threw her arms around the skinny little Gryffindor.

And the forest erupted into flames.

Hermione screamed. Half the forest was on fire, the conflagration started by the suicidal black hatred of accidental magic devouring the shrubs and the trees and the people trapped within it. Shouts of fear, of fury, cut off by coughs and choking as the smoke began to pour through the crackling holocaust. But Hermione, holding Colin in her arms, was already on fire herself, the red-hot tongue scouring her body, eating her alive, burning away her skin into blackened ash and melting her flesh from her bones. Already, the sea of red was disappearing into an ocean-void of blackblackblackpain_nothingness. _With the last of her coherent thought and magic, Hermione threw up the strongest shield she could, and then the world dissolved into an inferno of darkness.

When little Colin Creevey blew up the Forbidden Forest, Severus had been dueling some pathetic Death Eater. When the conflagration had burst into its wild being, raging out of control among the easily consumed trees, his heart had stopped. _Hermione. _Hermione had thrown herself into the heart of the fire's origin—and he could not see her within the intense halo of white fire where Colin had been holding his dead brother.

Later, the few survivors who had seen Severus Snape's expression as he recklessly killed his way to the blazing heart of the fire could never describe it, except to compare it—inadequately, by their own admission—to the expression of a wounded dog, driven past madness and into the throes of living a nightmare. Like a nightmare himself, he killed anyone foolish to step in his way, and then _reached into the fire and pulled out Hermione Granger. _

She hung like a rag doll in his arms, her clothes crumbling in black patches and grey ash, and there was nowhere she was not blistered. But even as he lifted her away from the merrily burning corpses of Colin and Dennis Creevey, away from the pile of ash that was all that was left of the Death Eater who had killed the younger Creevey, the fires that had started in the forest paused and then reluctantly—snuffed out.

"You foolish, foolish man," drawled a voice.

Very carefully, Severus set down the small bundle of his heart in a little hollow in the ground and raised his wand to point it directly at Damascus Malfoy's heart.

"Such talent, such brilliance, such ambition, and you waste it all on, what, a mere female?" Damascus scoffed.

Severus stared, dark eyes stinging with the smoke that still wafted through the half-singed forest, at the blond man whose blood-stained robes did not in any way deter his proud, haughty stance. "You," he said softly, "are the most sick, twisted individual I have ever had the utter displeasure of ever meeting, and that includes the perversion of Voldemort. I would not expect you to remotely understand the intimacy and deep warmth of affection that a woman has the power to bless or remove from a man, the trueness of heart that is more powerful than ten thousand rituals to steal life force, the healing of the soul that a 'mere female' can bring to sooth a ravaged soul…no, Damascus Malfoy, it is you who are the foolish one to dismiss the power of a woman. And it will be your downfall, for it is by the love of this woman that I fight past endurance today, and it is by her willingness to look deeper than my actions to see my soul that I stand here and send you back to hell where you belong. _Sectumsempra!" _

During his uncharacteristically heartfelt speech, Severus had done two things. First, he had expressed his true emotion—for the first time—to his former associate, and has he had done so his spirit had grown lighter and lighter, _freer. _He was no longer the guarded spy and Death Eater Severus Snape. He was Severus Snape, sometimes-Healer, and he wanted to live, he wanted Hermione to live, to be able to propose to the blasted woman who had just given him a heart attack by running _into _a fire, to be able to take her flying in the night sky and lose her in a bookstore, to watch her wrestle with her hair every morning and duck when she got tired of his smirking and threw a pillow or a chair at him.

But he was still Severus Snape, and his speech had done one other thing. It had distracted his opponent for a vital moment, and his spell—out of the blue—hit home.

He watched impassively as the elegant elder Malfoy dropped, as if slow motion, the blood that trickled from his slashed throat marring the pale perfection of his white skin. When the life had bled from the man's severed throat and his limbs had gone lax with death, only then did Severus wrench his eyes from the pathetic carcass and stoop to pick up the woman he loved, whose chest fluttered with shallow, pained breaths.

It may have been the flicker of her eyelids as Hermione struggled to consciousness, whimpering a little in the agony of her tender, burned flesh, but Severus was caught off-guard in that instant, and did not—react—in time to the panicked, nervous curse that Peter Pettigrew squealed, and the last thing he saw was Hermione's suddenly aware, frenzied eyes, brown and filled with warring pain and horror, before he crumpled, still cradling his precious bundle in protective arms as he fell.

"All of your friends are dying out there," Voldemort taunted softly, gesturing around them to the outside of the magical dome that had enclosed them from the instant they had raised wands. "It's your fault, you know. They wouldn't be fighting and dying if it weren't for their friendship with you."

Harry stayed silent, body tensed as he and Voldemort circled each other warily.

"Resistance is futile. I am already immortal, Harry Potter," the wizard whispered. "I, Voldemort, have conquered death, and I have used the little lives of your friends to do so."

Harry felt a jolt of alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, magic." A thin, cruel smile. "So much can be done with magic. I have no doubt that my little traitor Severus spilled the secret of the ritual to steal life force, though you seem to be too dim to understand it yet."

They exchanged another flurry of spells, neither one hitting the other.

"It goes like this," Voldemort said in a sing-song manner. "I have within me the collective life forces of many of your female friends. Drawing on their power, I can never die for I will always be stronger than you, stronger than death!" He laughed, the same laugh that Harry heard in his nightmares, the same laugh that haunted his one memory of his parents. "Your friends are bound to me, and their lives depend on how much power I decide to draw from them," Voldemort taunted.

"You bastard," Harry shouted. "_Crucio!" _

Voldemort sidestepped and shook his head. "Tch, tch, Harry Potter, dabbling in the Dark now are we? You haven't asked nicely, but perhaps you'd like to see how your friends are tied to me, their lives dependent on me?" He flicked his wand, and all around them lines began to glow. Harry's heart beat fast with horror as he saw line after golden life in a web, pulsing towards the middle—towards Voldemort. And each line had a name that Harry knew, a sort of feeling to them that was unique. That line was Hannah Abbott's, that one Pansy Parkinson's, that one Susan Bones…Harry caught sight on one particularly bright vein of light, and dread was like ice in his blood. _Ginny._

"Yes, Potter, even your precious red-haired girl," Voldemort goaded, tone victorious. "It really is too bad you won't be alive when I add the Mudblood Granger to my web…"

"Years," Harry said softly. "I spent years orphaned and unloved because you killed my parents in your self-serving, _cowardly _quest to be immortal. My friends became my family. They chose me, and they chose to bind themselves to me as my brothers and my sisters and—and my intended wife. They gave me the love I craved and needed. You don't stand a chance against me, Voldemort, because I have a family and you just made the worst mistake of your life trying to attack them."

"Fool, to still believe in the power of…_love," _Voldemort scoffed. "Dumbledore was a fool too, and now he's dead, killed by the man you've accepted into your midst, Severus Snape. If you wish to be as foolish and stupid as to believe in love as Dumbledore did, then you will die as foolishly as he did. And now you can join your beloved headmaster in death! _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry dodged, but the curse seemed to change trajectory with him, as if it had taken on a half-life of its own, and he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time…then there was a flash of red, of something flying that lit up like the sunlight, an intense fiery glow that intercepted the green death, and Harry gasped as Fawkes tumbled out of the sky.

He scrambled away from Voldemort's fury, diving towards the dead phoenix. Even as he reached the feathery body, flames leaped up to devour the bird. But there was something else, something hidden in the heart of the fire, glowing as brightly as the flame itself…

"_Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat"…Dumbledore's solemn face in second year…_

_ "Harry, the sword of Gryffindor comes only to those who embody the bravery and the heart of Godric Gryffindor to defend the helpless, protect the innocent, and restore the righteous!"…Hermione, earnest and wide-eyed as he told her and Ron about Fawkes and the Sorting Hat and Tom Riddle who had been Voldemort…_

_ "Blimey, mate, Charlie told me that Gryffindor's sword only let itself be wielded by someone who was willing to die for the cause he was fighting for"…Ron, freckled face both fascinated and troubled, much subdued by Ginny's near-death experience…_

Harry took a breath and stuck his arm into the fire.

He might have screamed with pain, he wasn't sure, but he grasped the white-hot metal of the sword and pulled it from the heart of the magical fire, and his arm—though it felt as though the flames had scoured it down to the bone—was still white and unblemished.

Somehow, smoke from the phoenix's pyre had filled the entire space, and Harry couldn't see a thing but for the shining sword and the burning fire. But from Voldemort's roar of fury, ole' snake-lord couldn't either. And somehow, the sword seem to dispel some of the smoke before him, as if the light it cast forced the ashen mist to retreat a little, just enough for Harry to see a little further than the end of his nose.

"Potter! You little freak! _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry saw a green flash and instinctively jumped left, avoiding the Killing Curse by mere seconds. Then he felt something flutter against his cheek, and jerked. Something trilled soothingly in his ear, and Harry relaxed as an ugly looking baby bird chirped at him. "Fawkes," he mouthed, joy growing. He supposed that the Killing Curse didn't have the same effect on phoenixes as they did on humans. The phoenix nudged his cheek again, and then flew up. As Harry lost sight of Fawkes, it was as if the smoke too followed the phoenix. Within a minute, Harry was standing in the same clearing, the only remnants of the smoke being a lingering fog that blocked out the sun.

Voldemort caught sight of him and he jeered at Harry. "A sword, Potter? A sword may work against a Muggle, but I'm afraid you won't have much success here," he laughed. He raised his wand. "Prepare to die, Potter! None of your friends will save you now, and there aren't any more phoenixes to take a Killing Curse for you. You're out of time! _Avada Kedavra!" _

As if in slow motion, Harry swept the sword he held in the air. Despite his clumsy swing, the sword looked impossibly graceful and deadly in the air and the blade made a glittering arc and sliced through the jet of green. The green vanished, and the Dark Lord stared in shock, frozen still with sheer disbelief as his Killing Curse disappeared, leaving Harry unharmed. He seemed unable to form any words, opening and closing his mouth. And as if someone had whispered it into his ear at that moment, Harry knew what to do.

"Death has been waiting for you for a very long time," Harry said quietly. "It is time, indeed, time and past. Go to hell, Tom Riddle, where you belong," Harry said clearly. Then he lifted his arm and flung the sword of Gryffindor at him.

What happened next should not have been possible. It would go down in books as an example of how _what should not have been possible _occurred. Somehow, the heavy bejeweled sword soared in a manner that defied physics and the law of gravity as applied to an unbalanced and unwieldy object. It snapped forward like an arrow from a bow with all the weight of the linked girls behind it. It pierced Voldemort's shield like a more ordinary knife through melted butter, and thudded to a halt—dead center in the Dark Lord's chest.

Harry watched in a sort of stunned state as Voldemort looked down uncomprehendingly at the flashing metal that had grown out of his heart and quivered there still from the force of its flight. Red blossomed in slow-motion around the hilt and leeched out of Voldemort's eyes, leaving his pupils an ordinary brown before the life bled out as well and his body fell to the ground.

And all around him, the golden net of lines that had been attached to Voldemort began to flicker and grow dark.

_"No!" _Harry shouted in horror, and lunged after the lines, the lines that were the very lives of the girls. _"No!" _He plunged into the dark desperately, chasing the fleeing spirit of Tom Marvolo Riddle and the knot that tied the dying monster to the girls.

**A.N.: Please don't kill me! If you do, you'll never find out what happened! **

**Chapter Notes-**

*Tonks is attacked by a werewolf, and Luna rescues here only to be attacked herself

*Harry detours to find Ginny, who was with Luna

*They then proceed to continue fighting their way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where it is suspected that Voldemort waits

*The Death Eaters attack their group constantly in an effort to wear out Harry and his defenders to give the Dark Lord even more of an edge when they finally meet (very unsporting of them, but Death Eaters don't play fair)

*Neville exacts his revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange, Padma Patil and Lavender Brown exact their vengeance on Evangeline Cain for the murder of Parvati, and Remus Lupin exacts his on Fenrir Greyback

*Draco and Skye are rescued by Molly Weasley, and then in turn rescue a group of Hogwarts students of mixed Houses

*Viktor Krum reveals to Charlie Weasley the mysterious reason he joined Voldemort- the Dark Lord promised him that he would have his chance for "revenge against the family who betrayed mine to Grindelwald, and cost my grandfather his life"—the Weasleys, or rather, the long-deceased Fabian Prewett, one of Molly Weasley's brothers. Fabian Prewett gained the friendship and trust of Krum's grandfather, who was part of Grindelwald's forces, and then gave confidential information to Dumbledore, leaving Krum's grandfather and his wife to be tortured and killed.

*Viktor and Charlie then proceed to battle, both airborne on brooms.

*Meanwhile, the forces outside are doing poorly because there are just too many attackers of all sorts- Death Eaters as well as other allies (giants, hags, banshees, werewolves, vampires, and the like). Severus, Draco, and Skye, previously fighting indoors more for their safety than desire, go outside to aid the others

*Draco and Skye unexpectedly cross wands with Damascus Malfoy with Lucius and Narcissa there, and it's a nice big happy family reunion—_not. _Damascus threatens Narcissa, mocks Draco and Skye, and tries to perform the life-force theft ritual on Skye. Draco rushes in to save Skye and Lucius rushes in to save Narcissa. And we're not sure what happened after Draco takes the Lucius-interrupted spell for Skye…

*While that's going on, Severus catches up with Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

*The trio face one last obstacle before Voldemort reveals himself- trolls. Familiar, much? They kick butt.

*Finally, the Dark Lord reveals himself, and he and Harry close into battle while around them, the Death Eaters and the Hogwarts defenders clash

*A Death Eater kills Dennis Creevey, and Colin snaps. His uncontrolled magic starts a raging fire, burning himself to cinder in the process. Hermione, knowing that the fire will do more damage than good, throws herself into the heart of the fire and uses the last of her magical strength to stop most of the fire that has erupted in the forest

*Severus runs in after her, pulling her out, and then battles Damascus Malfoy—he sure gets around—finally killing him.

*Peter Pettigrew, the little rat, takes advantage of a moment of Severus' lowered guard and curses him.

*Harry and Voldemort duel, Fawkes miraculously reappears, taking a Killing Curse for Harry. In the flame of the phoenix's death, the sword of Gryffindor appears. Harry throws it at Voldemort and it goes through his heart, and thus endeth Lord Voldemort.

*Unfortunately, there's a bunch of girls tied to Voldemort by their life force, and Harry plunges after the dying spirit of Tom Riddle in an effort to rescue them from dying along with him.

**To be continued…**


	106. Chapter 106

**Disclaimer: Not the property of sylphides.**

**A.N.: Normally I put these at the end of chapters because I hate all the clutter up top when what you really want to read is the chapter, not my rambling. However, this is important to note BEFORE reading on. I chose to delay posting this chapter because I wanted to post it simultaneously with the next one. Dying tragically young is all well and good in songs, but I'd prefer to hang on to my life for a good long while yet, which might be tough if I had left all of you wonderful, devoted readers hanging with the end of this chapter. **

**SO. Before you pick up the pitchfork, click on to the next chapter- which is, incidentally, The Final Chapter. **

**Yes, folks, this is it. There will be a brief epilogue, but The Last Spy has finally drawn to its conclusion. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking around to the end—no writer could have asked for a better audience than you, my awesome readers/reviewers. So without further ado…The Final Two Chapters!**

He woke to the sounds of Skye's frustrated voice. "Wake _up, _Draco. I mean it! Get up now!"

Almost automatically, his instinct responding to her waspishly demanding tone—the kind that meant _business _and trouble if he didn't obey—Draco shot up, feeling unusually light and uninjured as he sat up and nearly bumped his head into Skye's face. "Oops. Sorry, love," he chuckled.

Her exasperated look made him look properly abashed despite his continued humor. He looked around. "Where are…oh." Five feet away, on a hospital bed, lay Skye, bloodless and pale, and most definitely unconscious. He looked from her to her spirit, which seemed somehow different from the last time she'd been in this situation, and then looked down. "Oh, fuck."

"Exactly." Skye articulated it precisely, and folded her arms, staring with Draco down at his own body, also lying still and prone. "What are we supposed to do _now?" _

They explored their room first. A newspaper, carelessly left on their dresser, told them that they'd been unconscious and unaware for three days, and today was the fourth day that their bodies remained in their coma-like state. The battle was over, and Potter had triumphed. _Thank Merlin and Morganna. _Not without enormous losses—deaths that the paper had only briefly touched on. No names were mentioned, to Draco and Skye's frustration. But though they wanted to know who had…well, who had given the ultimate sacrifice, they had a bigger problem at the moment. Just how were they going to fix their little problem of being spirits once more?

"How is it we're both tied to the world?" Draco wondered aloud, after they'd wandered all around the hospital and proved themselves unable to attract _anyone's _attention. "Last time, it was because you were tied to me, sort of in a convoluted sense. This time there's no living, conscious being that I'm aware of that we're especially tied to. Not the way you and I were."

"You're right. Unless you planned on having a ménage a trois, husband dear, I see no way us to have survived what Damascus Malfoy cast, especially after your interference," Skye mused. She eyed him dangerously.

"Of course not, my dear. You're all I could ever want," Draco exclaimed, aware that if he said even the slightest thing wrong he would be regretting it for a very long time. "No one but you, baby."

She hmphed, and continued to speculate further on their unexpected survival and condition. "I suspect, actually, that it had something to do with your idiotic throwing yourself over me Gryffindorish action that saved both of us from…whatever it was he wanted to do," she postulated. "Perhaps something primal like what Lily Evans-Potter used to protect Harry, just a different type of love?" Agreeing that they would find no answers there, Draco and Skye drifted off from their bodies, curious about how the world was picking up its pieces and perhaps if anyone else could see them…

It soon became clear that no one would even semi-sense them. Skye suggested going to Hogwarts—even if none of the people could see them, the portrait of the Morrigan obviously could or at least could sense them.

The grass and turf was still torn up and the ground still churned up from the battle four days ago. No one, apparently, had had the time to fix the grounds yet. But one particular spot, where a large divot of turf had been blasted out, Draco stopped abruptly, and he closed his eyes in sudden, overwhelming sorrow. "My parents," he murmured. He had not seen it, but somehow—some spirit sense told him that they were dead, had died in the confrontation that was the last thing they both remembered.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Skye whispered back, stopping with him and taking hold of his hand. It felt solid to his palm, unlike when he'd been himself and she'd been a spirit. "I would have saved them if I could have. Your father died protecting you and his wife."

"He wasn't even my father anymore, technically," Draco said, trying to suppress his tears. "He disowned me. He hated what I'd become. He was evil. He killed your family and a lot of other people."

"He was still your father, the man you grew up with and idolized for most of your life," Skye answered him softly. "I will hate him forever for what he did to me, and to you, but he also has my respect, as painful as it is, for the bravery it took to attack Damascus Malfoy knowing that it meant his death. And no matter what he did or wanted you to be, in the end I could tell, he loved you enough to try and save you even against Damascus Malfoy. It wasn't just his wife he was trying to save that night, Draco, he was desperate to keep you alive. He had the same look my father wore when he was trying to save me, Draco."

"My mother died with him," Draco tried to say through the sobs that were now jerking through his chest. "He died trying to save her, and she died anyway, because he failed, because I had to protect you first…"

Skye stayed silent, but she picked up his hand and held it tightly.

"She would have wanted to go with him anyway, when he—" Draco couldn't speak anymore, the picture of his parents in their last moments replaying before his unseeing eyes. When Skye pulled him into her embrace, stroking his hair comfortingly, Draco went willingly and allowed himself the freedom to cry for the parents he'd loved, despised, and despaired for, the parents who had been so faulty and wrong and proud in their wrongness, and yet in the end had loved each other fiercely enough to die.

**-break-**

_I forgot, _she thought dreamily, the fire inflicted by numerous bites and claws already drifting away to be replaced by numbness. _Werewolves hunt in packs._

_So this is what dying feels like, _Luna thought as the colors and sounds of the battle bled and darkened into nothingness. She felt…weightless, and it was as if the burdens of the world had been lifted. For once, there was absolutely no pressure behind her eyes of a vision screaming to be seen, no compelling _feeling _that something was going to happen, no sense of foreboding or sadness at something she couldn't prevent. _Nothing. _Luna grinned, or she thought she did—without the sense of having a body, it was rather hard to tell. Suddenly, a white spark like a snowflake appeared, far in the distance. Luna squinted, and the dot grew rapidly until Luna was face to face with a serene, white-clad woman with sea-green eyes and a subtle glow around her person.

"Well met, sister," said the Morrigan.

"Hello," replied Luna. "How did I die?"

"Bravely so, saving a friend," the goddess told her with a glance full of pride. "You have done well tonight, sister. I am proud to claim you as one of mine."

"Is she safe?"

"She will bear the marks of the wolf all her life, but she will live a long and happy life and her grandchildren will know your name and honor it," the goddess said.

Luna nodded. It was nice to know she'd died for a good cause tonight. "I suppose you've come to bring me to…well, whatever is Beyond?"

"That is correct," the Morrigan acknowledged. "I do so for all my worthy sisters and for the few brothers I claim. However, there is one final task only you can perform, if you are willing to linger a little longer. One of your brothers and his heart's love will be in need of your help soon. Will you help?"

"Of course." Luna started to ask _when, _only to stop and blink in surprise. The goddess laughed merrily.

"Ah, yes, you've run into the concept that most befuddles many when they pass over," she chuckled. "There is no time here. Beyond will wait for you, as will I, and time will pass on earth until you are called for your aid. It will be unmistakable. I will find you afterwards." Luna curtsied to the goddess, and the goddess pressed a hand to the top of Luna's head firmly, like a blessing, before vanishing as silently as she had come.

In the floating dark, Luna waited for her aid to be called, and dreamed.

**-break-**

"I give up. We're going to be disembodied spirits no one can see _forever," _Draco groaned.

Skye sighed. "I almost agree with you. But it doesn't make _sense. _The last time this happened to me, I somehow attached my spirit to your body to stay more or less alive. How is it that _we _aren't off in the far yonder where the truly dead spirits are, if we can't find an apparent anchor?"

"Dunno, but without the anchor we don't have anyone that will actually be able to _see _us," Draco groused.

"Way to point out the obvious," Skye griped.

"At least we can touch each other still. Before, we couldn't."

"Before, _you _weren't a bloody spirit as well," Skye snapped peevishly. Then she relented. "Sorry, Draco. I'm just really frustrated and about ready to explode."

"No worries," he told her. "I'm not the greatest company at the moment either." They watched their still, unconscious bodies breathing in and out regularly. It was rather creepy, Draco decided, to be separate from his body. As if there ought to be a connection between them, but he just couldn't feel it. Like he was observing a stranger rather than himself.

"I wonder if anyone's been affected the same way?" Skye wondered aloud.

Draco shrugged. "If they have, I wouldn't know. I haven't _seen _any other translucent spirits running around."

"We should try calling to them," Skye suggested.

"_Calling _to them?"

"You know, sort of like the soul-summoning, except for…"

"Without the rituals, the spells, and including the fact that _we _are spirits too?" Draco said acerbically.

"Well, do _you _have a better idea?" Draco didn't, so he reluctantly agreed to go along with it. Unsure of what to do, they decided to go with something simple first and just join hands and think hard of needing help.

"Should we try something else, do you think?" he asked after several minutes. His head was aching from concentration. Skye furrowed her brow, but before she could answer him, another replied.

"Certainly, but it wouldn't do any good since I'm already here."

"Lovegood!" Draco spun around to see that yes, indeed, the loony blonde Ravenclaw was standing there, just as see-through as they. Although she looked washed out, almost black and white rather than the normal (if transparent) colors that Draco and Skye sported. "Are you in the same boat as us?"

"Not quite," the dreamy girl murmured, smiling serenely. "But I do know how to help you regain your bodies."

"Oh, good," Draco said, relieved. "How?"

"Wait. What do you mean, _not quite?" _Skye asked, suspicion thick in her voice.

Lovegood waved an airy hand. "Well, you're still alive," she pointed out factually.

"So are you," Skye said. But Draco was beginning to have a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach…

"No, not quite," Lovegood remarked cheerfully. "Actually, I'm rather dead at the moment. They had a lovely memorial and funeral service for me, and Father remembered to play all my favorite songs before they lowered my body into the grave. It's too bad you missed it, but I'm sure Father wouldn't mind some company when you wake up, and he can show you where I'm buried. I'm next to Mother."

"_What?" _

"That's not…"

"Not possible? Oh, it was quite possible. A whole lot of people died, you know. Or perhaps you don't. You _have _been asleep for a while." Lovegood—_dead _Lovegood—tilted her head seraphically.

Skye sputtered. Draco swallowed. He'd never really talked to Lovegood, but she'd been a formidable warrior in the DA, and she'd been _younger _that he. _Merlin. _"I'm sorry, Lovegood—Luna," he muttered.

She shook her head. "Oh, no, you shouldn't be," she said earnestly. "It didn't hurt much at all, and I was rather expecting it—I'd Seen several possibilities of dying before the battle, so I was prepared for it."

Beside him, Skye winced. Draco agreed wholeheartedly. Not only to die so young in battle, but to have _seen _it beforehand?

But Luna was continuing on briskly, and he quickly tuned in. "It's all water under the bridge now, and I'm ready to see what's Beyond," she mused. "I just need to help you regain your bodies first. That's what I've been waiting for, you see. She asked me too."

"She?" Skye asked, but Luna shook her head, light hair rippling weightlessly.

Draco had a feeling that they would not find out much more from the ghost—spirit—whatever—of Luna, and instead repeated his earlier question. "How do we get back into our bodies?"

Luna smiled mischievously. "Like this." The next instant, a whirlwind snatched at him, and his sight went black, his body feeling unusually heavy and weighted down. The last thing his ears caught as everything faded into oblivion was Lovegood's high, chiming laughter like bells, joyous and free and distant.

When he woke, it hurt to pry his eyes open and a particularly intent ray of sunlight greeted his dazzled eyes when they did slide open. He heard a groan nearby, and then as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that he was lying on a hospital bed, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He heaved himself upright and someone thrust a metal basin beneath his mouth just in time. A glass of cool water was placed in his hand when he was done, and he rinsed his disgusting mouth before looking up to see a Mediwitch take the basin away. In the bed next to him, Danielle Corwin was grinning at Skye, who had just done the exact same thing. _We're back in our bodies, _he thought elatedly.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Danielle told both of them in an amused tone.

"Miss us much?" Draco asked drolly.

"Not at all," Danielle retorted, even as the almost-invisible worry lines faded away. "Not a single bit, young Draco. It was a nice vacation from you two brats."

Skye pummeled her aunt, who responded by tickling her, and Draco leaned back and smiled blissfully at the sounds of mirth coming from the next bed. Life was good indeed. A stray thought hit him, as Danielle rose to go inform the others that they had woken up. When she had left and the Mediwitch overseeing them had taken their vitals and bustled off, Draco looked over to Skye's bed. "We have to go see Luna's father, when they let us out of St. Mungo's," he told her quietly.

She nodded, and her face was pensive and solemn, remembering the girl that had somehow given them back their bodies. "Our first stop," she said firmly, and Draco felt a jolt of pride for his wife.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"And I, you."

**-break-**

"Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman—almost a bride, was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud—" Jane Granger faltered at her last word, and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. Visions of her husband and her daughter were blazoned across her mind; she could not go waking or sleeping without seeing the way Daniel had shrieked in pain as she had never seen him suffer before, the way he had collapsed, blood trickling from his nose in the atrium of the fifth floor of the Ministry of Magic, the crippling fear that she would be too late to reach him…

Even now, he remained in a coma and she could see the pain that furrowed his brow and dogged even his unconsciousness. She sat in a chair between the two hospital beds, waiting for the two members of her family to wake up. The doctors—_Healers—_that bustled in and out of this room had explained something about unforgivable torture curses and the unknown effects on Muggles that had gone straight over her dazed head. All she knew was that the love of her life was lying too still on the stark white sheets, and no one could promise her that he would ever wake up or if he did, how much of his mind might remain.

She had cried until she had no more tears, and still the awful pressure that sat against her breastbone and burned viciously at her eyes and roughened her throat remained.

In the other bed, covered in enough bandages to make her unrecognizable, her daughter lay asleep as well—though hers was a magic-induced sleep meant to speed the healing of her burned, lacerated flesh and skin. Jane hadn't seen Hermione when they'd first brought her in. She had been receiving treatment for her own concussion and broken leg, a process that had only taken a day. She hadn't even known that her daughter was hurt until someone had remembered that Hermione Granger's parents had fought at the Ministry…

She had thrown up, the first time she'd seen the bandages on her daughter being changed—seen the extent of the damage the magical fire had done to Hermione. _Blackened flesh, crumbling in places, red and raw like sloppily butchered meat…_the Healers had had to sedate her with some sort of potion substance after she'd seen just how badly off her daughter was.

_"She ran into the heart of the inferno in order to have the best chance of extinguishing it and saving countless lives—and she succeeded." _

Jane didn't care to hear about the foolhardy bravery her Hermione had been up to. Not when she was lying in a hospital bed so badly burned that even magic couldn't piece her back together easily. From what she gathered of the magical jargon flying around her, they were…scraping off the burned skin and re-growing the flesh with some sort of potion, but the procedure was risky and extremely painful. They had started with her face and torso, and the pink, baby-soft skin that was now there seemed out of place and distinctly odd against the singed, cropped short head of hair and the bandages that still protected the re-growing parts of her limbs.

_"Any day now," _a Healer had said this morning. _"We're going to let her wake naturally for a few minutes today. She'll need intensive therapy in order to be able to move again, but she's young and in her prime and magically powerful. She'll pull through."_

Jane roughly swiped at her dry, burning eyes and gulped at the carafe of water that sat on the small stand between the two beds. Clearing her throat, she picked up the book she was reading and continued. "My hopes were all dead—struck with a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid cor—" Jane forced herself to say it—"corpses that could never revive. I looked at my love: that feeling which was my master's—which he had created; it shivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle…"

"So depressing, Mum," whispered a voice hoarse with disuse.

Jane Granger dropped the book. Hermione blinked slowly, and licked her lips. "Can I…water?"

Immediately, Jane brought the glass of water to her daughter's lips. Carefully, she assisted Hermione in drinking. When the glass was empty, she set it aside, only now allowing herself to begin shaking. "Hermione…sweetheart…" with great care for the sensitive new skin and the still healing limbs, Jane reached a trembling hand to caress her only child's face, her shorn hair. "You're here," she whispered. "You're awake. I thought…"

"I love you, Mum," Hermione murmured, but her eyes were already beginning to droop with exhaustion and the effort it had taken to drink some water. "Where's Dad an' Severus?"

Jane caught her breath harshly, but before she could say anything, think of something to say, her daughter had fallen asleep once more.

And though she had thought she was out of tears before, Jane Granger lay her head against her daughter's bed and cried for Hermione, for the man Hermione loved, for Daniel, and for herself and the destruction a terrorist and his fanaticism had wreaked on her family.

When Hermione woke again, it was dark and she reacted with panic. Her wand materialized instantly in her hand, but something was wrong, something was pressing her down, muffling her, suffocating her in the blackness…somewhere, a soft glow of a light illuminated the room and an unfamiliar face bobbed into view.

"_Stupefy!" _Hermione croaked.

The body crumpled, and Hermione lay still for a long moment, fear and adrenaline and pain rushing through her muscles. But with the light driving away the darkness, Hermione's battle-tuned fright slowly subsided as her mind registered what her eyes were seeing—a hospital room, made unmistakable by the stark cleanliness and no-nonsense sterility of it. Only hospitals, magical and Muggle alike, exuded this kind of white blandness.

Her overloaded senses took in everything—that there was another patient, that this room was initially meant to be a single-patient room but another bed had been pushed in and made to fit somehow, no doubt because…because…if she was lying here, in a hospital bed, that meant that—somehow—the battle was over. The battle was _over, _and Harry must have killed Voldemort—must have _won, _because she would be dead or worse if he hadn't.

_We've won. It's over. _

Numbly, Hermione turned her head towards the other patient, her mind going for an instant to Severus…and then it hit her that the body lying in the other bed was lying too still for real slumber, as if he were dead or in a state of Draught of Living Death, or a coma of some sort, and then that he wasn't a stranger or Severus after all, but her father.

Shivering uncontrollably, Hermione forced herself out of her bed, noticing with vague surprise that her arms and legs were bandaged heavily and felt scraped raw with each motion, that the rest of her un-bandaged skin was coated with some sort of clear medicinal goop and felt somehow _soft _and hyper-sensitive. "Dad, wake up," she whispered, reaching out the hand that wasn't holding her wand to touch her father's shoulder.

When he didn't stir, she shook him harder. "Wake up, Dad," she pleaded. "Please, wake up. Daddy…"

Sobbing now, she somehow managed to crawl into bed with him, wrapping her arms—though they screamed with agony at the motion—around her daddy.

Another Mediwitch found her there, an hour later when she went in search of her colleague. The scene she came upon would have been comical if it hadn't been so pitiful. The Mediwitch, only a few years out of Hogwarts herself, felt her heart break as she saw the girl, pain lining her face even in sleep, curled up against the comatose body of her father, wand still gripped tightly in her hand, and the other Mediwitch on the night shift on this floor of St. Mungo's in a collapsed heap on the floor, Stupefied.

Quietly, so as not to rouse the girl, The Mediwitch Ennervated her companion and they gently Levitated the girl back to her bed, rechecking her vital signs and making sure she had not injured herself further. As they left the Granger room, one of the Mediwitches shook her head slowly. "Sad, is what it is," she murmured to her friend. "She had the look of a trapped wild animal, she did, when I was going in. Stunned me without a thought."

"She'll have a lot to do once she wakes properly," the other agreed in a soft tone as they finished the rounds together, checking in on the far-too-numerous patients they now housed. "That's a tough war she's been through, and she'll have both emotional and physical damage to heal."

"They all will," said the first. "Sometimes I think…I feel like such a cowardly weakling, hiding from…you know. How can I look into the eyes of my patients and tell them everything's going to be fine when I didn't even fight for what I believed in? _Muggles, _Kitty, and children still in Hogwarts, fighting against the greatest evil ever known, while I just…" her voice broke.

The other woman squeezed her shoulder. "Now, Margaret, hush," she scolded gently. "You did fight in your own way. We can't all be warriors rushing off to do great battle. We'd have gotten in the way and just landed on the long list of dead ourselves. But the warriors need patching up after they've done battled, see? And where would they be without us, healing them and taking away the pain?"

Margaret swiped at her eyes, and regained control. "It breaks my heart to see them," she confided. "I have nightmares from when they called in every Healer, Mediwitch, Mediwizard, and Intern on staff, when the wounded started pouring in…"

"I have nightmares too." Kitty led Margaret back to the hospital staff room. "And they celebrate, out there…"

"Disgusting," Margaret spat. "Witches and wizards by the dozens overflowing St. Mungo's, some emergency Portkeyed to France because we don't have the space or the people to handle this latitude of patients, men and women who are this close to dying even with all of magic's tools at hand, and they're out there _celebrating, _them that didn't dare poke a nose outside their own door and would have done anything to save their own skin, including sell out their own family if need be!"

"Fear makes a person do terrible—or great—things," Kitty said thoughtfully. She blinked away tears of her own. "Eh, I cannot dwell overlong on it, Margaret. There's naught to be done now but what we've always done."

"Pick up the pieces and bring healing to what's been hurt," Margaret sighed. "Though it will be a long time in doing so. This war's done a number on so many people…"

**-break-**

Hermione watched numbly as the strange woman dressed in Healer's sage briskly unwrapped the white bandages on her arms and legs with a sharp wave of her wand. "Mmm, looking much better," the woman murmured. "For a day or two it was touch and go, Miss Granger. Especially your face and torso. That was the worst off. But it looks like you are well on your way to being back on your feet, though you'll be needing some weeks of therapy to regain your motor control fully. I think we can leave the bandages off, but you'll be needing this ointment spread thickly all over your skin to keep it from tearing or rubbing raw on your sheets or robes. We had to re-grow a lot of flesh and skin on you, and the new skin's more sensitive than a baby's even, you understand."

Hermione stayed silent throughout the application of the ointment, a clear, oily substance, on her body. She stayed silent as the Healer lectured her on the importance of maintaining a consistent schedule of 'moisturizing' her skin with the healing ointment once every two hours, and let her eyes unfocus to some invisible spot on the wall opposite her. She didn't speak a word when her mother showed up right at the beginning of visiting hours, pale and haggard and, it seemed, aged ten years since the last time Hermione had seen her. But when Jane Granger pulled her daughter into her arms, ignoring the squawk from the Healer, Hermione began to cry uncontrollably.

Afterwards, she lay in bed, exhausted by her weeping jag, as her mother explained in hushed, gentle words what had happened to Daniel Granger in the Ministry—how he had been hit with the Cruciatus and Natalie Wood had been the one to get them to the Floo network, had shoved them both into one of the fireplaces as explosions shook the building and curses flew, how Jane had seen their young Order liaison, grim and determined, had turned back to join the fray as Jane and Daniel had tumbled through the void and been spat out in the Hog's Head at Diagon Alley and someone, some kind soul, had somehow managed to Apparate the by-now hysterical Jane and her unconscious burden to St. Mungo's…and the diagnosis for Daniel, that he might never wake up or if he did, he might be mentally or physically impaired.

Too tired to cry any more, it was Hermione's turn to now hold her mother's hand as Jane wept.

And then finally, Hermione spoke.

"Where's Severus, Mum?" she asked, voice barely audible. "Where is he?"

There was a vulnerable look in her eye that Jane hadn't seen since Hermione had been fourteen and explaining to her mother the complicated Viktor-Ron-Harry mess of a fourth year and trying to sort out her mixed up feelings for the first two. And Jane would never forget the acute agony of breaking her daughter's heart.

"No," Hermione whimpered. "No, it can't be…" Her face crumpled.

"He was the one the rescued you," Jane said, unable to stop, knowing that nothing she said would make a difference. "He pulled you from the heart of the fire. It was…after. They say he fought like a mad dog…that he took down Damascus Malfoy, whom no one could touch. They found him next to you…"

It was like the world had stopped—just stopped. Like everyone was still going on merrily as ghosts in a dead world, like Binns had just kept going without the sense to realize that the world had ended, that death had come and it was foolish to keep getting up every morning pretending like the sun was still rising. There was nothing but blackness, a black hole of emptiness that Hermione welcomed to her heart. "Harry?" she asked, aware that her mother was giving her an anguished look, aware that her voice was high and sharp and her eyes dry as bone and her face felt frozen and stiff and she probably looked manic to any observer. "Ron?"

"Both alive, although your red-headed friend's going to be some time learning how to walk with a prosthetic leg," Jane said, eyes still worried. "Harry…the Healers are saying it's miraculous, but all he's suffered is a severe magical drain. They're both at the Burrow, recuperating. They've been to visit almost every day. Your other friend, Ginny Weasley—she's still asleep. She's one of the lucky ones, they say, one of the few girls that that _bastard _Damascus Malfoy bound in some sort of hideous ritual to survive Voldemort's death. A couple of the girls died when the monster did."

"I need to know who died," Hermione said, still remote, though her voice sounded like old leaves.

"Hermione—"

"I _need to know," _she said.

Sighing, her mother fished around in her purse—such a mundane thing, a purse, after the horrors they'd both gone through!—and unfolded a scrap of much-worn parchment. "I've been carrying their names around," she admitted, a hitch in her voice. "Praying that I wouldn't have to add another name…"

Hermione silently took the piece of parchment, noting almost with a tiny shock that her mother had, in normal _Muggle _fashion, folded the parchment into neat squares rather than scrolling it. The fold lines looked stark and odd on parchment paper.

She focused her eyes on the script—written, again with a jolt of unfamiliarity—with a black ballpoint pen.

_Ministry _

_Amelia Bones_

_Brion Bree_

_Amos Diggory_

_Camille Hayden_

_Hestia Jones_

_Alastor Moody_

_Alec Proudfoot_

_Gawain Robards_

_Basil Rookwood_

_Dorothy Trill_

_Jakob Tutterly_

_Rufus Scrimgeour_

_Order of the Phoenix_

_Leslie Bennett_

_Elphias Doge_

_Eri Ellwood_

_Benjamin Ellwood_

_George Hammond_

_Christopher Harper_

_Conley McDougal_

_Alden Nash_

_Emmaline Vance_

_Charlie Weasley_

_Paton Wiley_

_Natalie Wood _

_Severus Snape_

_Hogwarts_

_Hannah Abbott_

_Lavender Brown_

_Millicent Bulstrode_

_Colin Creevey_

_Dennis Creevey_

_Eleanora Figg_

_Argus Filch_

_Astoria Greengrass_

_Rubeus Hagrid_

_Rolanda Hooch_

_Angelina Johnson_

_Lionel Jordan_

_Luna Lovegood_

_Su Li_

_Yue Li_

_Deng Li_

_Sadie Macmillan_

_Archibald Macmillan_

_Cormac McLaggen_

_Alvira McLaggen_

_Orla Quirke_

_Horace Slughorn_

_Pomona Sprout _

_Dean Thomas_

_Sibyll Trelawney_

_Septima Vector_

_Rose Zeller_

_Raoul Zeller_

_Minny House-Elf_

_Chintzy House-Elf_

54 dead. Hermione recognized and acknowledged each name. Some she knew better than others, and if her heart had been working—if the world hadn't already ended anyhow—she might have wept for irrepressible Hestia, cheerful, bouncy Lionel who had idolized her, Charlie Weasley and the loss that the Weasleys must be suffering right now, or Luna, quirky and always calm in the face of anything. Or perhaps she might have mourned for Ernie Macmillan, whose was still alive but whose parents were on the list of the dead, or Cormac McLaggen whom she had seen die, Minny the house-elf who had served faithfully, Sibyll who had, over the course of the year, become a colleague and friend, Septima Vector and her brilliant mind, Pomona Sprout and her motherly character.

She might have felt guilty for having lived, for Harry and Ron having lived as well while others both younger and older than they had perished. But the world had ended, and if these people were officially 'dead' while the rest of them merely pretended to be alive, then there was no difference, really. Hermione smoothed out the parchment, her finger stilling for a heartbeat over one name, and then she gave the list back to her mother. "The Death Eaters?"

"Just as many, if not more losses," Jane reported with some vindication. "There's an official list issued by the Ministry if you really wanted to look." When Hermione shook her head, Jane carefully folded back up the parchment and returned it to her purse. "Hermione…"

"How long before I can be released?" she asked abruptly, ignoring the concerned look her mother was giving her.

"Tomorrow at the earliest," her mother said. "But…"

"I need to get out," Hermione said, cutting Jane off. "I need…I just need to get out." She stared at her fingers. They were pale pink and shiny with ointment. Even her fingernails were soft and new. "Hogwarts…"

"They've…cleaned it up," Jane told her hesitantly. "Your headmistress, Minerva, was very adamant on that. They had the Aurors who weren't involved take care of…the dead, and then a whole slew of volunteers came in to…put everything to rights."

Hermione closed her eyes on the sudden nightmares that swamped her mind's eye, leaving her dizzy. Blood, in sticky pools painting the grass an obscene red, the taste of sweat and desperation, screaming and death and the horribly still bodies of the fallen, tumbled carelessly on their sides or backs…

"We can go to our safe house," her mother said suddenly. She'd firmed up now, an echo of her former self returning to take charge of the situation. "Natalie is…she's dead, but I'm sure one of the Order members will be able to bring us...all of us…there. To Egypt. It's just the place to…rest. You always wanted another chance to explore the library, Hermione—it's the famed Library of Alexandria, your father and I nearly died when we found out where they'd brought us…"

Hermione nodded, barely hearing her mother's words as she sunk back into her pillows, closing her eyes over the knowledge that he wasn't here—would never be here, she'd never see him smirk at her over some trivial victory or watch his eyes glitter as they argued over academic debate. Books and famous libraries were meaningless. The Library of Dreams mocked her now, empty in her imagination, void of human life. Void of him. She pulled the covers over her head, and shut out the sounds of the world, wishing she could also shut out the awful gaping hole that yawned before her, a world without Severus in it.

**-break-**

Harry woke.

For an instant, he felt as if he was being attacked.

Then he fell off the bed with a loud _thunk, _and realized that he had gotten snarled and tangled in his sheets. _"Ow," _he muttered under his breath, wincing as he sat up. "Why do they make floors so hard anyhow?"

"To walk on, mate, not to fall off a bed on," came a disgruntled voice from the other side of the darkened bedroom. Harry blinked as Ron lit the crystal nightlight on his dresser. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Harry sighed and extricated himself from the mess of his sheets. "How're you?"

"Fine," Ron said unconvincingly.

Harry snorted. "Right. And I'm a Hippogriff. Really, Ron. You aren't fine. Talk to me."

Ron sat up, grunting a little as he used both hands to shift his left thigh—all that was left of his leg—into a comfortable position. "What do you want me to say, Harry?" he asked with heat. "My _brother is dead, _and they say that bloody Viktor _Krum _killed him! George has lost an ear, Fred's still having seizures without warning, and Percy is still in St. Mungo's for the Cruciatus! I don't have a leg anymore, Harry, and Hermione's lying in St. Mungo's in the room next to Percy's with third degree burns covering her! _So what's there to say?" _

Ron had been turning steadily redder and redder as his volume increased, and Harry felt each word like a blow against him. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "I…it's my fault, I'm so sorry Ron…"

Ron looked away, struggling to control his anger. "S'not your fault," he growled finally, staring at the empty space where his leg should have been. "Don't you dare apologize like a dummy for stuff you didn't do."

"But Voldemort—if I hadn't—"

"Yeah, if you hadn't killed the damn bastard there would have been a lot more people dead," Ron said fiercely.

"I'm still sorry," Harry said wretchedly.

There was silence, and then Ron shifted, turning laboriously to face away from Harry. "Yeah, me too," his voice came.

Neither one of them slept the remainder of the night. In the morning, Mrs. Weasley's tired, tear-worn face was almost a welcome sight to Harry. "Morning, Ron, Harry dear," she said, entering after a brief knock. "Breakfast is ready downstairs. Bill, Fleur, and I are going to St. Mungo's right after breakfast if you want to join us again."

Harry nodded, swinging himself out of bed. "Yeah, I'd like to," he replied.

"Ron dear, do you want me to help—"

"No, Mum," Ron cut her off gruffly. "I can do it myself."

Mrs. Weasley looked irresolute. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ron gritted out.

"All right then…" uncertainly, Mrs. Weasley drifted out. Harry dropped his eyes away from the matriarch of the family whom he'd considered his own since his first year at Hogwarts. Ever since…ever since _then, _she'd been hovering, anxious, and lost-looking. Gone was the woman who could browbeat anyone with her scolding alone. Molly Weasley was living her own worst nightmare—Harry remembered, unwillingly, the day two years ago when Sirius had still been alive, when he'd found Mrs. Weasley weeping and unable to banish the boggart that was taking the form of each member of her family dead or dying.

"You got it?" he asked Ron.

Ron was grimacing, straining to stand up. He'd donned his magical prosthetic leg, but even magic couldn't perform miracles and it seemed to Harry that the Muggle version and the magical version of a prosthetic seemed very similar in difficulty to adjust to, except that magic allowed Ron to control the movements of the leg and even the toes on the leg with a series of spells. But it would take a long time for those spells, including the ones to control minute differences in how the foot moved or was placed on the ground, to become second nature to Ron. Until then, as the Healer had told them, it would be hard work using a prosthetic.

"I got it," Ron said, determination in every line of his body as he forced himself up. "You go on ahead, I'll meet you downstairs."

Knowing that the last thing Ron wanted was for anyone to see his weakness, Harry went ahead. Breakfast was a deathly quiet affair. The table was obscenely empty with Ginny's, Percy's, and Charlie's places all vacant. Harry was glad when he could bring his plate to the sink and take the moment to slip into Ginny's room before he went to the hospital.

Ginny was still sleeping, her life force having been drained almost to nothing by Voldemort and Damascus. Not for the first time, Harry shuddered at the thought of how close he'd come to losing her…watching the golden thread of light flicker and plunge into the dark as Voldemort had died. Knowing that he couldn't hold on to all of those many threads, knowing that he would have to _choose _which to save...guilt for choosing Ginny most especially over the other girls… "Wake up soon," he whispered in her ear, stroking her red hair. "Your family needs you around. _I _need you around." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then hurried out to join the group who were going to visit St. Mungo's today. As in every day, they all took turns to visit or stay home with those who were recovering at home. Arthur Weasley shuffled in, nodding vaguely at Harry as they passed each other at the door. Harry looked back as he departed to see Ginny's father sit heavily by his daughter's bed-side and then, after a moment, pick up her hand and hold in to his cheek.

Embarrassed and ashamed for having witnessed such a private moment, Harry looked away and focused instead on returning back to the fireplace, where the Floo powder was handed around. "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Visitor's Entrance," he said clearly, and was whirled away in green fire.

Tumbling out, Harry rose from his ungraceful entry and smiled at the woman he'd come to know quite well in the past few days. "Katriona, how are you?"

The woman, who worked as a receptionist for the hospital, smiled kindly at him. "Doing well, sir. You may want to make your way to Room 21 without dilly-dally, if I may say so."

Harry's heart sped up, and for once he didn't bother to correct Katriona on her insistence on addressing him as _sir. _Room 21 was Hermione's room…he exchanged glances with Ron.

Ron cursed under his breath at his leg as they made their way with as much haste as they could to the room where Hermione and her dad had been placed. Harry's heart was pounding by the time they reached there, and swung open the door. "Hermione!"

She was sitting up, propped by many pillows. She looked distinctly odd with her baby-pink new skin and her hair now cropped into a pixie cut. Harry had never seen her more beautiful to his eyes. "Harry. Ron," she whispered, and then the three of them were caught up in a group hug, both boys on either side of their best friend.

"You cut your hair," Ron remarked.

"Well, the fire burnt most of it off and I decided I wanted something new," Hermione said. She exuded the same no-nonsense nature that had marked her as _Hermione, _but something was different—something that Harry couldn't quite put a finger on. Almost as if she were acting, for their benefit—as if it was just such a familiar mask that she had woken up and just slipped it on like one automatically puts on clothes for the day. And okay, she'd really been changing this year and Harry knew Hermione was different from the Hermione he'd met as a first year and saved from a troll, but it was as if the battle—as if being near death had changed something in her, had made her wearing of this personality something she did absently and out of habit while her mind and her…self dwelled elsewhere.

Her eyes were too bright as they chatted, catching up on news. Ron filled her in on Ginny, Percy, and…Charlie, and Hermione had squeezed Ron's hand comfortingly. "I'm sorry," she said softly, wide-eyed with sympathy. "More still since it was…Viktor."

"Charlie was good at flying, but effin' Krum's the best on a broom the world's seen for a century, at least," Ron muttered. "Damn bastard knocked Charlie off his broom too high for…" he swallowed hard. "Disappeared, the little rat. They don't know what happened to him, and the Ministry's too much of a mess to track down the ones that escaped."

"And speaking of rats, they can't find Pettigrew either," Harry said gloomily. "Which means Sirius will never be cleared properly, although a dozen people can testify that they saw him during the battle, he's the one that offed Sn—" Harry stopped suddenly, and turned petrified eyes towards Hermione.

Hermione had frozen, and her eyes were burning and demented as she gripped the edge of her coverlet so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Shit. Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Harry said frantically. "I didn't think…Merlin, I'm so sorry!"

Ron moaned as Hermione bit her lip through and they saw a drop of blood spring from her mouth. "Hermione…"

"Get out of the way," snapped someone. Shouldering both boys aside, Jane Granger reached her daughter's side and forcibly grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a good shake. "Get a grip, Hermione Jean Granger," she said, her voice a whipcrack. "Cry, damn you, you need to cry and let it out!"

Hermione was breathing heavily now, and then it was as if the damn had broken. Her face wrenched, and then she was keening, trembling so hard she couldn't breathe and screaming as if her world had ended around her. Harry and Ron felt themselves again pushed aside as a flood of Healers and Mediwitches and wizards clustered around the bed, but Jane Granger, who was now cradling her daughter tenderly like an infant glared at them. "Get out, everyone get out," she hissed with enough command to make even the Healers take a step back. "She needs to cry, to mourn. She hasn't yet."

Harry remembered the nights when he'd stuffed his fists into his mouth to choke and stifle the sounds of his grief after Sirius had died, remembered the empty nothingness of denial he'd floated in after Dumbledore's death. Remembered the days and nights since the battle—had it really only been five days?—and the misery, the guilt, the paralyzing sorrow he and every single one of the Weasleys had been going through, each in their own way. Ron, it seemed, was remembering the same thing. Their gazes met, and soberly, they both slipped outside the room.

Harry put up a Muffling charm, and the inhuman screaming abruptly cut off, leaving whispers and silence outside. He wished he could do more for Hermione. He'd do anything now to see Snape's sneering sallow face barking at him for some imagined fault or other.

Ron cleared his throat. "Shall we go see Percy?" he asked uncomfortably.

"Sure," Harry said.

Bill was already in Percy's room when they entered. So, Harry noticed, was the young woman who'd been with Percy when he'd first revealed himself to his family in the Order meeting so long ago, it seemed. Percy looked up and smiled—an odd look on the face Harry had come to associate with expressions of superiority or peevishness. "Ron! Harry," Percy greeted. "Perhaps you can tell us what the screams were about? Gave us quite a shock—Audrey thought it was a Death Eater attack."

Harry looked down at his feet. "It was…er…Hermione," he said, feeling as though he were violating his friend's privacy. "She hasn't…grieved yet, for Snape..."

Percy held up a thin hand. "Ah, say no more." He shook his head. "Bad job, it was. Poor man. Poor Hermione. I can't begin to imagine just how I'd react if anything had happened to Audrey…"

The girl brushed her hand over Percy's hair. She too looked serious. "If she needs anything, anything at all—we owe so much to her and to Severus Snape," she said.

"Yeah, I'll...uh…let her know," Harry said.

Thankfully, Bill seemed to be extremely sensitive of the tension in the room, for he changed the topic. "Hey, they're letting Perce out this afternoon," Bill told Harry and Ron cheerfully. "Fleur and Mum went back home to tell the others and to get Perce's room ready for him."

"Congratulations!" Harry said, grateful for Bill's tact.

"It'll be great to be out of this unfortunately overcrowded-against-regulation hospital," Percy said primly. "I've missed home."

"I'm coming too," Audrey told the boys. She grinned at their looks. "Molly Weasley didn't have the heart to say no to me."

"Which means that she twisted Mum's arm in a way I've never seen anyone else be able to do ever," Bill put in. "Played the 'I love your son and I can't be without him' card." He winked.

Audrey winked back. "It's not wholly playing if it's true," she retorted, and planted a kiss on Percy's cheek.

Percy turned red.

**-break-**

Hermione stared out of the window at the dry, dusty desert that stretched below her. A book lay in her lap—a glass of ice tea sat by her hand. She sat surrounded by books, centuries of brilliant minds and the souls of writers filling the numerous shelves of the Library of Alexandria. It felt as much of a desert in here as it was outside. Hermione listlessly turned another page without seeing the words on it. The first time she'd entered the library, she'd crumpled, unable to bear the grief that had accompanied her first thought that Severus would love this place and the second thought that he couldn't love it—couldn't love anything—because he was dead.

Harry and Ron had looked mutinous at her leaving for her parents' former safe house, wanting her to stay with them, but just the thought of staying in that familiar old place—crammed full with people at every turn, all on the edge with the names of the dead trembling on their tongues, made her sick. Here, where there was a large house and even larger library, where only a few others besides her mother and father were recuperating, she could at least sink into the silence and let it cushion the fresh waves of pain that alternated with the momentary bouts of fury, and she had her own room to demolish in her fits of anger at the world that had taken away what she loved best.

Yesterday, her father had finally woken. He was dazed and not a little out of it, but to Hermione and Jane's extensive relief, he remembered them both. His speech was slurred and often hard to understand, and the Healer that came to look at him every day had said that it would take months of therapy, even the best that magic had to offer, for Daniel Granger to regain control of his fine motor control—Hermione and Jane were taking turns feeding him and Hermione had readily learned the spells necessary to help her father change and use the bathroom.

It was only just over a week since what the papers were now calling "The Battle of Hogwarts" or "The Battle at the Ministry". Just a week since Harry had killed Voldemort. She'd asked him about it, asked him how he was sure that Voldemort wasn't some spirit drifting around like the first time. His frustrating answer had been, "I just know he isn't."

"Hermione."

She looked up at the voice that had interrupted her silence. Looking as he had the day she had met him, Li stood several meters away from her, hands folded and looking at her with a grave kindness. She nodded the barest fraction at him.

"How are you, my dear?" he asked gently. It was a sincere question, and she couldn't fault him for the pain and frustration it aroused.

"Fine," she said drearily, her eyes dropping back down to the opened book on her lap.

"Hermione." Alerted by his insistent tone, Hermione slowly dragged her eyes back up to Li again, where he had seated himself in the reading chair by hers. His eyes were infinitely sympathetic but firm—the steel in them said that she would not get out of this conversation, whatever Li wanted to discuss with her.

"You haven't even asked how Voldemort came to be defeated," he said finally into the silence that enfolded both of them.

"How did Voldemort come to be defeated?" she parroted obediently.

Li gave her a _look, _one that stirred a frozen lump within her—_you've disappointed your teacher—_but folded his hands and seemed to have every inclination to take her question at face value. "You have heard, I suppose, that in the course of Harry's last confrontation with Tom Riddle, the phoenix Fawkes reappeared for the first time since he disappeared after Albus' death and delivered to Harry the sword of Gryffindor?"

She nodded woodenly.

"What do you know about the sword of Godric Gryffindor?"

She recited her answer like the schoolgirl she'd been…it seemed millennia ago. "The sword of Godric Gryffindor is one of the few artifacts left by Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. It was goblin-forged and gifted to Gryffindor, legend has it, for his aid in defending a group of goblins who had been unexpectedly caught unawares by unscrupulous wizards and attacked. In this group, it is said, was the daughter of a chief goblin. It was he who gave Gryffindor the sword. It is also said that before he died, Gryffindor enchanted the sword to appear to Gryffindors in their time of greatest need, if they showed great courage worthy of their House."

"The lore is correct, and yet incomplete," Li acknowledged after she finished. "I paid a visit to the goblins some time ago, looking for answers. They did not give me a straight answer, and I would not have expected it of them, but they gave me enough hints to piece together why Harry was able to destroy Voldemort beyond resurrection, beyond his ill-gotten life force, and beyond the foul magicks he employed to survive the first time." Li looked thoughtfully at Hermione. "Goblin-forged metal has special properties, you see. That's why Goblin-crafted weaponry is so popular. Goblins have an affinity with metal—it's why they have chosen, in the modern Wizarding World, to work primarily in banks. It is well-known that a goblin-forged weapon strikes true, will never break or rust, and sometimes can even slice through magic. It is partly why they were so feared by witches and wizards of the past, as a wizard does not like to know that there is a weapon that can defeat even their magic. What is not commonly known is that goblin metal can also do another thing—it can absorb that which makes it stronger. Thus, Gryffindor's sword, burnt in the fire of phoenix flame, absorbed the pure rebirth of phoenix power. And when Harry, with the conviction of a true Gryffindor, plunged the sword into the chest of a man who had drunk unicorn blood forcefully taken, had stolen life force that was not his to take, had tied his spirit unlawfully to this realm—the purity destroyed the evil that which had been done to hold Tom Riddle's spirit and body to the corporeal world."

Hermione shifted in her seat. Something within her unfurled. The curious child, the inquisitive student, the determined spy's handler—despite knowing that the world had ended and would never ever start again—the call of knowledge was a siren's song.

Li seemed content to sit and wait as long as needed be. Finally, Hermione managed a question. "Why wasn't Fawkes able to just…?" her voice was hoarse with disuse.

"Ah." Li nodded. "I too, wondered. But a phoenix is higher than the ways and the quarrels of men. It would not be right, firstly, to ask a phoenix to sacrifice its life—as sacrifice it must be, wholly and completely, death eternal—for the sake of our human messes. And furthermore, when Fawkes did choose such a death without rebirth, it was with the choice of a truly pure creature who could no more kill than it could speak in the human tongue, for to kill leaves a mark on the soul, worse than death without rebirth to a phoenix."

Hermione remembered, involuntarily, the searing hell-heat of Colin's funeral pyre and last revenge on the man who had killed his brother, the pyre that had killed him and nearly killed her as well…she shuddered. Her skin felt tight and for an instant, she was burning again and the flames leaped high, consuming her flesh…

"Hermione."

She came back to herself. Her skin was fresh and new and unfamiliar to her. She was sitting in a chair in a massive library, and Li was watching her with concern. "Sorry," she whispered. "I am all right."

"No, you are not," he said sternly. "You are but a shadow, Hermione Granger. Is this the woman I instructed, who mastered even Vacuumency, who fought for Severus—" she flinched, and his voice grew firmer. "Yes, the woman who defended and fought for Severus Snape even against her best friends—is this she?"

She was quiet, but he would not stop. "You are not the woman who loved Severus Snape, and most especially you are not the woman whom Severus Snape loved," he said implacably, and she exploded.

"How _dare _you speak of what you do not know, old man!" she cried, standing up. The book in her lap fell to the floor with a _thump, _unheeded, and Li thought she had an eerie resemblance to the Severus at that moment, regardless of her gender, height, and unruly hair. Her eyes glittered fiercely and her breath came fast as she screamed at him. "You know _nothing! Nothing! _Severus loved me, and I loved him—god, I loved him more than life itself! He would have married me—he would have…" her voice broke, giving out on her finally.

"He wants you to _live," _Li said with brutal gentleness.

_He would have wanted you to live. _

_ We are the last spies, and we are _free.

_I won't promise eternity—we neither possess it nor, I think, would I wish it. I won't promise that I will never hurt you or leave you._

_ I have visions so beautiful I can't look straight at them…_

_ People going about their daily business as usual, without fear…_

Severus' voice echoed in her mind, so clear she almost turned to look for him. Pain far worse than the burn of fire leaped in her heart. Vaguely, she felt hands guiding her back to her seat. _Severus was dead. But Severus would have wanted…he would have sneered and told me what a silly sot I was being, to carry on so. He lived, and he was useful, when he thought the love of his life had died—what kind of witch, what kind of woman am I, that I cannot live up to the standard he set me? _

It was like ice water poured onto her soul, and she gasped for air. The library swam dizzyingly into focus again. She stared at Li, a flush slowly growing across her features. "Thank you, Master Li," she managed.

He inclined his head and without further ado, left her, seeming to be satisfied with his work.

Hermione remained sitting, but for the first time since that terrible day, her mind was once more fully awake and as she sat, plans filled her mind. The ache that resonated throughout her remained, but she struggled through it and knew that wherever he was, Severus was surely smirking with approval at the plans she was making. The Wizarding World was never going to have another collapse as total as this one by the time she was finished with them, so help her!

**A.N.: This is the penultimate chapter; please read on for the last chapter of The Last Spy!**

**The book that Jane Granger is reading out loud to Hermione is **_**Jane Eyre, **_**by Charlotte Bronte. **


	107. Chapter 107

**Disclaimer: Really, if you haven't gotten the picture by the last chapter, I wonder what's wrong with you…**

The sun was beautiful, and the golden-orange rays it painted over the wooden slats of her small porch as it set would have been enough to make any artist wildly inspired. The view was amazing, the sky a tapestry of heart-rending blue and streaks of pink, purple, and red, and the smell of the flowers that burst and frothed in joy around the small rented house was better than any expensive _eau de parfum_. Stretched out in a comfortable hammock with a good book and iced tea, any woman enjoying such a life should have been the happiest woman in the world.

Hermione slipped the bookmark to hold her place in _Les Miserables, _closing the book and resting it on her stomach as she gazed at the world. Over and over, she wondered that nature still sang and such beauty still existed, when men and women did such ugly things. It had been four months, four long months of tribulation and toil since her own world had ended—as had it for too many people who had fought and died or lived on the grounds of Hogwarts or the Ministry. As it had too for those who had fought and died or survived, a century ago as Victor Hugo had so skillfully captured. _And yet we never learn, _she thought. _Magical or not, we still do violence and kill one another and hate each other. _She was almost done with the novel, had been thoroughly sucked into the struggles and the heart-stoppingly close to home emotions and youthful idealism. Idealism that, by the end of the war—and, she knew, by the end of this novel—no one possessed or would possess.

She empathized with Eponine, whose bold spirit and take-action character was unusual for a girl of her times, and who had been denied the one thing she had sought most, love. Her eyes were wet when the girl did what she herself wished she could have for Severus. She wept again as she read of needless deaths and of the inner struggles in the souls of those involved in the intricately woven web of intersecting lives.

And she wished that her life was a novel written by Victor Hugo, that the deaths she knew and the loneliness that was her constant companion might at least be transformed into something higher. It was somehow better written in a book—as literature, even senseless deaths could become transcending and grief painted as noble suffering.

The sun was giving its last defiant farewell, and if anything the colors were richer, more vibrant for the darkness that was now gathering around it. If she had not had magic, she would be beating off the mosquitoes right now—thankfully, a quick spell repelled them from the vicinity of her porch and her being, and she enjoyed the peace of a bug-free twilight. It had only taken her the first night in France to look up the spell to block the interfering little insects. They swarmed like beasts around any living thing, and were most prevalent as the sun went down.

Hermione had been here in Aureille, a quiet village in Southern France, for approximately a month now and she was beginning to slowly learn the rhythm of life here. She had initially begun at a Les Baux de Provence, a half an hour away. She'd stayed at that commune's central bed and breakfast, whose name had first attracted her to this place: _Le Prince Noir. _The black prince. Within a week, Hermione had known that she wanted to get in amongst the daily life, rather than play the tourist in the perfectly kept and serviced inn. She had, with her childhood French she was haltingly regaining (_without the use of a spell, thank you very much—learning it for real was so much better) _found someone who knew someone who had a cousin who lived on the outskirts of Aureille, whose son was studying in Paris and would be willing to rent his room and part of the house to a foreigner. So she had moved in with the charming old French Muggle couple, who were pleasant and did not ask her about her past beyond what she could bear to speak of, and ignored her peculiarities such as her odd expressions (who ever swore by Merlin, anyway?) and allowed her to practice her French with them. And if they ever heard an alarming wailing, the sound of a woman in utter desolation, in the middle of the night when she had forgotten to put up a Muffling charm, they were polite enough not to bring it up in conversation. Maurice and Georgitte had given her the freedom of the second floor, where their son had once occupied before going off to study and become a doctor in the city, as well as the open welcome to use the kitchen, sitting room, or dining room. Their bedroom was on the first floor, and they invited her to join them for any meal but most especially for dinner and their customary after-dinner glass of wine and easy conversation or silence, whichever one so pervaded that night.

Tonight, however, Maurice had surprised his wife of thirty years with a fancy dinner out and she had waved them off earlier, smiling at the antics of a couple still obviously as in love with each other as the day they had married. And she'd blinked back the tears that crowded her eyes at the dull ache, knowing that she would never get the opportunity to test the decades of love with Severus.

Wrenching her thoughts away from a path that would only lead to inevitable weeping and useless pain, Hermione thought of Hogwarts. She wondered what everyone back there was doing. She felt guilty about leaving, her mother had insisted and Hermione truly had needed to get away. She'd spent the three months after the fall of Voldemort in ten places at once and doing fifteen different things simultaneously. She'd gone to far too many memorials, including a private one for Severus—for his body had been entirely cremated by the remnants of the fire she hadn't entirely managed to quench. She'd attended the official Ministry ceremony honoring the dead and alive who had fought Voldemort and received, uncomfortably, an Order of Merlin, First Class from the new acting Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. She'd helped Harry and Ron figure out what to do with themselves now that the war—which had been their sole focus, was over. When Harry chose to go back to Hogwarts, the only home he truly knew, and apprentice as a professor as she had done, she smiled—Harry really was a good teacher. Ron after much waffling and several bouts of depression, finally got his act together enough to decide that he liked selling pranks in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes well enough to do it while he didn't know what he wanted to do with his life.

She also spent far too much time helping Kingsley, Percy, and Arthur reform the Ministry of Magic, rearranging the balance of power to create a fairer, less likely to be riddled with corruption government (though she doubted that they would ever root out corruption entirely from those hallowed halls—this was politics, after all). She'd buried herself up to her eyeballs in dusty, ancient tomes in order to rewrite outdated laws and repeal unjust ones, and convinced Percy—who in turn convinced Kingsley—of the need to create new departments. She'd been horrified to discover, years ago when she was researching the magical government she was now subject to, that the Minstry of Magic had no department of education nor department for work, domestic trade, or financial affairs. _Shocking. _The reorganization and expansion of the Ministry had swallowed most of her life, and in the time that it did not, Hogwarts—restarting it, reevaluating the curriculum, reinforcing the wards, looking for new professors, convincing students and more importantly parents that it was safer than ever to send their precious children to school in September…

_Research, research, research. _Life went on, despite the denial of many, and finally at the beginning of August, Minerva had taken her aside and told her firmly to _go take a break. A long one. _

By then, her mother's tireless efforts had paid off, and her father was both speaking—slowly and often slurred, but with the same enthusiasm and wit as always—and walking. And Kingsley had offered her mother the position as head of the reorganized Muggle Relations Department and her father the position of head of the new Department of Judicial Affairs. _My parents, the politicians. _It boggled her mind.

They'd hired people to fill the empty positions in Hogwarts, and Minerva had appointed Filius Flitwick as her deputy Headmaster. Hermione had bowed out of teaching. And Kingsley had offered her the job, if she wanted it, as head of the newly created Department of Magical Education. _"You were the only who basically created it from scratch," _the Minister had said as she'd gaped at him when he had asked her. _"Not only that, you've gone through the best and the worst Hogwarts has to offer, both as a student and as a professor. You're the most experienced, the most qualified, to lead this department." _

Part of her, the part that had always dreamed of being big—of making a difference in a huge way—wanted to say yes. But the bigger part of her, that which was battle-worn, scarred, and tired, just wanted a little peace.

And so she'd turned down the offer and set off, telling no one—not even her parents—where she was planning on going, only promising that she would send an owl once a week so that they knew she was safe.

She had come partly to fulfill a promise she'd made herself, to leave after the end of the war for a holiday away from her responsibilities and duties, away from the death and the nightmares that still roamed Britain even as its citizens picked themselves up and slowly started building again. If she had dreamed that Severus might be with her, no one else knew but her.

Slowly, as time had passed in this tiny commune, as she'd relearned her French and listened to her landlords chatter about their day and the latest gossip of the community, Hermione had allowed herself to feel as she had not allowed herself to feel whilst running between Hogwarts and the Ministry. She learned just why her parents had enjoyed cooking as she developed her own skills. She went to the farmer's market with her hosts, turning over the sun-ripened vegetables and fruits and learning the art of bargaining, the friendly give and take language exchanged. She ripped through all the books she'd wanted to read in depth for the past three years but hadn't had the time to do more than skim if that. She bought foolish items on a whim such as the kingfisher blue dream-catcher that hung above her bed and the little stone basin etched with dancing fairies for birds to drink and bathe from. She took lessons from the local painter-in-residence, learned how to make the olive oil for which Aureille was famed for, played chess with the old men and women who sat in the town square to dream or socialize in the sun, and went on long, solitary walks to explore the area. The first time she gave directions to a pair of lost American tourists, she felt a thrill of glee.

Sometimes, she was almost content—the mindless moment when she first woke in her soft bed and didn't have to worry about who might have died while she'd snatched a nap, or when she'd laughingly joined a noisy group of young children on their way to the pottery-shed where one of the children's parents worked and had volunteered to host the lot of village children if they wanted to make a pot or clay dish of their own.

But times like this, when the space beside her was distressingly empty and she itched to turn and tell someone how beautiful the sky was, and spoke to only empty space, Hermione thought she'd die from the ache of it.

The colored ribbons lengthened and the blue of the sky darkened to more sedate and melancholy grey-blue. A raven cawed from close by, a curiously jubilant sound, and Hermione closed her eyes against the pain. After a moment, she opened them again to reality, where _her _raven would never fly again. She began to sit up, to lever herself out of the hammock to go inside—and then yelped in shock as her tailbone smacked against the wood porch. Cursing the jarring pain, Hermione stood up and found herself speechless.

_No. No. _

"Hermione?"

"No." It came out a breathless sob. "No, you're not real. Go away. How can you do this to me, to give me hope when there is none?"

He looked as he did in her good dreams, the ones in which he came to her as he had been before the battle. His hair was tied neatly back and he was dressed in a simple white shirt and pants, nothing out of place in a Muggle location. His dark eyes glittered. She hated him. "You're not real," she shouted at her hallucination, voice cracking desperately in the middle. "Go away and _stop mocking me for what I have lost!" _

"I am real, Hermione," the mirage said softly. "I did not die. I swear to you, I am real and alive. It would take more than a rat's curse to kill me, Hermione. It was not my choice to act dead, my oath on it—it was Honour Rabnott who found me before any other, she who mended me and spread the news of my death. She needed a weapon who would be able to ferret out the Death Eaters and sympathizers who had fled. _I swear it, _Hermione, I would not have caused you this much pain if I could, but I owed that woman a Life Debt for reversing that which Pettigrew had cast. It was not an easy curse to remove, and she risked her own life to save mine."

She shook her head, unwilling to accept the hallucination or the words that tumbled out uncontrolled from its lips. The lips she had dreamed of, night after night, at times loving and warm and at times tightened and weighted with hateful words for having let him die…she felt faint, and yet at the same time impossibly angry. How _dare _this…this apparition, this figure of her haunted dreams, rise up to taunt her? How _dare? _

"You're dead," she whispered through stiff lips. "They said so. I couldn't even find your wand. I searched. I wanted to die too…"

His eyes were infinitely tender as they had so rarely been, and he reached out one hand to her, very slowly, as if she were a wild animal easily startled. "Touch me, then," he urged her quietly. "Touch me. If I am a ghost or a figment of your imagination, you will not be able to touch me."

She stared at his slightly trembling, outstretched hand. It looked solid, looked real.

It took an eternity as she leaned forward fraction by fraction and extended her own hand, hers visibly shaking. A century passed as her hand crept closer, closer…hovered a breath over the ghost's outstretched palm…brushed it.

His fingers, warm and real and solid, closed over hers, gripped tightly, and their gazes met.

She was unaware of the tears trickling madly down her face. Everything in her centered down to the solid warm touch of his hand—the hand that was undeniably real, for even in her dreams of Severus Snape, she had never been able to grasp hold of him.

"Severus…" she breathed, emotion swamping her.

His grip tightened. "See? I am as real as you are," he promised. He lifted her hand to his face, eyes never leaving her burning ones, and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Electric shocks sprang down her spine at the brief brush of skin, and she gasped. "You…you're alive?" she said uncertainly. "You're real?"

"I am alive and real, Hermione," he swore. "Really, woman, you're beginning to sound like a parrot with an unfortunately limited vocabulary," he added with a hint of a sneer.

It was that, so quintessentially Snape-like, that convinced her. With a little cry, she flung herself at him, and there was nothing but the two of them as he caught her up in his arms, holding her pressed tight to his wonderfully, beautifully beating heart.

-break-

When they came to themselves, it was true dark and the stars were gazing serenely down at them. Unable to take her eyes off Severus and afraid, ridiculously petrified that if she blinked or let go of him, he would vanish like the dawn mist, Hermione threaded her hand through his and Apparated them both up to her bedroom. There, in the bed she had spent her lonely, barren nights since she had arrived here, Hermione tucked herself into her wizard's body and listened as he told his story, voice a low timbre.

"The curse Pettigrew hit me with is one I am frankly surprised he knew, let alone was able to produce successfully," he said meditatively. "It was one meant to entrap one in one's own mind. I was caught off-guard. It snatches the consciousness from the real world and thrusts it into the reality of the mind. I only knew that one moment, I was on the battlefield and trying to get you to the Healers, and the next, I was alone in the realm of my own mind with only my worst fears and nightmares to keep me company. As an Occlumens, I am very rarely open to a mind-attack, but once breached, my own Occlumency turned against me for I was unable to break my own defenses from the inside. It was Honour Rabnott, as I have said, who found me, recognized the curse for what it was. There is no known reverse for this curse. But Honour was determined. She…" he hesitated and she felt him swallow. "She did something very dangerous and illegal. She used herself as the middleman and transferred the curse from myself to a Death Eater she had captured. All of this occurred in absolute secrecy." He sighed. "She took me entirely out of the country, told no one but Li what she had done and that I still lived—"

"_Li knew?" _she exclaimed involuntarily. "He _knew?" _Wrath ignited within her.

"He did, but was sworn to secrecy," Severus replied.

"That…" she ground her teeth. "They are going to be answering for a lot of things," she said ominously.

Severus winced.

"Go on," she said after a moment, forcing herself to put away her new ire at the deceit she had been fed even as a craftier slow burn kindled within her, the need for revenge.

"Honour is much, much higher in the Order than anyone suspects," he continued warily. "I do not know exactly what she does, but when I recovered enough, I was put under several very binding oaths to hunt down and root out the few remaining major Death Eaters who had escaped death or justice that day. For however long it took, I was not my own man—I was not free—until I had killed or captured those on the list presented to me. I owed…not quite a Life Debt, but there is a binding between healer and patient when magic is exchanged to save the patient's life, rather like…rather like the tie between Dolohov and I, when I saved his life after you trounced him at the beginning of this year. It does not occur with professional Healers, because in their Healer's oath they renounce all debts to them in the line of their work. I would never have been free without discharging the tie, Hermione, and so I agreed—unwillingly—to take their oaths and become their dog."

Hermione tightened her grip on his shirt, her heart raw with sorrow and righteous anger at those who had taken advantage of Severus, had kept him from his dream of freedom. How must it have been, to wake up having lived through the final defeat of one master to find himself literally snatched up to be bound once more in servitude to another?

"There were four on the list. Thorfinn Rowle, Klara Lazlo, Viktor Krum, and Peter Pettigrew." He fell silent at Hermione's sharply drawn breath.

She could have said many things, and they crowded thick and fast in her mind. _Are they all dead? Why didn't we hear of the capture or kill of those Death Eaters? Was Viktor…sorry? How did you track down Pettigrew? _But in the end, knowing that he know what she was thinking, the questions and fears that pressed against her teeth, Hermione chose to comment neutrally, "Weren't Rowle and Lazlo part of the research team that the Dark Lord put together on stealing life force?"

Severus relaxed infinitesimally, and she knew that he knew that she would allow him to tell those stories on another day, at a different time. When he was ready.

"I did not rest," he continued after a long pause of listening to each other's breathing. "I knew you had survived, that you were back on your feet and doing what you do best—I am proud of you, Hermione," he told her, brushing a hand through her thick hair. "I found Pettigrew three days ago, Hermione, and returned to look for you—I finally managed to shock Potter entirely speechless," he added wickedly, and she giggled a little, thinking of Harry's flabbergasted face. "But no one, not even your parents, knew where you were, and not even Potter's owl could find you."

Sheepishly, Hermione smiled. "That would be the protective ward I put up," she admitted. "I didn't want to be found."

"I'll say," he said with amused admiration in his tone. "It took me considerable work to break through the perimeter you set up around the house, and even then it wasn't so much of breaking them as coaxing a loophole to creep in with my Animagi form."

She blushed. "You really were the raven, then," she whispered. "I wanted you to be, even when I knew you were dead and there was no way you could be flying around alive."

"At any rate, your last letter, though you wiped it clean of any way to trace you, hinted that you were on the continent, and the scenery you described I was able to narrow down to several locations. It was then that I remembered something you snapped at me in passing, months ago when I was trying to persuade you to go flying with me."

She remembered it all too vividly as well. It had come back to her, as had all the days and nights they had spent together, mocking her with what she couldn't have. "You asked me where my infamous Gryffindor courage had gone," she murmured.

"And you replied that it had flown to the South of France," he finished. "And when I looked further, and heard of the quaint little picturesque town where, for a reasonable amount of money, one could stay in bed and breakfast named Le Prince Noir, I thought you would not have gone for something so obvious."

She smiled weakly. "I couldn't resist. I wanted…it made me feel somehow closer to you," she admitted. "A connection—the Black Prince—and yet something entirely apart from Hogwarts or anywhere that there were…memories."

He held her closer for a minute, not saying anything. Then he clearead his throat and continued softly. "I enquired within, discovered that a single woman with exceptionally thick frizzy brown hair and sad brown eyes had stayed there three weeks ago, and had since moved to Aureille. I knew then that you were here."

Severus caught her chin gently, guiding her face up to his intent eyes. "Hermione, I can only apologize again and again for having caused you any iota of despondency or anguish. I will even get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness if I thought you enjoyed my groveling. But I have had enough of masters to last me ten lifetimes, and I simply wish to live the rest of my life—not with another master, but with my love whom I would do anything for. I didn't truly understand that before. I didn't understand that being in love, having someone else hold my heart in their hands, wasn't the same as being controlled by men whose first priority was someone or something else. Even right before the battle, I did not truly comprehend the true nature of love." He laid a palm on her cheek now, and Hermione was unable to help herself. She leaned into his touch, her eyes still on his earnest and for once, completely laid bare gaze. He was speaking the truth, the aching truth that rang in her soul and awoke the long-forgotten anger at Dumbledore, at Voldemort, and now at Honour Rabnott and Li, for having nearly completely destroyed _her _love between them all.

"Forgive me, Hermione. I held back, even the night before the battle, because subconsciously I did not want to be helpless ever again. I still do not. But I know now—have known since I saw you vanish in flame—Merlin's beard, I nearly died on the spot when that happened, you foolish woman risking your life in that way…I knew that only by being with you honestly and completely would I be truly free." He swallowed hard. "My dream, of walking in liberty—I did not say it, but it would not have been liberty without you walking with me. I spent four months hunting Death Eaters who had gone to ground, and within that time, the only thing that sustained me was the hope that you would agree to fulfill that vision of my future."

She caught her breath at the passion glittering in his eyes, in his expression, in his voice. ""I understand that the most significant part of my freedom entails the freedom, the choice, _my _choice—to love you, and to give you the power over my very soul. That is my freedom. That is what I fought this war for, Hermione—to be free to love you without guilt, without shame, and without fear. Will you walk with me throughout life, Hermione? Will you be my freedom?" he asked, almost inaudibly.

Hermione felt the tears once again start, and her heart spiraled up and up like a dove taking wing. She ignored the gentle gleam of silver-and-moonbeam ring that he had taken out of his pocket. More beautiful to her was the face of her beloved, and through the shimmer of her tears, she smiled brilliantly. "Yes," she whispered, the joy welling up in her like a fountain of fine wine. "Yes, Severus, I will always walk with you."

"Hermione," he breathed, and their lips met and there was nothing but love and warmth and euphoric bliss in their touch.

"Free," he murmured against her skin, and she laughed with pure exhilaration like a runner who has toiled upwards, over the last, steepest hill and crossed the finish line with the sight of his family and friends cheering him on. "Free," she agreed, and pulled him back in.

Outside, the stars twinkled on, little snippets of light against the black velvet of the clear night sky. A few crickets sang, and the September wind rustled the olive trees. A thought away, Harry Potter and his fiancé snuggled closer together as they slept on peacefully. The war was over, and life could go on. There would be children, and a better future.

As witches and wizards, the survivors of a grueling war, took to their beds, the stars gazed on impartially. And inside, Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were once more reunited with the promise of a future together at their fingertips.

All was well.

_**Finite Incantatum…**_

**My dear readers:**

**After three and a half years, over 500,000 words, 107 chapters, and over 2000 reviews, it is time to say goodbye. Goodbye to The Last Spy and the Severus and Hermione that I have lived with and quarreled with for almost all of my college years. Goodbye to you—wonderful, lovely, faithful readers and reviewers who have encouraged me, walked with me, and been patient with my often long, unexpected silences and writer's block. I don't know if I'll ever write a novel like this again, or even if I'll write a story again. As The Last Spy has accompanied me through college, I am stepping out into the scary world of working adults and it may be that this is something that will not consume my life as much as it has been in college. I don't know, but I am thankful for what it has been in my life. When I first started writing this story, I thought, "Oh, twenty chapters, good practice, work my way up to a longer story." **

**As the longest completed story, fanfic and original fic alike, The Last Spy is only what it is because of you. I could never, ever, have had it in me to finish something so overwhelming without the constant encouragement of my reviewers and the silent support of each person who read, who put me on a story alert or favorited the story…so, in a way much too mundane to be good enough for all of you: my heartfelt thanks. **

**Thank you for loving the characters as much as me. **

**Thank you especially to every single person who reviewed, be it once or every chapter. And my deepest sincerest gratitude to those who faithfully reviewed each chapter, or near most of them. You don't know how much of a light those reviews were.**

**In this long-winded fashion, I now declare: **_**Mischief Managed! **_

**Please, look out for the epilogue! **


	108. Epilogue: 19 Years Later

**Disclaimer: And for the final lap, witches and wizards and Muggles, I, sylphides, solemnly swear that I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter. **

_**Epilogue:**_

_**~Nineteen Years Later~**_

She stuck her tongue between her teeth as she inked in another fine, black line, careful to lift her hand up so that it would not smudge the image that was almost finished beneath her fingers. Concentration wrinkled her forehead…_almost done…_she held her breath as she made another mark, quill barely touching the fine parchment. _There. _She let out the breath she'd been holding, slowly, and took a cautious step back to look at her finished product.

She could see nothing else that she needed to do, no other minute change. It was the best work she'd ever done, though her critical artist's eyes still saw flaws in what she had created. Still, overall, she was rather proud of the ink drawing that had taken her almost a month to complete. She'd started this project three and a half weeks ago, knowing that she'd need all the time she could muster to create the perfect Christmas present for her godparents, who were her favorite people in the world other than her own immediate family.

She hoped they liked it.

"Of course they will," said a voice by her ear, and she jumped nearly out of her skin, shrieking.

Her twin brother and biggest menace of her life stood, laughing at her, his grey eyes dancing with amusement at her expense, and she scowled at him. "Lys, you arse! You nearly gave me heart failure! Not to mention that I could have ruined my drawing by mistake if I'd jerked the wrong way," she snapped at him.

He tugged on her curly blonde hair affectionately. "Nah, Lu, you're too protective of your work to ever risk it," he retorted. "'Sides, it's a skill I'm cultivating, to be sneaky. _This _Christmas, they aren't going to sneak up on me again like that! I'll sneak up on _them _instead."

"Good luck," Lu snorted. "They've had far longer than you to practice being sneaky and quiet. You'll never win."

"I can try," her brother said with infinite dignity.

"Lunaris and Lysander! Have you finished packing?" Mum's voice floated up the stairs, and the twins winced simultaneously.

"Almost!" Lunaris called back down, lying blithely through her teeth. "Quick, help me cast the protective charm on my drawing," she hissed, drawing her wand.

For all his tomfoolery, Lysander was extremely talented in Charms, and his spells tended to equal spells cast by witches and wizards twice his age. The siblings held their wands out over the parchment, and cast simultaneously.

The parchment, and the drawing it contained, glowed briefly and then returned to its original appearance. However, even a foot away from it, Lunaris could feel the strong protective magic that encased her precious artwork, preventing it from being ripped, creased, smudged, soaked, or stained. "Thanks," she said grudgingly to her brother.

He shrugged. "Are we going to pack or wait till Mum comes up to yell at us for lying and making us late to catching the Portkey?" he asked.

With great care, Lu rolled up her gift and tied it with a rich green ribbon. She placed it on the unorganized pile of things she'd dumped on her bed to take with her, and then surveyed the assortment of clothes, books, gifts, and other essentials. "Fifteen minutes," she estimated.

"Ten," Lysander countered with a challenge in his eye. Never one to turn down a challenge, she pursed her lips and nodded. "Ready, set, go!" The room exploded in a flurry of packing as both twins competed to finish before the other, and certainly before ten minutes was up.

"Done!" Lunaris declared, just as Lysander cried, "Finished!"

They both groaned. "Tie again, that means that Cassie will have to think up another tie breaker," Lysander sighed.

"What about me?" A small head poked into the twins' room. Cassandra was ten going on twenty, five years younger than the twins, and the official negotiator of their on-going twin rivalry.

"We tied again," Lunaris informed her.

"Oh. Well, I'll think of something, but right now, Mum's about to come up and check your room," Cassie warned them. "Looks like you're packed, but you may want to hide those." She indicated towards the stack of books on Lysander's table, and he cursed. Hurriedly, he shoved the stack of books under his bed.

"Thanks, Cassie," he said hastily. "Mum doesn't need to know that I'm thinking about becoming an Auror yet, plenty of time for that hullabaloo in a year or two…"

Lu nodded fervently. Dad might understand Lys' need to join the force, to be able to do something important for their home country however dangerous it was, but Mum would only see the risky nature of the job and the violence required, the waste of Lysander's other talents. As much as she considered Lys a troublesome creature in her life, she didn't want to see her twin be harangued and guilted by Mum into doing something else he didn't really want to do instead. Not to mention as his twin, she'd be blamed equally for not 'being a better influence on Lys'—as if anyone could influence Lys if he didn't want to be influenced!

"She's coming," Cassie hissed, and vanished, probably to her own room. Sure enough, a second later, Lu heard the creak of the stairs. When Skye Corwin entered the room of her two eldest children, Lunaris was stretched out on her bed innocently reading a book and Lysander at his desk, hard at work editing his essay due after the holidays. She wasn't fooled a bit.

"I hope you remembered everything," she said, choosing not to investigate too closely this time. "Bring everything downstairs, we're going to Floo to the International Transportation Department and Portkey from there."

"Yes, Mum," they chorused obediently. She gave them one more suspicious look and departed to find Cassandra.

Both of them breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she hadn't actually checked to see _what _they had packed—not all of it would have been parent-approved, considering that it was stuff not quite legal by British standards, though fine by the Italian Ministry. But the Transportation Officials never checked their belongings, so as long as neither Mum nor Dad found the items in their bags, they would make it over there safely for Lunaris and Lysander to pass on to their sort-of cousins.

In short order, the twins found themselves in the sparse chamber of the Transportation Department, where, at least for the magical citizens, tourists, and visitors of Italy, all international traveling occurred. _A much more organized and regulated system than ours, I'm afraid, _Uncle Percy had told her ruefully once when she had asked why in Italy they had to arrive or depart from the same building but in Britain, you could go from anywhere as long as you got issued a Portkey. _Still, one change at a time, and there are far more important changes to push through first. _Uncle Percy had been elected the British Minister of Magic two years ago, amidst much cheering—he'd been a shoe-in, because he had fought in the big war against Voldemort and because he'd been so instrumental in rebuilding the shattered Ministry after the war was over. The other contenders couldn't say the same.

They visited Britain almost every Christmas. It meant a great deal more traveling for Lu and Lys when they started going to Hogwarts, because that meant they left the Isles to come home by Portkey at Aunt Danielle and Uncle Xenophilius' house, and then several days later had to Portkey back with their family. Still, neither twin really wanted to stay in Britain even those couple of extra days without their family. As much as they loved Hogwarts, they'd grown up in Venice, not Scotland or England.

"Hold tight everyone!" Dad reminded as they all jostled to grip on to the plain, smoothened wood-carved baton. Lu and Lys engaged in the traditional shoving to see who could put their hand squarely in the middle of the engraved Italian Ministry crest, which Lys won this time. Then they were jerked away, bags and all, and unceremoniously dumped at their destination. Dad quickly placed the baton on the ground, and as soon as his fingers left the wood, it vanished, to return back to Italy where it would be re-used.

"Draco, Skye!" Lu heard a familiar voice call out her parents' names from the window of the house they now stood before, and an instant later, the door flew open to reveal Aunt Danielle and Uncle Xenophilius beaming at them all.

It took a moment of craziness to get sorted, but soon, they were all installed in the rooms that their aunt and uncle had long ago reserved for their visits. Technically, Aunt Dani and Uncle Xeno weren't their aunt and uncle, they were Lu and Lys' great-aunt and great-uncle, but both had insisted that the 'great' prefix made them feel old and senile, so it had been dropped.

Having dropped their bags on their beds and changed for the Christmas Eve dinner, Lu and Lys clattered down the stairs to find Cassie already perched on the kitchen table, sipping hot chocolate and conversing with Aunt Dani. "Lu, Lys!" Aunt Dani greeted them as they came in. "Care for some hot cocoa?"

"Yes, please!" they exclaimed, joining their little sister at the table.

"Cassie was just telling me that she's thinking about going to that Italian school, whatsitcalled, instead of Hogwarts, when she turns fourteen…"

"L'Academia di Magia," Cassie clarified. "Their program starts when you've finished their version of primary and intermediate schooling at fourteen. I want to finish at school like the rest of my friends."

"But you are British! Your whole family has gone to Hogwarts ever since I can remember!" cried Aunt Danielle.

Lu and Lys looked at each other. Cassie had always done what she wished, and if she wished to stay in Italy, finishing her preliminary magical education and moving on to the secondary school for magic…

"Well, she isn't turning eleven until April, so she'll have some time to really decide," Lys said sensibly. "It's only December yet. Besides, Uncle Xeno would love to have an excuse to visit Italy more than he already does. He's convinced that the Italian Ministry is covering up some big conspiracy to do with smuggling Wrackspurts into the locker rooms of the Quidditch national teams that are going up against Italy's for the Quidditch World Cup this summer."

"Your uncle has been nagging me incessantly about taking all of my sick days to accompany him to America in search of Bigfoot," Aunt Dani muttered. "As if I hadn't already wasted all of them _last year _on that ridiculous search for heliopaths in Hawaii…"

"But you did get a nice tan," Lu teased her great-aunt, knowing that whatever she moaned about her husband, she still loved him nonetheless.

Now blushing a little, Aunt Dani thrust a mug of steaming chocolate at her, and another at Lys. "Here, drink," she said unceremoniously. But she was thoroughly distracted, and Cassie gave Lys and Lu a grateful look.

"Where's my favorite Slytherin?"

Uncle Xeno entered the kitchen, trailed by Draco and Skye Corwin, and he came to pet Lys absently on the head. "How have you been, my boy?"

"The same as when I last saw you, three days ago," Lys replied sarcastically, but at Dad's sharp glare, quickly amended his answer. "I'm well, Uncle Xeno."

"Good, good." Uncle Xeno turned to Lunaris, and his eyes softened as they always did when he set eyes on her. "And my little Lu, how are you?" He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stroked her hair.

She was his undeniable favorite, and Lys had never quite got along with him for that reason. Lu understood why—Dad and Mum had sat both of them down when they were much younger to explain why their great-uncle favored Lu so much over everyone, including her identical twin—but it made her uncomfortable. "Fine, Uncle Xeno," she answered softly. "I've been studying a lot for my OWLs, so it's nice to be able to relax for Christmas."

"If you ever need help, I'm always available," he reminded her.

"Thanks," she smiled gently at him, knowing exactly what her twin was thinking and not saying—_if you want to fail, then he's very available to help you think of creative and incorrect answers! _The tension dissipated as Aunt Dani gently laid her hand on her husband's arm.

"Come on, Xeno, I'm sure the children are dying to see their friends, and the Potters are waiting for us to Floo over," she said quietly to the man she had married five years ago to the surprise of all, none of whom had seen it coming.

"Right." Uncle Xeno's hand trembled a little as he lifted it from Lu's blonde head, but he smiled at his wife sincerely, and he looked less fragile than he had last Christmas, when they had all thought that he would follow his first wife and his daughter across the Veil.

Not for the first time, Lunaris wished that she didn't look so uncannily like her dead namesake, or that she didn't bear her name in honor of her, or even that she wasn't in Ravenclaw like her. She gave Lysander and Cassie a brave smile of her own, determined to forget about what she could not change. "Want to bet that James will have done something to get himself into trouble when we arrive?" she asked resolutely trying to change the subject with far less skill than Lysander possessed.

Lys shot her a look, but complied with the abrupt shift in topic. "No one's going to take _that _bet, not when it's a true fact," he said scathingly.

"Let's _go," _urged Cassie. She stood between Mum and Dad, and where both Lys and Lu had inherited the fairness of their father, she was as dark-haired as their mother.

Christmas Eve dinner at the Potters' was always chaos. James, Albus, and Lily Potter were great fun but very rowdy and constantly up to mischief. All the Weasleys would be there, like Grandma Weasley who would tell all of them that they were too thin and Grandpa Weasley who would ask them about any new Muggle trinkets they'd picked up in Venice. Then there were the numerous Weasley aunts and uncles. Lu's favorite among those were Uncle George and Aunt Ethel because they never called her Luna by mistake, and because they had been one of her few supporters in the…unpleasantness of last Christmas, when she had broken the news of what she wanted to do after Hogwarts to the family. Uncle George had even gone head to head with Uncle Fred about it, and everyone knew that George and Fred _never _fought. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, though she loved them, were the worst at remembering to call Lunaris by her name or even her nickname, though Lu supposed that was probably because they'd been really good friends with Luna Lovegood and Aunt Ginny had seen her die and all that.

There weren't just the Weasleys and Potters though they were the majority of the crew, there was also the Lupins, Aunt Dani and Uncle Xeno of course, and even Headmistress McGonagall (whom they called Aunt Minerva outside of school). It was a lively crew that Lu enjoyed, though sometimes it got to be too much, especially with the number of kids in the gathering. All in all, there would be fifteen children—though technically several of them, like Teddy Lupin, weren't really children anymore and Lu was loath to call herself a child. Even with the Potters' big house, it was almost impossible to find a solitary moment.

Still, Lu enjoyed being immersed among her cousins, cooing over Uncle Fred and Aunt Pansy's new baby Bianca, laughing at the antics of Molly and Lucy, Uncle Percy's two children and regular clowns, and giggling with Dominique, who was the same age as her. She grimaced and tried not to look too much at Victoire and Teddy, who had started dating at the beginning of the year. This was hard to do, as Teddy was one of her closest friends among this motley crew of family and friends of family.

She managed to escape his blithe chatter with her about how it looked as if Ravenclaw had a good chance of winning the House Cup, retreating to the semi-quiet of the library where at least only Aunt Audrey and Aunt Pansy were discussing politics, and wished for an instant that she was back in Venice, where she could just go out for a walk around the neighborhood to clear her head, or at least, everyone in her family knew to leave her alone when she was in one of her moods. Really, they didn't happen often and especially not during one of the few times she had the opportunity to spend time with all her favorite people, but the situation being such…

"Still pining over Teddy?"

Lu started, then sighed, trying to calm her racing heart. "Lys…" she said warningly.

"You can do so much better than him," he said, sitting down easily next to where she had hidden herself relatively away from the noise and crowd. She scoffed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly.

"You aren't in Slytherin for a reason, because you can't lie—well, at least not to me," he said frankly.

"Merlin—am I that obvious? Does everyone know?" she groaned, letting her head fall into her arms.

"I don't think so," he assured her. "It's just obvious to me because I'm observant. And because I know you."

"I'm pathetic," Lu muttered. "I can't even get over it, and they've been sickeningly cute and together for half a year now. He doesn't even know that I'm a girl. I'm just someone he thinks of as his kid sister."

"You _are _fifteen, and he's nineteen," Lysander pointed out unnecessarily. "You could slip him Amortentia," he suggested, having received a scathing look of _you-think-I-don't-know?_ She took her face from her arms again to glare at him. He sighed. "Look, don't expect me to say this ever again, but you're worth ten of Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. You'll find some other guy that it'll be less like incest to date, and I'll supervise and intimidate and threaten him and it'll all be good."

"I wish I could hate them, it would be so much easier that way."

"That's a rather silly reason to hate someone you've known all of your life and generally get along with," Lys remarked.

"I know," she said grumpily.

He was quiet for a minute. Then he got to his feet. "Come on," he said abruptly.

"What? Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

He refused to tell her more, despite her protests. Instead, he dragged her up two flights of stairs, to where the attic was. Miraculously, there was no one in here—usually, there was at least one person or another here with the aim of escaping the noise and crowd for a precious few moments. Lu had utilized the Potter attic for no few times over the past Christmasses. There, he finally let go of her and fished into his robes.

"You know how I've been working on a special Charms project for extra credit?"

Lunaris nodded. Her brother had been uncharacteristically exuberant as he'd told her about how Professor Flitwick had drawn him aside at the beginning of the year and asked him if he'd wanted a bit of an extra challenge in class, as he'd been bored out of his mind. He'd petitioned to take sixth year Charms instead of sitting through what he had already mastered for a year, and been offered this alternative instead, as both sixth year Charms and NEWT level Charms classes happened when he had another class on his schedule and the Department of Mysteries was unequivocally adamant that they would never place another time-turner or sensitive equipment in the hands of a student again. (Something about the destruction of years-long research, exponentially expensive tools, and damage done to their department by a gaggle of students during the Dark Wars.)

"I haven't shown anyone but a few of the Professors what I've been working on, but just before we left for the Hols, I finally made a break-through. I think I'll have it as early as May or June, although it might take me through the summer to refine it enough to even make a prototype, but my break-through might be just as marketable," Lys confided.

"What is it?" Lunaris asked, curiosity riled up.

In answer, Lys pulled out a small, plain, hand-held mirror. It was polished to a high sheen, with a simple silver handle. "Look into it," he urged.

"I hardly think…oh!" Lunaris blinked at her reflection. Her face was haloed in colors—a glow of pink, dark green, and shadings in the array of a rainbow. It cast an ethereal light on her appearance. "What…"

"It shows your predominant aura," Lysander said into the silence. "It's very crude, of course. The charms I cast on it are only good enough for it to see just past the surface. It doesn't capture the complexity of humans very well, and the more complicated a human being, the more trouble it has, but it does fairly well. It's a much smaller step from charming a mirror to reflect at the frequency of a person's aura to reflecting their innate trustworthiness. If I succeed, I'll have formed a mirror that sees past Polyjuice Potion, sees past Glamour charms, sees past the best acting skills of anyone, sees past even an Imperius-controlled person. The aura's only the first step."

"But a major one," Lu breathed, tilting the mirror this way and that, admiring the way her aura seemed as alive as the sunlight and vaguely reminiscent of a cat's graceful dance movements. "Lys, this is wonderful!"

Her brother stuck his hands into his pockets, the only sign of his embarrassment. "Figured it'd cheer you up," he muttered. "You know what the colors mean, right?"

"Pink seems to be my predominant color—that's for a compassionate and sensitive nature, often artistic. Forest green, the color of insecurity." She blushed.

"Whereas I have a massive overload of confidence," Lysander smirked. He reached out and tugged a strand of her hair gently. "This is going to be my Christmas present to them," he told her.

"It's a beautiful piece of work, Lysander Corwin," murmured a new voice, soft and rich and instantly identifiable, and both children jumped visibly. Lunaris spun, nearly losing her balance. A firm but gentle hand, long and tapered, steadied her, and she looked up into the dark eyes of her very favorite uncle, whom she idolized above all for his genius, his wit, his treatment of her and her brother with equality and always as adults.

"Uncle Severus!" She flung herself into his arms, and he allowed such an indignity for a good minute before he distangled himself from her.

Meanwhile, Lysander had recovered from his shock and was politely—and sincerely—hugging the other half of the pair. Aunt Hermione was absolutely the _best _aunt anyone could ever have, never mind that they weren't technically related that closely. "You did it again," Lysander said half-irritated, half-admiring, as he shook hands with the tall, gracefully silent man. "How did you manage to sneak in on us _again?" _

Uncle Severus, eyes glittering with laughter, smirked at them both. "Your aunt and I have been 'sneaking around' since before your were a gleam in your parents' eye," he uttered smugly. "You'll have to do a lot better than that, boy, to catch either of us off-guard. Even if you are an exceptional Slytherin."

Lys looked for a moment as though he wanted to protest, to find out how exactly the pair had taken them completely by surprise, but wisely took note of their uncle's unspoken challenge as well as compliment and let it go. "You've seen my present to you early now," he whined instead. "Not fair."

"Life is rarely fair, Lysander," Aunt Hermione said. Unlike Uncle Severus, she was openly smiling and warm, but no less impressive for it. When Lu had been very young, she'd cast them in her dreams as a king and queen for all they managed to fade into the background of every gathering they attended. It was the power within them—an imperial sort of understanding of the world as intensely secure people, capable and very aware of their capabilities. Not quite arrogant, but extremely imposing to anyone less secure in themselves.

"Well, you still have to unwrap it with everyone tomorrow," Lys said, disgruntled.

"Have you seen the others?" Lu wanted to know.

"Not yet," Aunt Hermione replied. Lysander perked up. That meant that they would get to watch their aunt and uncle scare the living daylights out of the rest of their relatives!

"Eager, are we?" Severus chuckled. "Why don't you two go down ahead of us, and let the experts show you how it is done? Perhaps by next Christmas, Lysander, you at least may be able to notice us approaching. I'm rather afraid, Lunaris, that you are hopeless."

Lu shrugged, not at all fazed by the judgment. "I wasn't in Slytherin for a reason," she retorted.

"There is no reason for you to be practicing those sort of skills, either one of you," their aunt said firmly, pushing back the mass of curly brown hair that framed her delicate face. "In any case, Lu dear, Severus must admit—no matter how reluctantly—that even a Gryffindor can learn stealth. After all, he married one."

"For which sin, I have atoned for many a time since," Uncle Severus said with a straight face, the only hint of his tease in the brightness of his gaze at his wife. In answer, she lifted an eyebrow at him, a habit they both seemed to share, and her own returning look was one of pique and daring.

Lu and Lys watched, fascinated. They rarely saw Uncle Severus and Aunt Hermione, and each time they did the unique barrage of words they seemed to constantly exchange and the honed wit that the children could barely understand or keep up with was both foreign and wonderful to watch.

"Well, go on," Aunt Hermione urged them after a beat, turning away from her exasperating husband to smile at the twins. "We'll follow you down."

"Indeed," her husband murmured.

Downstairs, the twins slipped into a room awash with noise, warmth, and the aroma of mashed potatoes and roasting pork. Barely fifteen minutes later, as Lu occupied herself with stringing popcorn into chains with several of her cousins, Lys stiffened minutely and caught her eye. He glanced ever so briefly towards where Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron were roaring with laughter at something or other.

If Lunaris hadn't been training her eyes hard for the signs, she'd have missed the tiny flicker of moment, the barest displacement of color and air creeping closer to the two men, drawing nearer and nearer—

"Blimey, Harry, the family keeps getting bigger every time I see it," exclaimed Uncle Ron, whom Mum had called the perennial bachelor.

"We're just trying to make your mother happy!" retorted the bespectacled man, green eyes bright with humor.

"Indeed, Potter, and may I congratulate you on having produced spawn rambunctious enough to ensure Molly Weasley's happiness thrice over?"

"_Bloody buggering hell!" _Uncle Harry yelped so loud the entire room turned to see what was going on. Where the slightest smear of a Disillusionment charm had been, the Snapes stood, surveying the two men—and the room—before them.

"Harry James Potter, did I just hear you swear in front of the children?" Ginny Potter, no less slim and feisty and a great deal more comfortable in her own skin and life, marched out of the kitchen, a dishtowel still in her hands. Her eyes were snapping and they promised much pain. "Do you need me to wash out your mouth with soap, or will you _stop swearing in front of the children?" _

"I'm sorry, love, I was just...habit…taken by surprise…Snape," he said, struggling to evade his wife's temper, which had in the years since her children had been born taken an alarming resemblance to the Weasley matriarch's own scoldings.

"Yes, well you can get yourself _out _of the habit or your children will be watching you eat soap," Aunt Ginny said sharply. Then she shifted her focus to the two newest arrivals, and her face lit up with pleasure. "Hermione, Severus! It's wonderful to see you two! How was Singapore, or wherever you've been hiding in a hole for a year?"

"Malaysia, and it was amazing. Severus picked up some unique plants and remedies known only to the locals and he finally made the breakthrough he's been hoping for in his Healing research. We only just returned a few days ago."

Lu exchanged gleeful glances with Dominique, who had been stringing popcorn chains with her. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Severus never failed to lead the most exciting life, staying for months at a time in exotic places Lu only dreamed of one day being able to see and draw, and their stories were the best to listen to, because they were so foreign and yet completely real.

"And your book?" Uncle Ron asked. "That one you were writing about, eastern magic or something?"

"_Magic of the Southeastern World_," Aunt Hermione corrected primly. "Look for it on your lists of textbooks for next year," she added with an unconcealed grin of pride. "They're including it in a bundle of required textbooks for the Magical Cultures class for fourth year up."

"Brilliant, Hermione!" exclaimed Uncle Harry, evidently having gotten over his misuse for being tricked, startled, and scolded. "I knew it! They can't replace their ancient and out-dated textbooks fast enough."

She smiled gratefully at her friend, accepting the rest of the room's cries of congratulations as well. "Thanks. Do you know, when I was writing this book I kept wishing that I could go back to Hogwarts just to take this class? Minerva's move to add a class on magic practiced beyond the borders of our country was such a fantastic plan."

"I do believe that if Minerva would let her, she would actually enroll back in Hogwarts just to take the class," Uncle Severus said wryly, to the knowledgeable amusement of all who knew Hermione.

"You could teach it yourself," Uncle Ron snorted.

"Now that's an idea. You should petition for the job and stay nearby us for once, Hermione!"

Aunt Hermione grimaced and shook her head. "I—_we—_have had quite enough of teaching to last a lifetime," she smirked, glancing up at her husband whose very attitude agreed wholeheartedly with her. "Let those who love teaching and are good at it take those jobs—Severus and I are content finding new things and writing about them in utterly boring and ostentatious journals, papers, and books!"

With the most-traveled of their extended family now back, it was truly Christmas. Lu exchanged a joyful glance with her brother, sister, and many cousins. Even the thought of Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley was not enough to dampen her rising spirits as she contemplated the holidays, and gloried in the feeling of family, tucked in close around her. Life was good.

**-break-**

_Christmas Day_

Tradition called for the opening of presents to start with the youngest, a scheme no doubt instituted by the many parents of this large gathering who knew that it would be impossible for their young ones to sit patiently through so many people before their turn. That had proven wise, as the families who gathered together for Christmas at the Potter's residence in London had grown over the years.

Hermione watched indulgently as the youngest of the children who were old enough to understand the concept of presents ripped open their gifts with squeals and shouts, one by one. Next to her, nursing a mug of coffee—authentic, brewed from the aromatic coffee beans he had grown partial to during that time they'd spent in Colombia—Severus had a particularly fixed sneer of long-suffering disdain on his face. She didn't blame him. Children were fine in small doses, and she enjoyed spending Christmas with the many progeny her friends had produced, but by the end of it, she would be glad to be on her way, back to the peaceful solitude of their chosen semi-nomadic lifestyle. Severus, if anything, had even less tolerance than she for the rambunctious chaos of the many children.

Still, the curl in his lip lessened somewhat as the gift-opening moved to the older children, those who (in theory at least) were mature enough to open their presents with decorum.

"Thanks, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Severus," Cassandra Corwin exclaimed with delight, stroking the carved wood-and-gilding Siamese cat, whose curled up posture was small enough to fit into her palm. The cat yawned, and sat up, blinking the blue jewels that served as eyes at her new mistress. "Oh!"

"It holds very little magic—only just enough to animate it," Hermione told Cassie, smiling at the child's wonder with her new possession. "It doesn't need much care but for an occasional dusting and perhaps a check on the charms woven through the object every few months to make sure it's still in working order."

"Her name is…Saoirse," Cassie decided, gently running a fingertip down the miniature cat's back. The cat purred silently, and curled back up into Cassie's cupped hand.

"A good choice, Cassandra," Severus murmured approvingly. "It means freedom."

James Sirius Potter was next, followed by Louis Weasley, the youngest of Bill and Fleur's three children at thirteen.

"Our turn!" Lunaris seized her brother's sleeve and tugged, impatient as a two-year-old, and Hermione bit back a chuckle. For all that everyone whispered that Lunaris was eerily similar in temperament as well as appearance to the woman she had been named after, Hermione privately though Lu was far more similar to Draco. Imperious, sensitive, and far too prone to mood swings though with a healthy appreciation for humor that saved him—and her—from pompousness.

Her twin, Lysander, tried his best to maintain his dignity—as he always had, from the day he was born. Hermione never lost the opportunity to tease Severus that having been unlucky enough to be with Skye at the time of her labor and being the closest Healer on hand, having had to deliver the twins (_and oh, isn't that another story!)—_Severus had somehow imparted his personality to the male of the set. But _this _mini-version of Severus was, at least, growing up in such drastically different circumstances that his dignity could not hold out against his twin sister and the thrill of Christmas presents. With one last attempt at reputation, Lysander heaved a sigh, before he seized hold of his first present, being the younger of the two by nine minutes.

He was unerringly polite, another difference between him and the man he idolized much to Severus' dismay and her amusement. And too, he was young enough, and thank Merlin, no war or experiences had jaded him enough for him to hide his obvious delight as he revealed his last present, from them.

"It's…thanks," he breathed, gazing at the small, unassuming book with awe enough to make Hermione's book-loving heart warm.

"What book is it?" called out one of the Weasleys—Molly II, affectionately known as Hurricane Molly for the chaos she left behind, for she had inherited her twin uncles' predilection for pranks and trouble much to Percy's dismay. At seventeen she was, despite her inherited prankster nature and won't-grow-up attitude, well aware of the importance of some magical tomes. She had just been promised a job after she graduated with Weasley's Wizardng Wheezes as an assistant with the very real possibility of a fast track promotion to inventor-researcher, after all. She'd been the one to insist on starting bottom rung—no one was going to accuse her of taking advantage of nepotism!

"_Grimmoire of Ammon the Magus," _Lysander said in reverent tones. "It's so rare…most of the known copies are only partial, but this one's a full edition!"

"It can't be copied by magic, and the only full original is housed in the Library of Alexandria," Hermione lectured. "It's a good thing I had an in with the curator there—he let us spend some time hand-copying it."

"It has some of the very foundational spells that underlie charms as we know it," Lysander said, still caught up in the book. He opened it gently, revealing a glimpse of pages of neat, small handwriting interspersed with larger, almost spidery script. "I can't thank you enough!"

"Use it well," Severus said simply, for the both of them. Hermione agreed quietly.

Then it was Lunaris' turn, and she blinked in puzzlement as the wrappings fell away from the last present—for it seemed a trend that Hermione's and Severus' gifts were always opened last. _"Because your pressies always show ours up," Ron had grumbled some years ago. "Bloody overachieving…ow! Merlin's arse, Hermione, have a care for my arm, I need it to cast spells with!" _

The winter sunlight through the window, clean and sparkling like diamonds, filled the room and struck against the deceptively black, smooth block that rested on a charcoal grey stone with a small depression. Teased by the light, the black surface…glittered, reminiscent to Hermione of Severus' eyes though she doubted anyone else would notice.

"What is it?" It was one of George and Ethel's children—Roxanne Weasley, the younger sibling at eight years old—who broke the silence, asking what everyone was thinking.

Hermione reached forward and plucked the small, oblong stick of black from Lunaris' hand. "This," she informed them, "is an ink stick. Grind a little of the end in the inkstone—" she gestured to the shallow stone object still held by Lunaris—"and add a little water, and it will become liquid ink. We thought it appropriate for someone who promises a great talent with quill and pen sketches."

"A new kind of medium worthy of your talents to experiment with," Severus said quietly to the girl.

Lunaris cradled her gift in her hands with care, and when she lifted her eyes to her aunt and uncle, the look on her face was thanks enough. Hermione remembered, clear as day, last Christmas when Lunaris had caused quite a stir among the wide and abundant sea of her relatives by announcing that she wished to go to a Muggle art school upon graduating from Hogwarts. Odd how no matter the wide-spread acceptance of blood equality, fervently promoted by all in the room, enough unconscious superiority remained in the culture of magic for almost all of said proponents of equality to protest vehemently at one of their brightest children 'wasting her talents' living wholly in the Muggle world and doing Muggle things.

Even the child's parents had been horrified, for both Draco and Skye had been brought up ensconced in the heart of Pureblood life, and though both were great supporters of the arts, they worked purely within the Wizarding World and had expected their daughter to do the same. Only Lysander, Cassandra, Dominique Weasley, and George Weasley and his wife Ethel had supported Lunaris' decision. Severus and Hermione had remained silent on the matter other than a single pointed remark from Hermione about the attitude that magical talent was somehow greater than a gift that did not require magic to run.

Their present to the girl both Severus and Hermione considered close enough to their goddaughter in all but name—for it was Xenophillius and Danielle who claimed that honor for the twins—was a clear indication of their support of her dream, one that had evidently not 'been a passing phase,' as Molly Weasley had on more than one occasion insisted.

Skye Corwin, at least, had the grace to look slightly abashed as she took in the approval in Hermione's and Severus' eyes. Draco, Hermione observed, was every inch quite set against his eldest daughter going into the Muggle world. _Not, I think, because he considers them below, though it is hard to escape the prejudices that we are taught from infancy. But rather from the fear of the unknown, combined with his protectiveness of his daughter…I shall have to alert my parents to the situation. They might be able to knock some sense into that thick head of his, and after all their situation was the same though reversed—they had to let their only daughter go into a world they knew almost nothing about, and it was certainly far more dangerous during those years I first entered the magical world! _Yes, Jane and Daniel Granger would certainly both beat some needed sense into Skye and Draco's heads as well as reassure them about losing a child to an alien world. They certainly would have right now, if they weren't spending two service years in Tanzania working with a nonprofit organization to provide free dental healthcare to those who desperately needed it as much as they desperately could not afford it. They'd opted to spend Christmas there this year.

"Hermione," she heard, and recalled herself to find that Severus was holding a messily wrapped gift and watching her with carefully hidden amusement.

"Our turn, I presume?" She recovered quickly, with barely a hint of having been years away a second ago.

Lunaris' present to them was beautiful. Severus held it up, tilting the parchment towards the light from the fireplace. Each line was inked with thought and effort, every shading a study in skill. The effect struck the unprepared viewer.

At first glance, it looked as though it were a scene out of a legend, or a wonder-tale: one that might have fit with Arthur drawing Excalibur, perhaps, or Sir George slaying a dragon. The style, the strokes of the quill that had penned the image, mimicked that long-ago era. But on a second examination, the faces were very familiar. It was a rounded stone room, with gothic, sweeping arch-designs, angry scores in the wall that shed light, and a rough-hewn stone that was lighter than the rest of the floor set in the middle. Encircling it were five figures, and sixth set a little apart from them, her face turned away from the viewer. On the far side, a tall, gaunt man was marked out with sharp, black lines and dark shading that threw his face into shadow. Hermione knew him instantly—Severus, and Severus as he had been during those long years of unending service to a draining war. She caught her breath. For never having actually seen Severus in those times, Lunaris had done a spectacular job of capturing the essence of the man. His presence, even on paper and only in ink, was both commanding and yet conveyed the subtle nuances of a man beset on all sides and grimly accepting of the almost certain fate of death before him.

Hermione swallowed, memories assaulting her, and without even thinking of it, she rested her hand on Severus' arm. He looked at her with a faint smile, and his dark eyes were soft in a way he had come to learn how to show in the years following the death of the Dark Lord, and she turned resolutely back to the exquisite drawing, reassured enough to leave the past behind.

Beside the man whom Severus had once been, there was a woman who radiated confidence and a certain majesty, and to her shock, Hermione recognized herself after staring for several seconds. Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that it was herself, for she had been next to Severus that night and there was no mistaking that mass of _hair. _Even in the picture, it did not obey her but frizzed as it would. _Why _Lunaris had chosen to draw Hermione with all the poise of a queen was anyone's guess, but that was definitely meant to be her. And to her other side, Tonks was outlined with quill strokes that somehow in a mysterious fashion depicted both courage and brashness in spades. Draco was next, and though it was but a side profile, there was no mistaking the set of his shoulders and straightness of his spine as anything other than stalwart pride and determination.

Of the five who had been Children of Hogwarts, only Luna Lovegood had been drawn with her back entirely to the viewer. Her lines were smudged, vague and trailing, and already half-not of this world, and Hermione wished irritably not for the first time that Lunaris' friends and family would stop _deifying _Luna to the poor girl. Luna had been strange, yes, fey certainly, and she had had a deeper connection than most to another unseen world, but she had been entirely human and when she had been alive, had never pretended otherwise. Xenophillius, Tonks, Remus, Ginny, and the others were doing Lunaris no favors by building up her namesake on a pedestal of spirits and goddesses. One day…well. It was probably another reason Lunaris was so set on leaving the magical realm for the Muggle, where she would be taken as her own person by all, and not as the inferior second coming of a hero-spirit-girl who had died before her time.

And the last, the sixth, standing off to the side by Luna, also with her back to her current audience, the White Witch crackled with foreign energy, as much as was able to be put into a few quill marks, after all.

It was obvious to anyone who had been there that night, just what this scene depicted. It was the bonding of the Children of Hogwarts to the sentience of the castle, on the stone that had been the foundation of the school. It was eerily beautiful, with Fate like knowledge scrawled across each solemn, weary figure linked together in their casting circle. It wasn't completely accurate, of course. The room looked far grander than it had been in reality, the people there far older and more powerful than they had been. It had really been the White Witch's show from the moment they entered to when they had staggered out one by one, which was not apparent in the way this drawing seemed to suggest a theme of Inevitable Fate and Destiny woven and chosen by the actors on the stage. Really, all it had been was a few battle-scarred witches and wizards doing their best in the fight, and nothing as glorious as young Lunaris had evidently dreamed up.

But it was stunning, pensive, evocative, and inked with both heart and a burgeoning skill. "Thank you, Lunaris," Severus said evenly for both of them, sensing that Hermione would not be able to speak normally. He inclined his head to his niece. "It is beautiful work. We are honored by it."

"I got the descriptions from Dad," Lunaris said, fidgeting a little as she stared herself at the heavy vellum of her work. "I hope it's close enough…"

"It is more than merely enough," Severus told her calmly, gently rolling it up once more.

"Mine next," Lysander insisted with a rare impatience. It came across as arrogance, as it too often did, and Hermione was struck with a sudden image of a young Draco Malfoy, nose pointed in the air haughtily, but it faded as soon as it had arrived. She smiled at her honorary nephew, taking the gift he held out to them. Though they knew already what it contained, she did not let that stop her from smiling with genuine pleasure as she unraveled the wrapping securing the small mirror.

"Absolutely lovely, and the Charms-work is spectacular," she exclaimed, carefully lifting it up so everyone could see. Severus smirked as a familiar play of aura-colors fanned out in the mirror reflecting Hermione. As a Healer-Researcher, the role he had found himself drawn to after the conclusion of the war, he had learned techniques from several different cultures to see the auras of others in order to diagnose less obvious ailments. It never failed to take his breath away how warm and bewitching Hermione's aura was, the bright sunshine yellows, coppers, and earth tones that signaled the intelligent, sharp, detail-oriented optimist with a hidden playful streak that he knew without needing to interpret the colors she shone.

It was true what Lysander had himself commented on his own work—the aura mirror was crude work, only able to pick up one or two dominant shades and even then, unable to replicate them as true as the real Sight of them would have been. But Lysander was himself an exacting, wildly intelligent young man—Severus had no doubt that one Christmas, he might well unwrap a marketable mirror that would see the depths of a person's soul.

"You're so sunny, Aunt Hermione!" Lily Potter remarked, eyes wide as she peeked at the reflected image of Hermione in the mirror. "Can I try, please?" Severus blinked away the sudden memory of another Lily, eyes just as green and hair just as red, who had spoken in that same wheedling tone to ask Severus to let her try a spell out of one of his mother's battered spell-books.

"Sure, honey." Hermione passed her the mirror, and Lily's eyes grew wide as she peered into it. Severus settled back for a longish wait—no doubt the mirror would be passed around the entire circle before they would be allowed to move on. He caught his nephew's eye as three-year-old John Lupin squealed with glee and bounced at the sight of the pretty colors around his own reflection.

"Thank you," he said quietly under the noise of exclamations and explanations of aura colors.

Lysander inclined his own head, dignified though the extra sparkle in his grey eyes betrayed his pleasure. "I'm glad you like it, Uncle Severus," he replied just as softly.

"Your turn, Severus!"

Severus sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took the handle of the mirror. Hermione had never seen his aura—oh, hadn't that irked her, a spell she couldn't master!—but it was not even a real spell, but more of a manipulation of his mental magic, an adjustment of his vision really, and only achievable by the highest practitioners of mind magic and the Healing arts, and Hermione had never shown much inclination beyond rudimentary Healing spells and potions.

Therefore, she drank in the sight of her husband's face, wreathed in the mirror with dark and light blues warring for precedence, with a haze that Severus suspected was the result of the mirror's inability to portray the complex jumble of colors and shades of his own aura. "Fear of self-expression, but also deep, truthful, and collected," Hermione murmured into his ear for him alone. "With a mist that probably means far too many other colors for the poor mirror to cope with. You're giving Lysander's gift quite a work out, Severus."

"Indeed," he responded, ignoring the curious glances of a dozen Weasleys, Potters, and sundry. He laid Lysander's gift alongside Lunaris' with a finality that told the others they would not today find out what his aura was. With a little disappointment that vanished soon enough, the assembled family returned to gift-opening, secure in the anticipation of the rest of Christmas Day, games, food, singing, and all.

**-break-**

Hermione sipped from her wine glass, relatively alone amongst the cheerful, riotous crew that was the gang of Potters, Weasleys, and co. She was perched on one of the high kitchen stools that had been dragged in to provide more seating, tucked away in a corner by the bookshelf that didn't quite catch the light of the fireplace. Her eyes roamed the room full of her family and came to rest on a man conversing in reserved, dignified tones with Minerva. The man was tall, dark and handsome—well, that was what she called him when she wanted to tease him. Severus never failed to sneer at the idea that he was anywhere near to a clichéd prince, no pun intended thank you very much.

Then again, she'd never be what you might consider a _princess, _despite Severus' mocking use of the nickname during some of their more memorable quarrels. But however much Severus loathed the tall-dark-handsome label, he could not be anything else but striking. Almost nineteen years of traveling the world with her husband and exploring the wonders and knowledge that each new place offered certainly provided Hermione with a lifetime's worth of examples to prove the strength of Severus' draw on the human interest—not just her, but the countless people they had encountered in the years gone by.

It was only one of the facets that made up the man she loved as deeply as the oceans. Without meaning to, Hermione remembered the vast desolation and utter bleakness of her life when she had thought he was dead. She would have lived—Hermione didn't believe in dying of love, though to be sure she had been close to it then before Li had pulled her out and reminded her of duty, of responsibilities that didn't go away because a war had been fought and finished or her heart had been ripped to shreds. She would have lived, but she would have become a fragile, bitter, worn-out thing and her life would have been much, much less without Severus in it.

The firelight cast her beloved in relief, and Hermione drank in the sight of his relaxed posture, open expression—even today, Severus gloried in every moment he passed in freedom, slave to none but himself. It had been after another argument, perhaps a year after they had married in a quiet ceremony out by the Hogwarts where he had dreamed of walking at liberty. That particular argument had been the catalyst for Severus' decision to consciously choose to experience freedom—to risk showing his emotions ("_on occasion, when it suits me"). _

Severus' freedom was precious to him, Hermione knew. It was why, amongst the fact that they had lied to her, that she had been so livid at Honour Rabnott, Li, and the High Council of the Order of the Phoenix for denying Severus that right for even a day, let alone four months.

_But I showed them just how far they had crossed the boundaries, _she thought and even now, it brought her a vicious kind of pleasure to think of the justice she had wrought. Li, she had been fairly gentle on. He had, after all, tried in his own way to hint at Severus' survival in his own words when he'd talked to her at the Library of Alexandria. He'd said—and she remembered it only after Severus had turned up and nearly killed her again with shock—"He wants you to live." Said in the present tense.

She'd only given him one memory, one ordinary day out of the many she had lived in a blur of misery and constant pain. Rather than the traditional pensieve memory that could be viewed as an objective third party, she'd bound up her emotions, her thoughts, her feelings into the very fabric of the memory she'd given him, so that the viewer would be unable to watch the memory without _being _her.

Li had said nothing after emerging, pale and drawn, from her past, but the single tear and the way his hands trembled as he pressed them against her fingers in the briefest apology was enough for Hermione. Neither of them had brought it up again.

Honour Rabnott though, oh, that had been another story. That woman had saved Severus, it was true, but done it only to bind him to another slavery again, had used him. She'd taken away the most important thing to Severus, that elusive _freedom, _and put him in chains again, "for the greater good". _Of the same brand as Albus, but a hundred times worse—Albus cared, and he could learn better. Honour simply sees what must be done regardless of who she destroys to accomplish it. _

It was ironic: after the months of training as a spy, the months following of being a spy's handler, the intensive education Honour herself had invested in her to make her an assassin—all that hard work of becoming the best in the game of espionage and the shadow game, all it had taken was for Hermione to ask Mippy to slip a potion of her own brewing into Honour's food and drink, a tiny drop at a time so she would not notice it over a few days. Mippy had been malevolently pleased to be revenging himself on "Iron Face Woman." He, as Severus' house elf, had _known _by his magic that Severus was not dead. And because Hermione was, in all but official name, Mistress, he would have very easily broken any sort of wizarding magic keeping him silent to tell his mistress the truth. Honour had gotten around that by simply spelling the incorrigible house elf to sleep until Severus himself finished his task.

"Nasty, Iron heart, iron mouth, iron face," Mippy had snarled in an eerie imitation of his master's black mood when Severus and Hermione had woken him. "She is only all iron. Maybe she is not noticing if Mippy adds more iron up her bum?"

_That _had required Hermione extracting an explanation from Severus about why his young and impressionable house elf knew about shoving wands (and in this case, iron bars) up people's rear ends.

She hadn't met Honour at all, in the end. She'd simply sent a note after the last of the potion had been ingested and the full effects were beginning to be felt.

_Honour-_

_They say the truth sets you free. For each day you enslaved Severus Snape, may you experience the freedom of truth. Never touch me or mine again, or I shall gift you with that basic right to take to your grave._

Unsigned, left—again by Mippy—by the empty phial used to house the potion that had been the many-times ancestor to the modern-day Veritaserum, Honour would not fail to get the message. And if Honour was perceived by those surrounding her in the next four months to be more candid, more shockingly blunt, and much more human than she had been since she was a young child, no one questioned why. Neither did they dare ask why the woman who had never taken a day off from her mysterious duties with the Order suddenly petitioned for a four-month leave of absence.

To be able to only speak the truth was, after all, an unpalatable and dangerous flaw in a job that required many shades of lies to be told.

Something she knew all too well.

"Sickle for your thoughts," a voice broke in. Hermione looked up, beaming, at Ron. The gangly, insecure redhead she had known from Hogwarts had become a charming, confident man.

"Just thinking of the past," she said lightly. "We've come such a long way, haven't we?"

"Since a troll in the bathroom? Yeah," Ron agreed, fiddling with the glass of wine in his hand. "Never would have thought you'd be the one globe-trotting while Harry and me stayed home, you know?"

Hermione laughed unexpectedly. Trust Ron to pick up on one of the least significant of the changes that had occurred since their first year at Hogwarts. "Come now, Ron, jealousy doesn't become you," she teased. "You've got quite the reputation as the next Moody Mad-Eye in the Auror corps, I hear, and Harry's got all the family he's ever wanted and possibly more."

"And you have the world's libraries at your fingertips," another person added in a joshing tone. Harry Potter, his green eyes just as vivid as the day she had first confronted them about a lost toad, slipped an arm around Hermione. "What's up?"

"Your children," Hermione retorted without missing a beat. And indeed, they were up—James Sirius Potter shrieking in indignation as his mother flicked her wand and forced her son to hang upside-down and be awkwardly shaken. Contraband that the boy had concealed on his person, most of them bearing the Wizarding Wheezes logo on them, flew everywhere, causing all below to take shelter.

Harry groaned comically. "James is giving me grey hair, I swear," he sighed. "I can't turn around without Minerva Flooing us to tell me that he's either in detention for the rest of the year or in the Infirmary for the rest of the year. He never listens!"

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, trying not to smirk. She failed.

Ron coughed discreetly. "Uh, Harry?"

"What?"

"Don't look, but I think you just described yourself."

"_What? _I do not…"

"Put yourself in danger, not listen to adults, and wind up in detentions or the Hospital Wing every single year of our schooling and far beyond?" Hermione queried.

"Er…"

Ron took one look at the man who had been his best friend since that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express and burst out laughing hysterically. Hermione managed to stay sober and mildly inquisitive while confronted with Harry's red, stammering face and darting eyes for another full minute before she, too, dissolved in laughter. "Oh Harry, your _face," _she gasped, giggling madly.

"Traitor," Harry hissed at the still guffawing Ron. "You're supposed to be loyal friends and companions!"

"Sorry, mate, we're not Hufflepuffs," Ron managed to say, flinching as Hermione slapped him lightly up the side of his head. "Blimey, Hermione, I got nothing against another House!"

"How fortunate your relatives must feel," sneered a new voice.

"Snape!"

"Severus," Hermione smiled warmly up at her husband.

"Your wife requires your presence, Harry," Severus said with some reluctance. It had taken quite a great deal of pressure on Hermione's part to get Severus to address Harry by his first name.

Harry looked over and cringed a little. Ginny was now hauling his eldest son off in the direction of the kitchen by the ear, no doubt to give him a talking to, and if his presence was required that meant that Ginny was going to make him back her up—she'd finally reached the end of her rope. Harry hugged Hermione as though it was his last day to live, went as far as to shake hands solemnly with Severus. Dark Lords and wars and threats to his life he could deal with—a furious Ginny and his equally stubborn, often rude, and very much in rebellion-stage barely-tween son in a sulk, he didn't know if he could survive.

"Good luck, mate," Ron hooted, and scoffed at Harry's parting rude gesture, which Harry made sure to shield from the view of the children. "Guess I better go help gather the evidence of James' contraband," he continued cheerfully. He, too, hugged Hermione by the simple expedient of picking her up off the ground entirely and whirling her around. "It's good seeing you," he whispered. "Don't be a stranger."

Hermione watched Ron go, whistling cheerfully as he started to help the others pick up the liberated contents of James' robes. She was smiling wistfully when she turned to fully face Severus again. "Hi."

He raised an eyebrow and looked entirely Professor Snapeish. "You have mastered the art of the truly inane comment," he observed acerbically. "_Hi?" _

She ignored the fine sarcasm. "Did you already have a chat with Lys, then?" she asked, though she knew the answer very well.

He eyed her, and her smile grew wider. "Good. The boy idolizes you, and he'll cherish your advice and insight."

"Not that I had much to offer him." Severus shrugged just a little, his face shadowed. "He is already so much more than I was at his age."

"He isn't growing up in the darkness of a war or in total isolation and hatred," Hermione pointed out logically. She looked thoughtfully over at where the boy they were discussing stood next to his youngest sister, explaining something to her—a complicated charm, by the looks of the way his hands gestured in a rough estimation of the casting shape. "You would have flourished in the kind of environment he is growing up in too, Severus."

"Perhaps," he allowed.

"And maybe I am selfish, but I am most thankful that you are you, and not a version of my honorary nephew," Hermione stated with conviction, lacing her hand through his. She glanced up once at her beloved's stoic face and then looked back out at the sight before them.

"They're fine without us, as they've been for the past decade or so," she murmured. She watched as Harry, having returned from the kitchen with the air of a man relieved from a death sentence, started an impromptu tickle war, relentlessly tickling his youngest daughter until she shrieked with laughter and breathless pleas for mercy amidst her various unhelpful relatives. Even young James, who had returned sullen and subdued, lightened a little at his sister's hilarious plight.

Severus surveyed the tableau before him, one that he might have once regarded with the utmost horror as the conglomeration of his worst nightmares, Potter, Weasley, and Gryffindors all multiplied and miniaturized and spilling from the seams of the large living room. If one had chanced to glance at the man, they might have been momentarily stunned twice, once at the lack of a vitriolic sneer and once at the almost-smile that played on his lips ever so faintly.

But no one even so much as flicked a look in Severus Snape's direction, and so he remained safe from scrutiny. He merely continued to track the scene before him and his beloved. Harry and Ginny Potter and their children, as always, were the center of attention but many held forth in the festivities scattered throughout the warm, fire-lit and glowing room. Draco, Skye, and their children were clustered with Bill and Fleur Weasley, trying to out-do each other's tales of wild, youthful misadventures. Their collective children were both listening avidly to the stories of their parents as children as well as whispering amongst themselves. A little further away, Molly Weasley held forth, knitting and animatedly discussing the latest Hogwarts gossip with a little circle of women: Tonks holding her unexpected surprise, the three-year-old John Lupin, Danielle Corwin-Lovegood, Pansy Weasley, and Ethel, George's wife and the only true Muggle. George had seen her in a coffee shop in Leeds when trying to track down a lost shipment of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and instantly fallen in love with the fair, blue-eyed woman who was dumping a hot latte over the head of the man sitting across from her (and who had made sure to pick up her partner's cup rather than waste her own cappuccino).

Remus Lupin, still as gentle and careworn as nineteen years ago though considerably freer from stress, was having what appeared to be a fairly private conversation with Percy and Audrey Weasley, both of whom looked intent. Considering that Percy was the Minister of Magic and Severus knew that Remus continued to work, supported by his wife, for equality for werewolves, he suspected the conversation might be related.

Meanwhile, Percy and Audrey's two daughters Molly and Lucy and Geroge and Ethel's Freddy were arguing over which House would win the House Cup this year—Molly and Freddy insisted that Gryffindor would reign victorious, while logical Lucy, who despite her love for mayhem had been sorted Ravenclaw, reasoned that Ravenclaw was far more consistent in the gaining of points and would prevail. Right next to them but in no way encumbered by the volume of the argument, Freddy's younger sister Roxanne and Louis Weasley were being entertained by Ronald Weasley's narration of the latest Quidditch statistics—at eight and thirteen, both were as Quidditch-obsessed as the rest of the Weasley and Potter clan. Minerva McGonagall, bless her stalwart Scottish heart, was doggedly enduring one of Xenophillius Lovegood's extended sermons on the evolutionary importance of the Dirwigible Plum while dandling Pansy and Fred's seven-month old Bianca, and certainly it looked as though the witch considered the baby far better company than the man if her stoic expression was anything to go by.

Finally, furthest from the fire and almost hidden in the shadows, though painfully obvious to Severus and to everyone who had half a brain cell, the newest couple Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley were far too wrapped up with each other to notice the world around them. They didn't see the disgusted looks from Victoire's younger brother Louis, who was completely grossed out by the embarrassing germ-swamping of his eldest sibling, or the occasional glare they were receiving from Dominique Weasley, who was a Gryffindor true and true. _All the better for Lunaris, who will benefit from that loyalty and Gryffindor temperament of her best friend. _In Severus' opinion, Lunaris was far too sweet-tempered and altogether too likely to allow anyone, especially those closest to her heart, to walk all over her—though Hermione hit him every time he mentioned it, he wondered often why his godson's oldest daughter was in Ravenclaw as opposed to Hufflepuff. However. Between her Slytherin brother and her Gryffindor cousin and friend, Lunaris Corwin should be well-guarded.

And just as importantly, between Lunaris and Cassandra, Lysander would never allow that hidden sensitive heart of his be hardened by the rough treatment of the world. He would never become like the man he most admired, after his father, thank Merlin. Severus was aware of the boy's unfortunate hero-worship of him, and had long ago cautioned Draco and Skye to keep an eye on the boy who might one day become what Severus could have been, given a better environment to grow up in.

"They look happy," Hermione murmured—he broke his gaze from the sight before him, and watched the play of emotions across his wife's face instead. She was normally better at hiding her feelings, but she had never been as good as he, and he was attuned to her thoughts and emotions after nineteen years of marriage. Wistfulness, joy, grief, thankfulness, all scattered in the curve of her soft cheek and the softness of her brown eyes.

"Christmas is a time for family," he said neutrally, eyes flicking for an instant to where Cassie Corwin tugged at her older brother's sleeve to ask him a question and Lysander, in an unusual show of affection, tucked his little sister's hair behind her ear.

"Harry's always wanted a family," Hermione said absently, eyes fixed on one of her two oldest friends. She smiled, a little. Severus caught it from the corner of his eye, and knew it for a half-sad, half-glad smile. "And Ron's always wanted to stand out from his brothers."

The sole bachelor of the Weasley clan and a well-respected Auror trainer, he certainly was distinguishable from his brothers now. Severus grunted.

"You're right," Hermione said suddenly, voice firm as she turned away from the scene that had transfixed her so as if she were abruptly done with it. "Christmas is a time for family. But Christmas is over, and I've always considered guests to be like fish—both start to smell after three days. As this is our second day, we should be very certain not to begin to smell."

"It would not do," Severus agreed with a smirk.

"They will do fine without us, as they always have," Hermione stated. "Perhaps we might visit Draco and Skye soon to see how they are getting along. We don't have any imminent new locations to explore, not since my book's been finished and you finally tracked down what you needed for the next stage of your Healing research. But right now the thing I'd like best in the world would be to go home and spend some time with _my _family. I'm sure Mippy has gotten the bed ready for us by now." She gave him a slanted, wicked glance up through her lashes that left Severus in no doubt as to what she wanted to spend their time doing. Severus raised an eyebrow, but he offered her his arm.

"Then shall we, my lady?"

She mock-curtseyed and took his arm. "Let's," she said, all traces of wistfulness erased with a deep contentment that spread through her body and made her eyes sparkle with that familiar warmth and suffused her voice with a peaceful tranquility that spoke of a life led with no restrictions and no expectations, a life without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The tall, austere-looking man and the smaller frame of the woman, her hair riotous and wildly free, faded from sight rather like a snowflake melting, one moment here and the next, gone without alerting notice. Neither one looked back, and it was not until half an hour later that Lysander Corwin met his twin sister's eyes with the dawning realization that their most mysterious aunt and uncle had, once again as every year, simply vanished from the crowd without fuss or attention.

No one else seemed to have perceived this yet, and with unspoken consensus, the twins did not mention the fact until Al Potter exclaimed in ringing tones of disgust that Uncle Severus and Aunt Hermione were nowhere to be found, and really, what was the use of having an aunt and uncle who traveled to such exotic and exciting places if they wouldn't even stay for long enough to tell half the stories they must have about living overseas?

And while Ron groaned and Harry sighed and Molly Weasley shook her head in disbelief, no one made too much of a commotion about the lack of a proper goodbye or the briefness of the Snapes' stay. It was, after all, a family tradition.

Not so far away, in the Fidelius-kept Prince Manor, Mippy the house-elf radiated with exultation as he welcomed his wandering master and mistress home. And not so long after that, the manor was quiet and dark once more, but for the small light burning in the fireplace of the bedroom, casting heat and a shadowy golden aura on a couple so intertwined, it was almost impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

And in a different place of the house, Mippy crossed his fingers and toes that _this _time, there might be little masters or misses to fill the place. No matter what his owners said. There was no harm in hoping, after all.

**A.N.: And that's all she wrote, folks. Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for reviewing. Thank you, those of you who reviewed anonymously or have disabled pms so that I am unable to reply to you. From the first supportive reviews, to my squeeing over my story hits, to having someone accuse me of buying into the franchise of Warner Bros and giving up my morals, to the anonymous reviewer who told me to throw myself off a cliff for writing such *insert impolite word here* (whose advice I did not take, by the way- why the heck were you reading my story if you thought it was so bad?), to my first foreign-language review (Google Translate is awesome, thank you anonymous French reviewer!) to the people who have told me how much my story has impacted their life and whose thanks have moved me to tears, it has been a long journey together and it's finally time to close this small window on Severus and Hermione and let them live happily ever after. **

**I hope you, too, do the same in your own fashion. **

**I do plan on remaining in the fandom, and I do have a short story in the works. And this one I KNOW is short, unlike the surprise explosion of Last Spy, because I've already written most of it. It's very different from this story, and will follow the lives of Sirius Black and Severus Snape as an unpredicted event over the summer forces the cocky Marauder to take a closer look at himself and his rival and, dare I say, grow up. **

**Again, thank you, everyone! The luck of Felix Felicis on all your ventures.**

**Love,**

**sylphides**


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